Page 49 of Right Where I Want You

“You know where I went to school, how I spent my summers, and the location of my apartment?” He rolled his wrist to wrap the leash around it. “What are you, some kind ofstalker?”

“No,” I said defensively, except that one night after a bottle of wine, a futile hour on Tinder, and a particularly combative workday with Sebastian, Ihadmaybe succumbed to some stalker-like activities that went beyond what I’d needed to know for the job. “I did some research. Know thy enemy and allthat.”

“Enemy, huh?” Bruno tugged on his leash to get to a discarded takeout carton, but Sebastian pulled him forward. “What happened to getting to know your team so you could therapizeus?”

Damn. That would’ve been a much more rational explanation. “You saytherapizelike I’m trying to lure you into a dark alley and rob you blind.” I checked my hair in the reflection of a store window. “That could be what I’m doing for all you know, seeing as you have yet to schedule one-on-one time withme.”

“Aha,” he said. “I see what you’re up to now. You planned this to get me into a Georgina Keller therapysession.”

“You think I made my own dog throwup?”

“I don’t know what you’re capableof.”

Bruno stopped to poop, and Sebastian cleaned it up before I could even offer. “You’re derailing the topic,” Isaid.

He tied the plastic bag. “Whichis?”

“Me trying to reconcile your past with yourpresent.”

“I’ll tell you one thing as long as you keep it between us.” We turned a corner. “I never ‘summered’ anywhere, and my extensive cleaning knowledge is thanks to generations of Mexicanmatriarchs.”

So hewasLatino as Luciano had suggested. I’d tried digging into his heritage, but there was scant information out there about his past. The few clues I’d uncovered hadn’t pointed to anything other than a charmed life. It made me wonder exactly how much information Sebastian put out there, and how many blanks had been filled in by thepublic.

“Why do I need to keep this between us?” Iasked.

“It would be greatlyappreciated.”

“Bywho?”

“Bywhom,” was all hesaid.

I waited for him to give me a reason. When he didn’t continue, I said, “I thought you wereIrish.”

He snorted. “I have the oppositecomplexion.”

“Not everyone in Ireland has red hair and pale skin,” I pointedout.

“I’m half Mexican, halfCaucasian.”

“Oh. Considering Boston’s strong Irish population, and that your last name is Quinn, Iassumed. . .”

“Ah,” he said and gotquiet.

“So then is yourdad—”

“Look.” He nodded ahead of us. “We’rehere.”

Maybe I should’ve known this would be a touchy subject, but I wasn’t anactualtherapist. I was only pretending to be one, and an occupational one at that. I kept my eyes on him a moment longer, then looked forward. We’d reached Bryant Park in record time—or maybe talking to Sebastian had just made the walk feelshort.

“This is yourZen?”

“I come here to unwind when work gets to me,” hesaid.

“Unwind?” I asked, feigning shock. “Whatever you do at the office all day, it looks an awful lot like unwinding tome.”

He snorted. “I’m not exactly what you think,Keller.”

“You don’t know what Ithink.”