The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series)

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Chapter 14

I walk into the main house feeling like a hollow shell.

An image of Garrett burning paintings, Sebastian’s paintings, with a maniacal smile on his face plays over and over again like a broken CD, but I can’t bring myself to believe it. Garrett, the man I have worked personally with for years would never do something like that. But if that’s the case, there isn’t a logical reason why Loretta would lie to me. Especially since her reaction to the memory was so organic I felt it like I lived the experience with her.

Maybe the reason I can’t believe it is because Sebastian shows no sign of connection to such a traumatic event. And that, is the reason none of this makes sense. There are a billion pieces that I have yet to uncover, but Loretta was kind enough to give me a hint, a head-start, on figuring out the entire story and why it’s a secretive topic amongst the Harrison’s.

As I near the library, I can hear Sarah’s voice loudly from the other side.

“Yes, yes! I feel you, man I feel you!” she is saying in a happy tone.

Something’s wrong.

I open the door to find her on the phone expressively, walking back and forth and laughing at everything the speaker is saying. Lucas is looking at something on the desktop, squinting and rolling his eyes at the screen.

“Sarah,” I whisper, “who is that?”

She glances at me once then looks the other direction, “Hold on, Mike,” she says, before holding her phone to her chest.

“What, Leslie!?”

I flinch, “Sorry, I just wanted to know who you were on the phone with.”

She glares at me, “Mike Johnson, friends with Oliver Epps, the music producer! I’m this close,” she pinches her thumb and index finger together, “to getting Sebastian into one of Oliver’s party’s this week in North Carolina.”

I’m a bit overwhelmed.

“But wait, what about the lunch today?”

Sarah looks like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about until it hits her.

“Oh, that. Look, I can’t risk missing a call from Mike or even Oliver so you’re going to have to go in my place.”

It feels like Sarah’s words deceive me, but when she returns to her call as if no words were exchanged between us, I fight off the urge to groan. It’s like everything has been aligned by some Deity to make sure Sebastian and I spend every moment we can together. And after hearing Loretta’s testament, I’m almost dreading it. How can I pretend she didn’t tell me something so absurd while being around him? I hate to admit it, but I…can’t seem to believe her. Garrett would never do something like that. Ever. I’ve known him, know him, on a personal level to never even believe the notion. But somehow the imagery creates itself in my mind and makes my skin cold.

“Hello? Earth to Leslie?”

My mind registers back into reality at Sarah’s voice, “I’m sorry I-I was…it’s nothing. Anyway, you really want me to go?”

“Well, yeah, I’m not going to risk this opportunity,” she says. “Most likely it’s going to be an innocent lunch, so no negotiation or business talk will be involved. I know that kills you inside.”

I roll my eyes.

“Yes, yes, yes, YES!” Lucas screams from the back of the room.

Sarah, who seems to be used to his behavior, continues talking on the phone and pacing the room. I walk over to Lucas, whose smile almost takes up the entirety of his face.

“What are you happy about?” I ask.

“The assistant of the assistant of Robert Hill answered my email,” he beams.

“R-Robert…Hill?”

“He runs one of the biggest oil corporations in the south. I emailed the assistant of the assis-,” he reads the email again until he finds the recipient’s name, “Isabelle Ronan around…three months ago about getting Sebastian into something for his previous publicist, who tried to get him out there like you are. But when she quit and Isabelle didn’t respond it was just a lost cause. But now…”

Lucas gestures for me to see the computer screen. I stand behind his chair and look at the email over his dark orange locks.

“Love for Sebastian to attend…Tea Party Movement function…Mississippi?” I read.

He nods, “The richest of the richest conservative businessmen and politicians will be there, and luckily Sebastian carries a very substantial surname that is a topic of interest. They want him to go. They could have responded to my email three months ago, though!”

“Thankfully, Garrett is a right wing conservative,” I add. “But that means that Sebastian is going to have to be an exact political replica of his father to be pleasing to their ears.”

“And that seems to be a problem,” Lucas sighs.

“I’m going to have to coach him,” I say, even though I consider myself one of the most liberal liberals you could ever find, especially here in the south.

I’m only conservative when business requires it.

I check my watch and realize that Sebastian and I need to head out. Knowing how he is going to react when he finds out I will be taking Sarah’s place at the lunch, it’s going to be a very long and tedious day for me.


“Oh, Christ, you’ve got to be kidding me?”

