Filed to story: Watch Out, I’m The Lady Boss (Eleanor & Sebastian) Book PDF Free
After the fact? Over dinner?
Or maybe never?
Sebastian pulled out a chair and sat across from her.
“Something happen at work?”She stirred her coffee.
“Nothing huge. Just needed a break.”That was a lie, obviously, but he didn’t push.
Not yet.
They ate in silence for a few minut?s.
He glanced at her over his toast.
“Got any plans today?”
“Yeah. Gonna swing by the law firm again.” She gave him a quick smile.
“Your legal team’s scary efficient. They emailed me last night,
Good.” He nearly told her to have the meeting at the LGH building instead-preferably in his office-but bit it back.
“Then I’ll catch up with Yvaine over tea.”
“Let Geoffrey drive you.”Eleanor glanced at the housekeeper, who beamed at her.
She forced a polite smile, then turned back to Sebastian.
“Public transport’s fine. I don’t wanna trouble anyone.”
“You drive?”She nodded.
“Got my licence in college.”
“Then take one of the cars.”Her fork paused mid-air.
“You mean one of those rare, probably one-of-a-kind cars in your garage? If I so much as scratched the bumper, I’d have to sell a kidney just to cover the paint.” 1
He smiled, then frowned.
He liked that she was comfortable enough to joke with him now, but he didn’t like that she still saw the cars as his. Not hers.
Definitely not theirs.
“Right. My mistake. Those have been sitting in the garage too long. Probably need a tune-up before they’re road-ready. What do you like driving? I’ll have one sent over.”She dropped her fork like it’d just bitten her.
“Um, no, thanks. Really. I barely drive. Like, ever. I’d rather walk.”
“Can’t have people seeing you on the subway and thinking I’m some tight-fisted bastard,” Sebastian cut her off smoothly.
“So either you drive yourself, or someone drives you.”Eleanor shifted in her seat, trying to squirm out of it.
“Fine, I’ll drive myself… I’ve still got that card your assistant gave me the other day. I’ll buy something. Speaking of that-” she added, “I don’t remember us agreeing on a million-dollar monthly transfer. Can you take it back?”
“No,” he said flatly, his tone edged with irritation.
“You’re my wife. There’s a certain image that needs maintaining. That means having a driver. A card that skips queues. VIP access. The works. Non-negotiable,
“That wasn’t in the deal,” she shot back.
Was it not?” he murmured, hiding a smug smile behind his coffee mug “Maybe check the contract. Section Five Subclause twenty,”
“What?” she blinked, then muttered under her breath, “I don’t even remember where the hell I shoved that damn thing.”He remembered, but he wasn’t about to tell her.
He turned to Geoffrey and said, “Take Mrs Laurent car shopping after breakfast.”
“Nope,” she jumped in fast.
“Really. There’s no need. I don’t know damn thing about cars anyway.”Sebastian didn’t miss a beat.
“Then we’ll have one delivered.”Which had been the plan from the start.
Eleanor mumbled something to herself and gave in reluctantly.
After breakfast, she went upstairs to change.
Sebastian said to Geoffrey, “Make sure she’s comfortable with whatever you get.”
“Of course, sir.”And… get one that comes as a pair. The “his and hers” type. Have mine delivered to the garage.”An hour later, Dominic delivered a red Ferrari.
I took it out for a spin.
Wind in my hair, sunglasses on, death grip on the wheel.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I drove, and I barely hit twenty miles an hour, gliding down the street like a pensioner on sleeping pills.
Geoffrey rode shotgun, grinning like a proud driving instructor, tossing out compliments like I was doing laps at Silverstone.
But after a few blocks, muscle memory kicked in.
I loosened my grip, leaned back, and let the engine purr.
When I pulled back into the drive, there was an actual smile on my face.
*
That evening, just as I was about to retreat upstairs post-dinner, Sebastian said, “My grandfather’s birthday’s coming up. We’ll need to attend together.”
“Yeah, I remember.” I stopped halfway up the stairs and flashed him an OK sign.
“I’ll be the perfect fake wife. Promise.”
“The Laurents aren’t idiots,” he said.
“Well, some of them, anyway. If we slip up, even slightly, they’ll catch on. And if anyone starts thinking I’m not serious about this… that I’m using the marriage to manipulate Grandfather-“
“Say no more. What do you need me to do?” I dropped onto the sofa across from him, still riding the high from the Ferrari and feeling uncharacteristically agreeable.
He didn’t answer right away.
He crossed one leg over the other, long limbs folded like he was posing for a Vogue editorial without even trying.
If this man ever got bored of being a powerful CEO, he’d make a killing on magazine covers.
Silence stretched again.
Then:
“We could rehearse,” he said.
Real calm. Real nonchalant.
“Sure.” I nodded.
In my head, “rehearse” meant something chill.
A rundown of the backstory.
A fake engagement 101.
Maybe even a few lines to memorise so I didn’t accidentally say we met on Bumble.
What I got was… choreography.
We stood side by side at the front door like a couple of understudies about to botch their big debut.
Sebastian said, “We’ll rehearse how we walk in.”I stared at him.
“You’re kidding.”He wasn’t.
Apparently, we were doing blocking like it was West End week at the Laurent Estate.
I half expected a stage manager to pop out with cue cards.
It was kind of fun, but also… kind of awkward.
At least the house was empty.
Geoffrey and staff had cleared out, so there was no one lurking to watch me embarrass myself in socks and a faded hoodie.
I relaxed. Slightly.
Then I glanced down at my slippers, then back at him.
“We’re going in dressed like this?”
“The costumes will come in later,” he answered as if he hadn’t realised I was kidding.
“If you walk in that stiff, they’ll see right through it. Get closer.”I shifted half a step towards him, already feeling weirdly self-conscious, then his hand landed on my waist from behind and yanked me in like I was a prop that needed repositioning.
I slammed against him, chest to chest, all breath and heartbeat and… fuck.
I looked up, ready to make some crack about personal space.
He was looking down.
Our faces were so close I could smell his cologne and feel his breath on my cheek.
I looked away. Fast.
His hand didn’t move.
In fact, it tightened.