Page 4 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

He’s carrying the biggest bouquet of white lilies I’ve ever seen.

Dominic will lose his shit when he sees them.

Are they for me? I hate to admit it, but if he hands them off to someone else, I’ll be devastated.

Jealous is the word that springs to mind, but I push it away.

I can’t be jealous because of Seb. He’s my friend .

I have no claim on him, and I wouldn’t want to have one. Would I ?

“Lefroy.” His voice is deep, and it causes a tremor somewhere behind my breastbone that I refuse to acknowledge.

I want to be annoyed that he’s not treating my work with the respect it deserves by showing up right before I’m about to go on, but the sight of his gorgeous face and that one-sided dimple, which only deepens as he takes me in, has my lips twitching to break into a smile.

I can’t even pretend to be annoyed that he’s here.

Standing to greet him with these bizarre shoes on, I’m nearly as tall as he is.

I affect a scowl and muster up an angry tone as I say, “I’m working. You shouldn’t be here.”

Pat on the back for Erica. That sounded almost convincing.

He gives me a quick once over as though he’s trying to work out if I’m serious. He must decide I’m not because he smirks and says, “Couldn’t stay away.”

That damn smirk will be my undoing, and my false anger melts away under its glow.

It’s just Seb . Flirting and teasing me as he always does.

He does it to everyone, but somehow, when he does it to me, it makes me feel like I’m truly desirable, and not just in a model-perfectly-photo-shopped and highly made-up kind of way.

In a real way. He’s good at convincing me that he would like me even if I didn’t look like Erica Lefroy , top model.

And no one else ever makes me feel like that. I love him for it.

“Must you flirt with everyone though?” I ask.

His head quirks and he jerks his thumb back towards the door. “That wasn’t flirting. That was just being friendly. You should try it sometime.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“Get that man out of here.”

Oh, crap. Dominic’s yell cuts across me, and Seb turns to the voice, eyebrows rising as the designer barrels towards us from the other side of the room.

Dominic is shorter than both of us and something about the way he’s approaching Seb—face contorted with rage and hands fisted at his sides—strikes me as hilarious. I snort.

“Erica,” Dominic shrieks, his face turning puce.

“Get away from the lilies. Who brings lilies to a fashion show?” He waves me away from Seb with both hands, and I step back.

Dominic focuses on Seb. “You didn’t take the stamens off.

That pollen will stain anything it touches.

Get them away! Get them away, you beastly man. ”

Seb doesn’t move. “Did I fuck up here?”

“No, you’re fine. Dominic’s just having a fit.

We always get at least one before a show,” I reassure him, then notice Marni nearby, wide-eyed attention fixed on Seb like she’s never seen a man before.

I nod my head in her direction. “Give them to my assistant. She already thinks you’re the hottest man she’s ever seen. It’ll make her day.”

Seb frowns. “But they’re for you.”

“Please.”

He gives me an indulgent smile, half rolling his eyes.

“Anything for you, Lefroy.” Without hesitation, he beams at Marni, who gazes at him like a chocolate rabbit melting in his headlights.

“Anyone who has to put up with Lefroy all day…” He side-eyes me before whispering in her ear.

A red flush works its way up her cheeks, and when he pulls back, she looks buoyant enough to float away.

She takes the bouquet from Seb. “I’ll put them in water,” she mutters at the floor, as if his face is down on the ground rather than a foot over her head. She takes a few steps backwards, and Seb turns to me, a bemused look on his face as he dusts his hands off.

“That went well, I think,” he reports. “Next time, I’ll bring you roses.”

“Away from the clothes,” Dominic yells as he reaches us, looking near apoplectic, and Marni performs an odd curtsy before she rushes away.

“Love the vibe back here,” Seb jokes, but his attention snags on my cheek, and his eyes take on a darker hue.

Before I can stop him, he grazes it with his thumb, but he might as well have struck a match on my face because something I’ve struggled to keep in check for years sears right beneath my skin.

“Sorry. Pollen,” he explains and then leans in to kiss the spot he wiped, his lips skimming the makeup that Dominic didn’t dare touch earlier.

It’s a formal cheek kiss; there’s nothing sensuous about it, but his lips are so soft, the kiss so gentle, that my breath catches in my throat.