Sebastian is less than enthusiastic to see me instead of Sarah walk out of the front door to the car. My sunglasses cover up my unhappy reaction to his reaction, but even then he can tell I’m taken back by his words.

“What? Are you upset that you don’t have Sarah to talk about me to?”

“Yes,” he answers. “I am.”

“Well then I’m glad she asked me to substitute her place.”

I contently make my way to the SUV and open the door to climb inside. I set my Iced Mocha Latte in the cup holder and hold my purse on my lap as I sit down and check my phone. After a minute, I look to see Sebastian still standing outside.

“Well,” I take off my sunglasses, “what are you waiting for?”

“Sarah,”

I chuckle coldly, “Sarah is in the middle of a very important phone call. Which is why she can’t make it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Look, you have three options,” I hold up three fingers in front of him. “One, you can go to this lunch by yourself and face Felicity and her manager or publicist completely unprepared and unprotected. Two, you can refuse to go to this lunch which will result in a statement or interview by Felicity that can potentially lead to more time with me to clean the mess, or three, you can swallow your pride and get into the vehicle so we can get this over with. Your choice. Regardless, it’s not my reputation on the l-”

He gets into the car and slams the door before I can finish my lecture.

I smile, “Thank you. Now, shall we?”


The drive to Memphis was long and painful. None of us said a word to each other, and despite me wanting to start a conversation on the grounds of what Loretta told me, I already knew Sebastian hated my entire existence by the way he snuck resentful glances at me.

No paparazzi are outside of the restaurant when we arrive, but I’m more than certain they will hear the buzz and linger outside until Sebastian comes out, preferably with Felicity which will not happen, if I have a say-so in it. So for now, we sit at a four-seater table, only to be entertained by our laughable company as we sit in silence and watch the upper-class ear their Filet Mingon and tri-tip steak.

The establishment is one of the most prestigious restaurants in Memphis, and the one specially requested by Felicity’s representatives themselves. The ceilings are wide and expansive, with glass paneling allowing sunlight to enter in and illuminate the restaurant. The plates, utensils, chairs, floors, even the clothes on the waiter’s backs, all from the most expensive outlet.

“Good day,” a waiter with slicked black hair and a clean-shaven face greets. “Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“Do you guys have any whiskey?” Sebastian says tiredly. I give him a disapproving look which doesn’t seem to change his mind.

After seeing some identification, the waiter quickly writes Sebastian’s request down and asks for mine, in which I reply water with a side of lemon.

“We’re expecting two more,” I tell him.

He tries to hide a grin, but fails horribly, “Oh, we know; it’s in our system.”

Right.

When the waiter leaves, I glare at Sebastian.

“Whiskey? This early in the morning?”

“Hey, it’s night time somewhere,” is his only defense.

I sigh, “Can you at least pretend you want to be here?” I align a crooked fork that I see next to me. “It would really help me out.”

“I don’t lie, so I don’t think that would be possibility.”

“What you just said proves you’re a good liar.”

“Whatever,” he runs his fingers through his hair that ends up falling in front of his face again. “I just don’t think this is even going to work. Obviously you don’t understand how Felicity works…”

And then he’s off, complaining about something that is already established. It’s like he’s going a mile a minute with his mouth while struggling to keep his eyes open from fatigue, and even his tiredness transmits onto me and makes me feel tired just listening to him whine. Half way through his rant I drift off and let my eyes wander around the restaurant, casually looking at the other diners—one woman and her expensive jewels who modestly eats her undecorated salad, another man who’s stomach strains against his custom made suit, and another man who laughs loudly at the table he sits at with his three children and wife as they pretend to be interested in what their father is joking about.

Then I see a couple. No jewels, no expensive clothes or sticks wedged into their backs to hold their posture right. They’re simple, plain, huddled together as they laugh about something the male said. The two of them are complete opposites: she’s a lengthy, curvy woman who looks to be of middle eastern or Mediterranean descent with tan skin, a long nose, and big eyes with long, dynamic eyelashes to compliment them. Yet he, on the other hand, is skinny, pale, awkward with glasses that hang on the tip of his nose, and a victim of bad posture and slumped shoulders. But despite these differences, watching them so affectionate towards each other gives me a weird feeling. Jealousy? No, because what they have was never initially mine. Envy? Probably not, considering I don’t feel any sort of hatred or resentment. Whatever it is, it helps me from stopping my staring fest. They haven’t noticed, which is probably why I haven’t stopped looking at them, eventually feeling a smile tug at my lips when he makes a stupid joke that she can’t help but laugh at.

