CHAPTER 7

I stay for the promotional tour Sebastian is giving Han Sin. As if Han Sin's representatives have never visited Harrison Inc. before, but it's good publicity to show that Sebastian is somewhat invested in the company.

"Just got an e***l from GQ," Sarah whispers to me, eyes on Sebastian in front of the cameras and lights.

"Do they want Sebastian in an article?"

She shakes her head. "No. Front cover."

"Have them e***l me—"

"Already done."

I can tell Sarah's still upset about the Alejandro thing that happened a couple of minutes ago, but in all honesty, there wasn't much I could have done to have prevented that situation. The Quintanilla's have left the promotional signing quietly and respectfully, so there isn't much reason to still be upset.

After the tour is done, Sebastian stays at Harrison Inc. to meet with the Board to speak more about planning for Sebastian's transition. I go back to my new office (which, again, happens to be a few blocks away) and continue setting up with Darcy. She managed to get most of the office set up.

"Oh, Leslie," Darcy says before she leaves through the hallway. "Someone by the name of 'Salvador Quintanilla' called and wanted to set up a meeting."

My heart stops. I honestly didn't expect them to call so quickly, and part of me wonders if meeting with him or his family is a good idea; I'm Sebastian's publicist, and the Quintanilla's are his future business partners. I'm sure Sebastian is upset I even gave the card to Alejandro in the first place. God, what the hell did I do?

I weigh the possible outcomes—call them back, find out what they want, and deal with Sebastian and Sarah's wrath. Or deny them the opportunity and keep Sebastian happy.

"Um...just...I'll call them later."

"You sure?"

I nod. "Yes, Darcy. I'm sure."

She sees that somethings wrong with me. Darcy is unaware of what Sebastian and I have and are currently going through, and I want to keep it that way. But gradually, it's becoming harder to separate work and relationships like I wanted to, which is eventually going to seep out for everyone to see when Sebastian and I are together (today being an example, during the promotional signing with Han Sin). I can't help but feel that everything I do now is tied to him in some way.

I hate it.

**

When its 8:00PM, I decide to head home. But I figure it's pointless since I'm going to be doing the same thing there that I'm doing here: working.

I go down to the parking garage, which is about half empty at this point. Checking my phone as I walk to my car, I see a tall, dark figure leaning against my car door. My hand immediately reaches for my pocket knife in my purse, heart pounding, ears ringing at the sight, until I realize who it is.

"Jesus, Claude." I catch my breath as he walks towards me. "A simple phone call would have sufficed."

Claude's smile is barely visible behind his sandy brown facial hair. "I'm a quiet man. How's your evenin', princess?"

I roll my eyes, partly because of his response but mostly because I know he's here on the topic of Sebastian.

"It was good until you almost scared me to death."

He's oddly close to me, but I don't want to create awkwardness by backing away from him.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here?" he starts, hands deep in the pockets of his black slacks.

"Of course; Sebastian and I seem to be synonymous now, right?"

He musters an insulting laugh. "Funny. But in all seriousness, I heard about the little episode you, Sebastian and Alejandro had today. Not smart."

I feel like a broken record at this point. "Again, it wasn't my fault."

"I'm sure it wasn't. But I'm just lettin' you know that tensions are already on a shaky plank. Don't mix business with pleasure, 'right?"

"Who said I was doing that?"

He just bows his head briefly, like he knew that would be my reply. "Look, I know you're upset about what happened between you two. I understand that. But what you need to understand is involving people in the little power-struggle you two got going on isn't smart."

"All I'm hearing right now is, 'don't have an innocent conversation with another man because Sebastian will throw a tantrum.'"

"That's not what I said, Leslie."

"Come on, Claude. The vagueness at this point is insulting."

With a roll of his eyes, Claude pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. When he unfolds it, a few charts are displayed to me. It all looks like a foreign language.

"What is this?" I ask as I take the paper from his hand and examine it further.

"Stock fluctuation for Harrison Incorporated. I had a talk with one of the finance managers this afternoon and he showed me this."

I'm no economist, but from the slopes, it doesn't look too good.

"Are these from earlier this year?"

"No," he says. "This week. It's normal for a company to experience shit like this when a new CEO takes over. But this bad this quickly?"

