Page 77 of A Cold Hard Truth

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sebastian is Lacking

Breakfast.

“Breakfast.”

Sebastian repeated the next item on the schedule to himself as he got out of the shower and dried off. He dressed in work clothes, slim black slacks and a white button-up. Sebastian rolled up the sleeves and went to the kitchen.

Breakfast.

Breakfast.

Breakfast.

His phone sat on the counter, taunting him. The message he woke up to from Rhys burned onto the backs of his eyelids. Sebastian opened the junk drawer, rummaged around for a bottle of Motrin and dropped three pills onto his tongue, swallowing them dry. He slammed the bottle back into the drawer and slammed the drawer closed.

He could still taste the champagne from brunch yesterday on his mouth. He could still taste the reluctance of Remington’s goodbye kiss on his tongue. Sunday had been a horrible day and he wanted a do-over, but he also knew life didn’t come with things like that. There was only so much his money could afford him and a break, apparently, was not one of those things.

Breakfast, he told himself again.

Instead, he picked up his phone and called Rhys.

“Little brother,” his big brother answered, sounding tired but smug.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why her?” he asked.

“It’s not as nefarious as you think, Bastian.”

“I’m sure it’s worse.”

“Give me some credit,” Rhys purred.

“If I give you an inch, you take a mile. I gave you nothing, and you took my fucking ex-wife,” he snapped.

“Did you want her back?” Rhys asked, knowing the answer was no.

“How do you live like this? Doesn’t it get tiring? Being this manipulative and malicious?” Sebastian spat.

“Everything I do, I do for a reason.”

“And what’s the reason for sticking to the woman to whom your younger brother is paying monthly alimony?”

“Better alimony than child support,” Rhys said with a huff. “You should count your blessings. Speaking of, now that you’re sleeping with a man, at least that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.”

“How did you know about that?” He sighed, sitting down at the counter.

“Jace Dare has a vibrant social media account,” Rhys said. “Speaking ofthat, should you see someone about your drinking? Do I need to be worried about you? Stage an intervention?”

“Fuck off.”

Rhys chuckled. “That’s neither here nor there. Did you do what I asked you to do?”

Sebastian traced a gold vein through the marble of his kitchen counter until the trail fell off the edge. “It’s first thing on a Monday. No, I haven’t rung my attorney yet.”