God, I feel so pathetic. I’m staring like a hungry animal, hungry for…something, I suppose.

When the waiter brings their drinks, I break my eyes away and look down at my bare finger nails. I think briefly on painting them to get my mind off of such self-depressing thoughts. When I finally look up, however, I find a pair of green eyes boring directly into me. Not even the type of gaze that’s half fixated on you, half fixated on something else. It’s like the entirety of his attention is focused on me, and the intensity of his stare makes me extremely uncomfortable. Why? Because it’s like he’s tearing me apart, or trying to drill into me.

“Okay, why are you staring at me?” I question with a serious look.

He blinks a few times and leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile, “No reason. It’s just…I think I finally figured it out.”

“Here you are, one water, one whisky, on the rocks,”

Our waiter stops our conversation when he sets our drinks down. We thank him.

“Are you ready to order?”

“We’re still waiting for two more,” I reply, even though I’m sure he knew the answer anyway.

He nods, tells us to take our time, then walks away. Sebastian’s attention is on me again.

“So…what have you finally figured out?” I ask him, squeezing the lemon juice into my ice water until the wedge is limp.

“Not necessarily what, but who.”

I laugh, “Okay. Who have you figured out, Sebastian?”

“You,” he responds confidently.

I scoff, since no words come out of my mouth. I stare at him, baffled and utterly confused.

“See, what people don’t realize is that I’m an extremely observant person,” he starts without letting me speak. “I pay incredible attention to detail. I just make people believe I don’t so they underestimate me and ultimately give me the upper hand. Smart, right?”

All I do is listen.

“Anyway, ever since I’ve met you I’ve been noticing the small things you do—how you look down at your shoes when you stand next to people taller than you, how you’re always smoothing your hair in a manner that implies that you’re concerned about other people’s thoughts on your hair. And—”

He reaches over and gently moves the spoon in front of me about a centimeter to the right, and watches me. I feel my hands immediately tingle and my heart race until I reach up and align the spoon again, like it’s the ticket to soothing my anxiety and expanding the walls again in the restaurant.

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I noticed this when you anxiously aligned the photo frame on your desk back in your office in L.A. when I accidentally moved it a bit, and how you anxiously aligned the seatbelts so they weren’t folded over in the limo to the Opera, and also how you, again, anxiously aligned the magazines on the plane ride here when we hit a bit of turbulence. And let’s not forget about how you refused to have your “clothes touching” when you got to my mother’s house. It’s like when something in your area, your space is out of order your eyes just…change. And your hands fidget and you get all shaky. Am I wrong?”

“I-I…this isn’t—”

“-About you, I know,” Sebastian finishes. “But it’s funny because, you’re, believe it or not, a very interesting person. Yes, you’re controlling and pestering and uptight, not to mention intrusive and sometimes extremely rude. But there are motives. Reasons. And I think I know the reasons.”

I don’t know what to say at this point. It feels like I’ve been attacked without the chance to ready myself for battle.

He takes a drink of his whiskey and winces a bit at the taste.

“Can I give it a try?” He asks, surprisingly politely.

I take a deep breath and look around me, “Sure. Fine. Why not.”

His smile stretches wider, “Alright.”

Sebastian leans his elbows on the table and examines me, “You’re…insecure; you wear a lot of ‘foundation’ but there are certain areas on your face that have heavier amounts than others, like the bridge of your nose. And also you always wear long sleeved tops. You’re insecure about your…freckles?”

Yes.

I don’t reply.

“You’re not…confident. You have a tendency of comparing yourself to other women, which, yes, I did notice at the fair. You’re only confident when it comes to your job because you think that’s the only thing you’re good at.”

True.

I drink my water without saying a word.

“It is imperative you have control over a situation because…I’m guessing, you grew up not having much control in anything. Which is why you boss people around, you’re authoritative, and you’re strict—you hate the thought of having what’s yours taken away from you or having your situation taken over by someone else…because you had no control, no voice, nothing that really was yours when you were younger.”

“This is ridiculous, I-“

“Ah,” he holds an index finger between us. “I’m not done yet. Now, as I was saying. You…you have exceptional manners that you, however, need to remind yourself to execute by how stiff and artificial you look while doing it so I’m theorizing you didn’t grow up in a rich family like me. Maybe middle to upper middle class; well-off but it wasn’t enough for you. You got good grades but that wasn’t enough. Went to a good University such as Berkeley but that wasn’t enough for someone, because you always look like you’re trying to prove yourself to someone. And finally—”

Sebastian points to the couple I was staring at, and it takes so much for me to look at them again.