I stiffen, which is the opposite of what I want to do.

I want to let out a satisfied sigh and melt into him.

Wait. What?

The rough graze of his stubble scrapes my face as he moves away, trailing his familiar cologne. It’s masculine and rich, a mingling of spice and wood, underpinned by something that’s uniquely Seb… catching his scent this close feels intimate, and the thought stokes the fire in me. Ugh .

What is going on ? I am losing my mind here.

It must be the pressure of the show, and knowing I’m going to disappoint Dominic when I finally gather the courage to tell him I’m quitting.

Nothing to do with Seb. He’s been my friend for years, so whatever is happening inside me, I push it right out of awareness.

I cannot start sweating. My makeup will melt. I’ll be all shiny for the cameras.

“Don’t touch her,” Dominic screeches, sinking to his knees and tweaking the underside of my skirt.

Seb’s gaze follows the motion, and his eyes widen with his smile. “Another man falls to his knees for Lefroy,” he declares like he’s commenting on a football match.

I laugh. “But never you.”

Seb raises a brow. “Do you want that?”

He moves as if he’s actually going to kneel on the floor beside Dominic, and I can’t help but giggle.

He’s always making stupid jokes. Dominic reappears, fast as lightning, scowling up at Seb.

“Stop it. Every time you show up, it knocks her off her game. If you get on your knees, I’ll have to deal with unparalleled levels of distraction. You should stay home.”

Thanks, Dominic.

Seb straightens, blue eyes sparkling at me. “Is that so?”

“No, it’s not so,” I say, popping a hip.

Dominic huffs. “Don’t touch her. I mean it.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Seb replies.

“Good. Keep your hands off. You can touch her after the show. If you must. And only if she says you can.”

“She says no,” I cut in, but I’m grinning. Seb always brings out the tease in me. “Keep your handsy hands to yourself.”

Seb knocks his shoulder against mine. “Such a party pooper, Lefroy,” he mutters so quietly that I think I’m the only one who hears it.

But then he steps back, appearing to forget about everything else as his gaze does a full sweep of my body.

“Your legs are as long as the Nile with those shoes on,” he says, voice all amazement.

“Is that a compliment?”

“Absolutely.” He shakes his head while looking at my feet. “Killer shoes. How the hell do you walk in those?”

Before I can reply, Dominic is standing and shunting Seb away. “Unless you’re buying my whole collection, you need to fuck off. We’re about to start.”

Seb slides his hands in his pockets, looking breathtakingly casual as he says, “How much is it?”

Dominic pulls his chin in. “How much is what?”

“The whole collection,” Seb deadpans.

I can almost see the dollar signs appearing in Dominic’s eyes as his jaw slackens. We all know Seb could buy it ten times over.

“He’s not going to buy the whole collection,” I say, interrupting Seb’s peacocking.

“Why not?” Seb says, nodding at my feet. “Then you won’t have to walk in those death traps and we can go out for dinner instead.”

Dominic tips up on his toes, fingers steepled. “Perhaps we could come to some arrangement after the show, Mr Hawkston.” His voice has turned oily. “It would be an honour to sell—”

“He’s not buying it,” I repeat, and Dominic’s shoulders sink. “Go on,” I say to Seb, shooing him with one hand. “If you don’t leave, you won’t get back to your seat in time to watch.”

“And I really do want to watch,” he purrs suggestively. I roll my eyes at him, but even though I know it’s all a joke, my heart beats oddly in my chest. Too fast. “Break a leg. I’ll be in the front row,” he adds, his tone much more platonic. He winks and saunters back the way he came.

When he’s gone, the final minutes pass in a whirlwind of activity as we gather and line up, ready to process down the runway. Dominic kneels at my feet, fiddling with my shoe. He taps my ankle to get my attention.

“Watch this,” he says, warning me about the fragile strap on the shoe. Maybe if he hadn’t designed something so crazy, I wouldn’t have to watch it. I grit my teeth and take a preparatory breath as Dominic stands and clasps my shoulder, tipping his head towards the curtain. “Go be perfect.”

Be perfect. Always.

I am so fucking tired of being perfect.