Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
“What post?”
“On X.”
“X? I didn’t even know you had an account.
“Search for my name.”
“Doing it now… Why does it sound like you’re smiling?”
Sebastian was.
“Got it,” Cassian said. Then his voice went up an octave.
“You’re married? Wait, no, I knew that. I mean, hell, you’ve gone public?”
“The photo speaks for itself.”
“Yeah, but… damn. I never thought you’d go public like this.”
“Why not?”
“Just… not your usual style. You don’t like press or publicity, never did. Now you have X and everything. You did it for her, didn’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Cassian whistled.
“So, when’s the wedding?”
Sebastian thought of his conversation with Eleanor at the last wedding they’d attended together, then of this morning.
His good mood vanished.
“Hello? Seb? Still there? I asked-“
He ended the call.
He crossed to the window, unlatched it, pushed it open.
Cold air cut through the room.
He stood there, breathing it in.
It helped, though not much.
Gwendolyn’s name hadn’t come up in the initial report.
That part surprised him.
The fact that she was involved didn’t.
She needed to interfere.
That was the only way she stayed relevant.
He took out his phone again, called Dominic Everett.
Dominic answered immediately, already hard at work.
The LGH comms team was containing the story, keeping it off the morning feeds.
“I need you to erase the posts about Rowan and me, but leave Elean’s post alone,” Sebastian said.
“Got it, boss.”
“Find out if Gwendolyn’s been in contact with Rowan Hale. Check email, financials, anything that links them.”
“On it,” Dominic said.
“Reginald, has he left for Africa yet?”
“Not yet. The appointment’s official, but he’s been in hospital. The doctor said his old condition flared up again. They’ve got him on bed rest.”
“What is it?”
“Herniated disc.”
Sebastian gave a short, derisive laugh.
“He’s faking it.”
He didn’t need scans or records to know Reginald was dodging the Africa post.
Again.
Trying to stall until the end of the fiscal year.
Sebastian had let it slide for a few weeks.
That had been enough.
Dominic asked, “Want me to push him to leave?”
Sebastian thought about it.
“No. Leave it for now.”
He checked the date.
Two more days of Eleanor’s event.
The earliest she could fly back was Thursday.
They’d return together.
“Dom, one more thing.” Sebastian gave his assistant some more instructions.
“If anyone tries to bribe him for intel on the old man’s health, tell him to say he’s fine. Frail but fine. Expected to live another five to ten years.”
“Got it, boss.”
By the time Prescott and I made it to the shuttle, it was exactly ten.
We weren’t even the last ones.
Half the group trickled in like they’d just rolled out of bel.
We didn’t leave for the venue until ten-thirty.
The morning was back-to-back showroom visits.
Too many logos, too many staged smiles, all blending into one long blur of beige carpet and mood lighting.
After lunch, they herded us into a conference room for back-to-back brand talks.
The chairs were hard, the AC was too warm, and the woman behind me kept rustling a pl?stic bag like she was trying to smuggle a raccoon out of there.
Near the end, I noticed one of the staff leading a tall man to the front row.
I hadn’t seen him yesterday-I definitely would’ve remembered.
Broad shoulders, clean navy suit, hair trimmed just long enough to look expensive.
He looked familiar.
I pulled out my phone and typed fast.
“Fabrizio Marchetti,” I murmured.
Prescott leaned in.
“Holy shit. Valmont & Cie’s CEO? I just watched his interview. He was in Milan, like, three days ago.”
Valmont was the kind of brand that didn’t do logos.
Just clean lines and five-digit price tags.
Marchetti was the youngest exec they’d ever had, and every article about him called it a fluke-which only made him more smug and more famous.
Women in Europe apparently queued outside airports just for the chance to get a blurry selfie.
If they’d put his name on the program, tickets would’ve sold out in an hour.
The speaker on stage kept talking, something about material sourcing, but no one was listening anymore.
Half the room craned their necks.
A few bold ones had already crept up to the front and started whispering to him.
He handed out business cards.
I watched, gripping the armrest I wanted a word with him too, but barging in mid-session would’ve looked desperate.
As soon as it ended, I started to stand.
He got up first.
And walked straight toward me.
“Miss Vance,” he said, extending his hand.
“A pleasure.
I blinked, then grabbed it quickly.