“You were staring at them. You smiled, not like you were reminiscing on a past relationship, but yearning for one like that because…you never had one like that? Or maybe because you’re…lonely? Which makes sense as to why you exude such a hard demeanor: you don’t want anyone to know you’re lonely. Am I wrong?”

I swallow hard as my brain processes the entire analysis. Sebastian has just ripped me apart and showed me the pieces with the most confidence and certainty. And that’s what scares me. It’s not even like he’s speculating, but straight out telling me everything that’s wrong with me.

“That’s…an interesting analysis,” I nervously spin my straw around in my glass. “You’ve gathered all of that the short time we’ve been together?”

“Yup. I guess I just have a natural talent,” he says with a smug smile.

“Well if this ‘operation’ doesn’t work, at least I know you can find a job providing illegitimate palm-readings sessions in restaurants like a Gypsie.”

“Hey, my Grandmother is a Romani Immigrant so maybe that can actually work for me.”

“Oh. That must explain the eyes then, yes?”

“Mhm,” he nods, like he’s used to answering the question. “Sure does.”

“Did your mom talk about her roots much?”

“No,” he rolls his eyes. “She used to tell us that she didn’t want to ‘glorify’ an ancestry full of dirty pick-pockets and fortune tellers and street performers who traveled whenever they felt they needed to. So she talked about our English ancestry, but meanwhile my English ancestors forcefully and brutally colonized indigenous land while raping and kidnapping innocent tribesmen and women to sell them into slavery. Fucking assholes.”

I let a laugh slip out of my lips at his bluntness. When he sees I’m laughing, he can’t help but laugh, too.

“I’m dead serious, I don’t understand why she thought it was okay to praise them as gods. And don’t even get me started on my Dad’s family—descendants from a long line of Vikings. Dear Lord, they’re so entitled, I hate it…”

“So…Norwegian, I’m guessing?”

He looks impressed, “Wow, you’re good.”

“I know,” I answer, drinking my water.

Sebastian laughs, “And a bit cocky, if I may add.”

“Not cocky, just confident.”

“So my analysis wasn’t true, then?”

I look at him with a smug expression, “I’m not confirming nor denying that. This day is about you, not me.”

“Oh, c’mon, I’ve never been wrong before.”

“So this isn’t your first time doing this?”

He shakes his head, “Girls love when you try to figure out who they are. It leads to excellent bar conversation.”

“Oh, Monsieur Sèbastien and his card-reading business has been around for long time, oui?” I say, in possibly the worst French accent anyone could muster.

“C’mon, just say if I’m wrong—wrong about the happy home but an unhappy child, or the control thing because honestly I feel like I was spot on.”

Happy home. Those two words together in context with my childhood is a straight contradiction.

When I’m silent, Sebastian sighs and drinks his alcohol.

“Your parents must have taught you well about not spilling the business. Were they some dynamic duo or something?” he chuckles lowly.

I look up at him and smile slightly, “My parents divorced when I was eight, and after the legal fight, I lived with my mother who wasn’t hesitant about expressing how much she hated my very existence. So…no, they weren’t a dynamic duo at all,” I try to laugh, but it comes out fragmented. “I guess there’s some falsity in your ‘card reading’ skills after all.”

Sebastian’s eyes are wide as his drink stops at his mouth. He sets the glass down and rubs his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t really-”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” I smile kindly. “It’s a common misconception that someone who looks secure has never been insecure.”

“You know what, I think we found something in common,” Sebastian replies.

I frown, “Which part?”

When Sebastian opens his mouth, another voice substitutes his own.

“Sorry we’re late! Traffic is a head trip!”

It’s like I’m momentarily stunned. The woman walking towards us, Felicity Felix, is jaw-dropping-beautiful. Slender figure paired with a set of long legs that seem to never end, especially in her black heels and elongating white dress. Luscious blonde hair that hangs over her shoulder, red lips that look to be sculpted onto her face, and eyes a shade of blue that almost looks teal. When she smiles, her teeth practically blind me.

Sebastian turns around and immediately stands up at the sight of her. Before he can greet her politely she grabs his face and begins kissing him, which turns into making out with him in the middle of the restaurant. I turn away and involuntarily clench my jaw.

“Ms. King. A pleasure to meet you. I’m Felicity’s manager.”