Is this Claude's way of making me feel bad for Sebastian?

I hand the paper back to him. "So, what's your point?"

"My point is, Sebastian is more than just a pretty face for a magazine cover now. He's got responsibilities that even he isn't aware of yet. To be honest, I don't think he's confident in the direction he wants to take." Claude's expression is serious now. "And it doesn't help when you're constantly challengin' him, especially with people that he needs to keep happy and in his corner."

Claude's delivery is a contradiction to me. His tone is laidback, but his face is something entirely different and not to be taken lightly. The more I look at him, the more I see how him and Sebastian favor each other—they both have those eyes that seem as if they're hiding cruel intentions; eyes that leave you uncomfortable after a while from how piercing they are.

"Look, I understand how crucial this is for Sebastian. I get it. But he's only doing this to get back at me. And I would think you out of all people would believe me instead of immediately taking his side. And besides, my job is to make him look good to the public, not become his financial advisor. Harrison Inc.'s fate has nothing to do with me."

"But it has to do with Sebastian," he counters, all joking aside. "And isn't your job to make sure he looks good? Fucking up the CEO position isn't good for his image, you know what I mean?"

I hate how condescending he is. All I manage to do is stare at him, mouth almost agape.

During the tense silence, Claude rubs his temples as if he's conversing with a difficult child. And if we're being technical and psychological, he kind of is.

"Look. I'm conscientious about boundaries. Even though none need to be made, as usual, I'll abide by Sebastian's wishes, alright?"

"Thank you." The sarcasm in Claude's voice is reminiscent of Sebastian's sarcasm. "And also, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

I don't answer back. He knows I'm pressed about our previous conversation and laughs a bit before cutting to the chase.

"Your mother has been talking to Claire and Felicity again. Just thought I'd give you a heads ups."

My expression is picture-worthy. Claire, the redhead who Sebastian was snorting crack off of during their sexcapade, and Felicity, Sebastian's previous fling who has some secret agenda against me, has been conversing with my mother again, and Claude plainly lets me know this as if it isn't an issue?

"You don't sound worried," I reply, my anger slowly rising through my head.

"Because I'm not. It ain't my problem. I'm just here to give you the heads up whenever I hear or find anything new so you can determine what to do with the info."

"So, what should I do? Confront my mother and ask why she's working as another one of Garrett's pawns?"

"That wouldn't be the smart thing to do. She'll deny it and let Garrett know you're onto him."

"Well it's the only thing I can do to put an end to this shit!"

My voice echoes throughout the parking garage, leading to a silent reception from Claude's end. I take a deep breath and apologize for my outburst, though Claude doesn't look fazed by it.

"It's fine. I know you've got a lot on your plate. Tell you what—I'll look into it a bit more and see exactly what the three of them have been talking about. But I can't make any promises, 'cause Garrett's most likely three steps ahead."

Claude is right. Essentially, this situation between Sebastian and I is still Garrett's fault, but at the same time it isn't; he has a way of tipping over one or two pillars just to watch the rest fall over and break on their own. And in this case, the two-million-dollar check was one pillar, and bringing up Axel and my mom's involvement with clearing my name from that was another pillar. As for the rest? Sebastian and I tipped those over on our own. Garrett just got them started.

That's what makes him so good—he pins your insecurities, pride, and mistakes against you so you destroy yourself without him landing a finger on you. I try to remind myself of this every fucking day, but it doesn't work. I'm still angry. And to be quite honest, my mother is the reason I can't fess up and accept my mistakes; years of blaming me for her wrongdoings has made it hard for me to apologize for something that may be my fault; it reminds me of apologizing to my mother for shit that wasn't my fault. I guess the events of my past and the events of now are just molding into each other, making me jump to the conclusion of turning the other cheek like I wish I would have done when I was younger.

"Leslie? You still in there?"

Claude's voice brings me back to reality. I hold my purse closer to my chest to calm my nerves.

"Yeah, I'm-I'm alright. And there's no need for any of that. I'm just going to talk to her; she just wants an apology from me for everything I 'apparently' ruined for her. Hopefully then, she'll leave me alone and remove herself from Garrett's roster."

