Chapter 17 Seventeen
Lena’s POV
The ramen container slips from my fingers, clattering on the lounge table with a wet thud, broth splashing onto the polished wood. I spring to my feet so fast my chair screeches backward, the sound slicing through the quiet like a scream. Color drains from my face—I can literally feel it, a cold rush leaving me pale and clammy under the harsh lounge lights. Sebastian stands in the doorway, his navy suit tailored to perfection, broad shoulders filling the frame, silver-streaked hair catching the glow. His ice-blue eyes lock on me, then flick to Avery, narrowing with that piercing intensity that makes my knees weak. Sugar daddy. The words hang in the air like a guillotine. How much did he hear? Oh God, I’m dead.
“Uhm, Mr. Lancaster,” I stammer, voice pitching high and cracked, hands fluttering like I’m swatting invisible bees. “My friend, Avery.” I gesture wildly at her, as if introducing them will erase the last thirty seconds of my life.
Avery straightens. She flashes a bright, nervous grin, chopsticks still clutched in one hand. “Nice to formally meet you, Mr. Lancaster.” She extends her free hand, nails painted black with tiny skull decals. “I mean, I know who you are—everyone does, right? Forbes cover, billionaire CEO, face of Lancaster Industries, all that jazz. But you probably don’t know me, which is totally fine; I’m just—”
Sebastian just squints, his gaze sliding over her like she’s a smudge on his polished shoe. No handshake, no nod, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. The silence is brutal, dismissive, and colder than the AC blasting overhead. Avery’s smile falters, her hand dropping like a deflated balloon, chopsticks clattering to the table.
“My office now, Miss Sawyer.” His voice is low, a command wrapped in velvet, leaving no room for argument. He turns on his heel, expecting instant obedience, his footsteps already echoing down the hall.
I scramble, grabbing the leaky ramen container—broth seeping through the cardboard, gyoza tumbling—and shoot Avery a panicked glare. “Bye,” I mouth, my heart hammering. She widens her eyes, mouthing back, “You’re fucking screwed,”with an exaggerated thumbs-down and a grimace that’s half-sympathy, half-amusement. Thanks, bestie. Really helpful. I hobble after Sebastian, flats squeaking on the marble, the takeout bag swinging like a guilty secret. The lobby blurs—suits parting like the Red Sea, a security guard smirking, and an intern whispering behind a clipboard.
The elevator ride to the executive floor is pure torture. Sebastian stands rigid, staring at the doors, jaw set like carved granite. I clutch the ramen, the spicy scent mixing with my panic-sweat, my reflection in the mirrored walls a disaster: ponytail fraying, blouse untucked, cheeks still flushed from Avery’s bombshell. No words. The silence is a living thing, pressing in. My mind races—did he hear the whole thing? Mia’s joke about Tessa? My stupid request for a “hot, loaded fifty-something”? I’m on probation. This could end me.
His office door swings open, and he strides in, the space swallowing us—dark mahogany panels, city skyline sprawling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, the faint scent of leather and his cologne, crisp and masculine. He immediately closes the window blind with a sharp tug, the slats snapping shut, plunging us into a dim, intimate cocoon. The click of the lock echoes. He faces me, arms crossed, eyes boring into mine like lasers. “What the hell were you talking about with your friend?”
I swallow hard, throat dry as the Sahara, the ramen container trembling in my grip. “I can explain. It’s not what you think—”
“You’re in search of a sugar daddy?” He steps closer, voice silk over steel, each word deliberate. “I see you’re even age-specific.”
My stomach plummets. This is so wrong. It was Mia’s dumb idea—for Tessa, a distraction to soften her wrath, not me! “ No, Mr. Lancaster, you misunderstood completely—”
“I didn’t know that you find men within my age bracket very attractive,” he says, closing the distance, his gaze smoldering, intense, stripping me bare. He’s inches away now, heat radiating off him, that cologne invading my senses, making my head spin. My back hits the edge of his desk, no escape, the wood cool against my thighs.
“I… It’s really not what you think. I don’t—” My voice cracks, barely a whisper, my hands gripping the container like a lifeline.
“Oh, yes, you do.” He plants his hands on the desk sides, caging me in without touching, his broad frame looming. He hasn’t laid a finger on me, but goosebumps erupt across my skin, trailing up my arms like a current. My breath hitches, heart pounding so loud I swear he can hear it. I’m so fucked. Trapped in his orbit, the world narrowing to his eyes, his voice, and the electric pull between us.
“Was that why you came to me the other night?” He murmurs, voice dropping to a dangerous purr, leaning in until his breath brushes my ear. “You were desperately in need of an older and very wealthy man, weren’t you?”
“Sebastian…” His name slips out, a breathy plea, the club flashing—his lips devouring mine, hands possessive, the VIP room a haze of tequila and want.
“I mean, I do tick all the boxes, don’t I?” He straightens slightly, but his eyes don’t leave mine, glinting with something dark and hungry. “But I see you’re looking elsewhere.”
I shake my head, trying to protest. “No, that’s not—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His fingers tip my chin up, gentle but firm, forcing my gaze to his. His thumb grazes my jaw, sending shivers racing down my spine. “I have a very strict rule of never mixing pleasure with work,” he whispers, lips so close I can almost taste them, “but I still find it very insulting that you’re looking elsewhere.”
“I’m not into rich sugar daddies,” I finally croak, my voice barely audible, my cheeks burning under his touch. “You misheard.”
“Oh, really?” His thumb traces lower, along my jawline, igniting sparks. “I think I perfectly heard you back there.”
“Things are not always black and white,” I retort, finding a flicker of defiance despite the heat pooling low in my belly, my body betraying me with every racing pulse.
His phone buzzes on the desk, shrill and insistent, shattering the moment. He ignores it at first, eyes locked on mine, the air crackling. It rings again, louder. He steps back, grabbing it with a frustrated growl, glancing at the screen. “We will discuss this some other time.”
I bolt, legs shaky, the ramen container nearly slipping as I yank open the door. The hallway blurs—his secretary glancing up, curious, phones ringing in the distance. I don’t stop until I’m in the elevator, door sliding shut, alone. My hands fly to my cheeks—scorching, flushed like I’ve run a marathon. Fuck! I couldn’t even think straight, words tangling in my throat under his gaze. It’s unbelievable that all this while he’s been acting like he doesn’t remember that night—cold lectures, professional distance—but all of a sudden he remembers now? The kiss, the heat, the way he carried me out. Sebastian is really something. A fire I should not touch, dangerous and consuming. But what’s more exciting about all of this is the thrill that he is forbidden. It makes me want him more.