A tall, well-built man with ebony skin and a bright smile approaches my seat with an extended hand. I stand up and return the gesture.

“Kenneth, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Please, take a seat.”

Kenneth takes the seat next to mine while Felicity, of course, takes the seat next to Sebastian. Sebastian’s eyes say it all, as Felicity snakes her arm around his and smiles in my direction. He wipes the red lipstick on his face off with his free hand and slumps in his seat.

Great, it’s like an elite heiress version of Busty-Becky from the fair.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” Felicity says to me. Her voice is soft and feminine, and it makes me envious that my own voice is the complete opposite.

“Please, it’s no problem,” I reach over and shake her hand. “I’m Leslie King, Sebastian’s publicist.”

Her eyebrows raise, “Oh, my, God, you’re his publicist? Well, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Likewise,” I showcase the most artificial smile I can. “Sebastian’s manager was supposed to be here but she came across some important last minute work and asked me to take her place.”

“Not a problem,” Kenneth says. “We’re both delighted to have you here.”

“Good day,” the same waiter comes by and says enthusiastically. “Can I start you off with-”

“Water,” Felicity interrupts. “Filtered exactly twice, and can you make sure that there’s only a minimal amount of ice? Thank you.”

The waiter looks surprised, “Oh, well…okay, certainly. And for you, sir?”

“A coke will suffice, thank you,” answers Kenneth.

The waiter nods and scurries away. And now we are left in quiet.

“I hope your flight here was well?” I ask in an attempt to start up a conversation.

Kenneth nods, “Yes, yes, it was, very much. It’s just the heat that we need to get used to.”

“Oh, yes,” Felicity adds, rubbing Sebastian’s arm. “It’s so humid! My hair absolutely cannot take it much longer.”

Her hair is perfect.

Kenneth faces me, “While we’re here, I think it’s important to talk about-”

“Yes, yes,” I finish, knowing what he’s talking about. “That would be best.”

Remembering that we have met up today to negotiate our next move, Kenneth gives Felicity a look that indicates they have “rehearsed” what they want to say to us. Right when Kenneth is going to speak, however, his phone rings.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, checking the screen. “I have to take this.”

Excusing himself from the table, he answers the phone and walks past the other diners, leaving us three alone.

“I’m…gonna go to the restroom,” Sebastian says. Clever ass.

He pushes himself up from the chair and walks away as well, Leaving us alone. When Felicity stops watching Sebastian walk away, she looks back at me and smiles. I smile too, but pray that Kenneth is almost done with his conversation.

“Um, so, how long have you and Sebastian known each other?” I ask.

The waiter comes back and sets down their drinks. Felicity doesn’t even thank or acknowledge him. I thank him in her place which does little to make her realize how rude she is.

“About a couple of months ago,” she responds, drinking her water carefully through her straw. “My friend was holding a party at this hotel in L.A. and he was there and we just…hit it off.”

Knowing Sebastian and his intentions, it’s hard to believe he really wanted to do more than “talk.”

I play with my napkin, “That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, it is. I mean he’s a really great guy. Kind of reserved and relaxed but we always have a good time.”

“That’s nice.”

“And the sex is just…mind-blowing.”

The napkin rips in my hand.

Felicity looks to be in La-la land at the memory of her sex experiences with Sebastian, and I feel like banging my head against the table.

But, I control myself.

“Oh, really?” Is all I can think to say.

“Yes. He’s an incredible lover.”

I smile the most uncomfortable smile I’ve ever smiled.

“I mean half of the time you don’t even know what the hell is happening to you. It’s like an other-worldly experience, babes, it’s just one after another, after another, after another,” she sighs.

Oh, God.

Felicity rolls her eyes, “He does this thing with his tongue—”

“OKAY!” I snap. “Okay, okay, I get it, I get it, I…I get it.”

A satisfied smile crosses her lips. This bitch did that on purpose, and I was dumb enough to let it get to me. I’ve never felt so annoyed, it’s like a constant tapping on my shoulder is the equivalent to her explanation.

Like clockwork, both Kenneth and Sebastian come back to the table and sit down. Sebastian notices the irritated look on my face but doesn’t say anything; he knows what happened.

“Alright, so—”

“I would like to start with the negotiations,” Felicity interrupts Kenneth.

Kenneth sits back, “Proceed, Felicity.”

She sighs and focuses on Sebastian, “Okay, first off, before you apologize—”

Apologize?” He almost laughs at her statement.