The look on Claude's face is indication enough that he thinks it isn't a good idea. But I assure him that it is a good idea, even though I don't believe it too much myself.

"If you think it will work, be my guest."

"Don't worry about me."

"Alright," Claude checks his watch. "I gotta get goin'. Don't wanna make The Prince angry."

"Who's The Prince?"

Claude manages a small smile before walking to his car. "You know who I mean."

I stifle a laugh. The name fits; Sebastian is more of a Prince than he likes to admit, with everyone tending to his every need, willing to drop everything for him no matter what it is he wants.

But then something adds up.

"W-wait, then why do you call me princess?" I yell to him. But he just ignores me as he continues onward towards his car. I'm a little insulted, I'll admit, yet I'm not sure of what I'm insulted by if Claude didn't answer me.

I'll take a wild guess.

When I get into my car, I contemplate heading straight home. But I don't. Instead, I start towards my mother's house. At the first stop light, I tell Siri to send a text message to my little sister, Samantha for me, telling her that I'm on my way over. Samantha and I haven't had a conversation in a long time. Our discord isn't as strong as the discord between my mother and I, but it's still there; the same animosity I have towards my mom is the same she has towards my dad. The only difference is, I have no idea why she's angry at my father. Most likely stemmed from lies my mother fed her that she tried to feed me.

Emphasis on the word 'tried.' No wonder she hates me so much.

**

SEBASTIAN

"And here, you can see that the public really enjoyed our use of bright, more fluorescent colors. We assumed the reason was because of the younger population's intrigue with the use of brighter colors as opposed to the older generation and their familiarity with darker, more neutral color tones."

I've never been so bored in my entire fucking life. And tired—I've never been this tired either. The other day, I swore I saw a gray hair growing out of my head.

After participating in a promotional contract signing with Han Sin a few hours ago, I'm stuck at meeting after meeting with managers from each department, overviewing the data and shit from the last six months, and the hopeful plans with me taking the reins. The constituents stare at me each time someone says something I should care about. I nod until they look away.

Assholes.

The Chief Marketing Officer who was presenting finally finishes. Don't get me wrong—I was listening (partially) and taking notes. But it's hard to stay engaged when every time you've made a suggestion or idea during the past presentations, someone would shut it down as "juvenile" or "costly and ineffective."

Assholes!

I look around the table—at the CFO, the CIO, and every Chief and managing committee of each department. I feel like I'm going through training at McDonalds; everyone's eyes are on me.

"What do you think?" the CMO asks me.

I nod, avoiding everyone's eyes. "I think you made some good points--"

"You clearly didn't see the flaw that I saw with their target audience...Sir," Christine Młynarczyk, the CIO says.

"Most of our investors aren't a 'younger generation.' Wouldn't it make sense to appeal to the investors and what they would be attracted to?"

"Statistics show that our property sales have gone up fifteen percent since last year, courtesy of couples and families with head of households under the age of thirty-five." One of the managers of Sales says to the CIO, face turning red from irritation. "Appeal to younger demographics with brighter colors is the most sensible strategy. Has it been hurting us so far?"

"I don't know," Kennedy, our CFO, adds. "Stocks have been fluctuating. Maybe our current strategies aren't working in our benefit in the long run."

And then they all look at me for the final input. I'm the one who's to deliver this to the Board, so apparently, my word matters after all. When I'm wordless, the Chief Operations Officer, Charles Daley, stands up and says we'll continue this tomorrow. I feel relieved and embarrassed.

"Ava called," Lucas tells me when we walk out of the conference room. "She said that Salvador and Alejandro Quintanilla are waiting for you in your office."

Fuck. Just what I need. I thought the absence of my father would be good enough to keep my stress level low. I've been trying my best to avoid the Quintanilla's for as long as possible. Especially Alejandro; one reason I want to avoid him is because every time I see him, I want to strangle him. The stunt with asking Leslie for her business card today was bullshit. I don't remember a time where I've felt as angry as I did when I saw that happen; my hands were shaking so badly Sarah had to remind me to calm down. And Leslie is enjoying this thoroughly, using Alejandro as some type of subtle revenge plot, considering that he saved her from almost being killed on Friday. She doesn't know how fucking worried I was. All that matters is that Alejandro "saved" her. Give me a fucking brea—

"Sebastian?" Lucas says to me, almost worried. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine."

He doesn't question it further. We take the elevator up to the top floor, and sure enough, I'm welcomed to the sight of Alejandro and his uncle, Salvador sitting quietly on the couch in my office, a few of their men standing behind them.

Salvador greets me first, shaking my hand firmly. "I hope you don't mind the surprise."

"No, not at all." Of course, I mind.

Alejandro shakes my hand next, gripping it tighter than his uncle did. We don't let go until he slips his hand away and smirks at how gradually irritated I'm becoming. I take a deep breath to keep me from doing anything stupid.

The moment I sit down on the opposite couch, Claude enters the room with a familiar woman behind him—tanned skin, long black hair tied into a ponytail, and black boots with a skirt and leather jacket the same color. She's a little older than I am, but not reason enough to piss her off. I stare at her for a moment, trying to remember where I've seen her, then let it go and focus on the two men in front of me, whose eyes follow Claude and the woman as they stand behind me. Alejandro smirks and rolls his eyes, while Salvador remains stoic.

"So, what can I do for you?" I tell them.

"My nephew and I feel as if we started off on the wrong foot." Salvador situates himself on the couch with a loud sigh, spinning his rings around his fingers. "The Quintanilla's are about first impressions the most, especially with the Harrison's; your father and I were good business partners."

"I heard."

The only thing missing from this man is a big fat cigar that he puffs the smoke of into the air; his whole look is 'Cuban Beach Cat' to me—the grayed slicked back hair and mustache to match does it for me.

"The reason that we're here is because we want the relationship to stay that way," Alejandro suddenly says. The animosity in his voice catches me off guard, but not for long.

Salvador shoots him a warning look, but Alejandro doesn't even return the eye contact. "De veras?" he says sharply. Even his tone scares me a bit.

"No, it's fine. I understand where he's coming from."

Alejandro leans forward a bit. "I would hope so."

"I wouldn't 'hope' to much if you want to work with me," I blurt out.

"Is that so?"

Salvador chides him again. You can tell Salvador is the only man Alejandro sees as an authoritative figure. Anyone else who would possibly try to talk like this to him wouldn't get the same 'respectful' response.

The room is quiet, companied with a feeling of distress and alert that is prominent in the men behind the couch's features. Alejandro's eyes don't leave mine—they narrow in on me, and I narrow in on him. When I hear a click come from behind me, I discretely side-eye where the sound is coming from; Claude's hip, where his hand is hidden behind his jacket. The men behind the couch have the same exact stance and idea.

Don't show them any sign of weakness, Sebastian.

"¡Tranquilo!" Salvador says aloud, laughing to try to ease the situation. "Relax. Please."

Claude's hand is removed from his hip, Salvador's guards relax per his orders, and Alejandro leans back in his spot and avoids my eyes; the sight of me makes him angry, I'm sure. The same can be said on my end; my hands are shaking again.

Salvador says something to Alejandro in Spanish, and irately, Alejandro reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a couple of cards. The moment I see Leslie's name, e***l and phone number on it, I feel my face flushing red with frustration.

"Perdoname," He slips it off the table and swaps it out. "Wrong card."

Salvador interrupts Alejandro by pointing to the card and explaining that at the location on it, him and I could talk more about the business plans he has set for us. The location is somewhere I've been before several times when I was younger—Místico. It was during my early twenties when I was obsessed with scoring Latin and black women. The attraction definitely isn't gone, but it isn't an obsession like it used to be.

"If you come through the back and show the bouncer this card, he'll let you in to where we will be." Salvador claps his hands for added effect. "No problem."

"And what day do you want this to happen?"

"I will be there Sunday. I do hope you decide to come by."

There's sincerity in Salvador's eyes. I can't say the same for Alejandro. If this man has been a business partner with my father, then I'm sure he thinks that he can garner the same fate by buttering me up. Alejandro? His tactic is threating me.

An idiot would think that pulling out Leslie's business card was an "accident."

The farewell is brief. Salvador leaves first behind one of the mysterious men, and the last man follows behind. Alejandro slowly exits the room, but not before stopping and pivoting towards me.

"Some of us have started calling you a name," his hand runs over his beard, then stays below his mouth. "Not a nasty name, but I think it suits you."