“What you said to the press was entirely rude, and it hurt my feelings. But I just want you to know that I forgive you. And upon finding the strength to forgive you, I also found the strength to want to try and work on our relationship,” she grabs his hand. “We have something special, something real. And I don’t want to let that go because you don’t know what you want. So I’m here to help you realize what you want. Kenneth and Leslie are also here to work out something to let the public know that we’re working through this.”

Is she fucking serious?

Sebastian just stares at her, dumbfounded, before he laughs so hard he rests his head on the table. His wheezing infuriates Felicity every passing second.

“Felicity,” he wipes the tears away from his eyes. “What I said was rude but…it was true.”

“Wh-what?”

Sebastian shrugs, “I don’t want a relationship with you. You were just…fun. Which is why I don’t understand the point of this lunch.”

“It’s obvious you’re in denial, Sebastian, I mean seriously. Rejecting me? Are you honestly going to find anyone better? Honestly?”

“Felicity,” I speak up. “I understand your…stance, but if Sebastian doesn’t want to publicize to the public that he’s in a relationship with you I’m not making him.”

“Excuse me?” Kenneth exclaims. “We had a deal!”

“A deal that I believe is completely ridiculous. This was supposed to be a mutual agreement, something we can both agree on. But it’s clear that Sebastian isn’t on board with this so neither am I.”

Felicity stands up in rage and points a trembling finger at me, “I’m not letting this bitch ruin my-”

“Hey!” Sebastian yells so loud everyone at the table, even people at neighboring tables, flinch and stop talking.

He stands up and closes the proximity between Felicity and himself; they’re so close to each other their noses are touching.

“I don’t love you,” he growls. “I never loved you, and I never will love you. You’re a manipulative liar who has been using me to be more than just some Wall Street heiress. You want to kick and pout? Fine. But just know that I’m never agreeing on anything you and your team want to include me in because you’re nothing but a whiney bitch and I can’t take it. We’re done.”

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter says once he passes our table.

“No,” Felicity barks to the waiter while grabbing her purse. “We’re leaving. Fuck you, Sebastian. I never loved you, anyway.”

“Yeah, and I’m the King of Narnia,” he says with an annoyed look.

I get up, grab my purse and start to guide Sebastian to the exit before Felicity stops us.

You,” she points at me. “You do know that I can have your fucking job! I’ll have your job!”

“Oh, try me,” I laugh. “I dare you. You obviously have no idea what I’m capable of, Felicity. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or who your father is, I’ll have the entire country thinking you contacted herpes from an anonymous sex-capade in a gay bar by the end of today. So do it. I dare you.”

She’s speechless.

“I’ll have you know,” Kenneth begins. “That I’ll sue you for—”

“For what?”

He can’t think of anything to say.

I see Felicity out of the corner of my eye, eying the paparazzi that linger like pests outside, waiting for Sebastian and her to leave.

And in that moment, it’s like a flash or a blink of an eye, how fast she moves. But I can’t process fully at once what she’s doing until she’s already forcing fake tears to fall from her eyes and sprinting to the door of the restaurant.

“No, no, no!” I yell, and instantly Sebastian knows what she’s going to do.

I kick off my heels, not even bothering to pick them up before sprinting as fast as I can to the door. Sebastian is running faster than I and even Kenneth is on pursuit. Sebastian jumps over a few chairs and pushes by waiters with trays in their hands. One waiter’s tray falls to the ground and causes the plates to shatter into a million pieces, but unfortunately we care not. We can’t gather the decency to care.

“Felicity, no!” Sebastian screams after her once the door is open. “Stop!”

Immediately a herd of paparazzi run over to him and try to tackle their way to get directly to him. A security guard in the restaurant rushes out and tries to stabilize the crowd, but all it does is prevent Sebastian from getting to Felicity. I squeeze through the mass of bodies, but even then I can’t get to her in time.

“Move out of the fucking way!” Sebastian yells at them angrily, but nothing is working to get them to move.

The pap’s start questioning her, “Felicity? Why are you crying?”

“Him,” she points at Sebastian and sniffles. “That asshole!”

“What happened?!” Everyone yells. The lights flash constantly, and I still see Sebastian running through to try and stop her. Kenneth is trying to stop her, too, but it’s no use. Because Felicity opens her big mouth and drops a bomb that I know has officially annihilated Sebastian:

“I told Sebastian I was pregnant with his child,” she cries. “And all he did was call me a whiney bitch.”

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