He says the name effortlessly and smoothly—El Príncipe. I ask him what the name means.

"The Prince," he translates. "Because everyone treats you like royalty here; that is how you act."

He doesn't add anything else to that sentence. He just leaves, closing the door behind him to show that he still has some manners left after threatening me multiple. The Prince—the name is as pointless as Alejandro's attempt at being civil.

"I don't fucking like him." I pace the room, trying to keep from yelling, but 'trying' is fucking useless. "I hate that son of a bitch!"

"Calm down," Claude says. "He wants you to get mad."

"Jesus." I'm at my desk, seated and loosening my tie. "Well, he fucking won at that then, Goddammit! I mean, did you see how he pulled out Leslie's business card?"

"Again, just trying to get under your skin—"

"No, Claude." I eye him seriously. "There's something about him. The way he looks and the way he carries himself is just...I-I'm telling you, something's just off."

No one replies. The woman looks at Claude, and he returns the same gaze.

"What?" I ask.

"Well firstly, I think it's only appropriate for me to introduce myself." she grasps my hand with a strong grip. "I'm Mia . I've been a private investigator for Harrison Inc. for eleven years."

"I knew you looked familiar," I respond. She smiles.

"I worked under your father ever since I started here," she explains. "Besides the usual work a private investigator would do, one thing he would task me with would be finding intel on specific partners or clients or associates of his that he either used as blackmail or used just to understand who he was working with."

I look down—there's a file in her hand. Fuck.

"And I'm assuming you're here to tell me about the two gentlemen who just left?"

Claude nods. "The joys of being a man in power."

Mia side eyes Claude before placing the file gently on my wide, empty desk. No one opens it until Mia decides to. She then has me read the files twice—once to grasp the information, and a second time to understand it. But even though I grasp and understand it, I don't believe it.

I sit down and read each word carefully, now for the third time. Every syllable, every letter I focus on, I do so until it's drilled into my memory. My heart pounds harder and harder in my chest, and my ears start ringing.

"Sebastian." Claude says to me when he sees how pained I look.

I shut the file and hand it to Mia. "Burn it."

"E-excuse me?"

"Burn it. Shred it. I don't care just...destroy it."

She nods reluctantly. "Yes, Sir."

"Are you looking for work anywhere else?" I ask her, in which she shakes her head with a smile.

"Good. I just...I can really use you."

"Just say the word when you're ready."

Mia leaves my office. Claude and I are alone now, and I'm still trying to process the shit I just read.

"You alright?" he asks me. How the fuck is he so composed after obviously knowing this longer than me?

"What time is it?"

"Quarter to eight."

"I need you to go check on Leslie. She works a couple of blocks from here. Just wait by her car until she gets off work. You have a good way with words, so try and convince her that talking to this asshole isn't a good idea. But don't reveal too much. Just make some shit up, OK?"

"No problem."

"A-and if you can, follow her home and make sure she's—"

"You don't even have to ask," he tells me. "I'm on it."

"Thank you."

Sometimes it scares me, how collected my own cousin is about shit like this. Claude's a mysterious man, who keeps it that way for the sake of business and secrecy. But imagining the passive, vacant look in his eyes if he read the file himself is unsettling.

"Claude," I call out to him before he leaves. "I have a question."

He approaches my desk and waits for me to speak again. I don't know how to properly ask something like this.

"As you can tell, I'm an idiot when it comes to handling shit like this." I sigh tiredly. "My father he...he left quite a burden for me to bear that he never told me about."

"I understand that."

"My question is...you wouldn't happen to know anyone else who...someone who's...you know...into the shit you do? Or someone like Mia only a little more—"

"Just stop talking," Claude laughs. "I think I got a couple of old friends I trust who'd be interested. I'll make some calls and let you know."

"Thank you."

Then my office is empty. The phone hits the silence, and I realize I have more meetings and press I need to do before the day is officially over. But my hands grip the edge of the desk for me to stop shaking so hard. And it's here, during the constant ringing of the phone and the card Salvador left still sitting on the table, that I wonder what I got myself into; I regret signing that fucking contract my dad gave me when I was eighteen.

What the fuck am I going to do?

**