Текст книги "The Billionaire Takes a Bride"
Автор книги: Jessica Clare
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-four
Something banged loudly, startling Sebastian awake.
He lifted his head, peering around. The Notebook’s DVD menu was looping on the TV. He was sprawled facedown on the couch, and he’d left a puddle of drool on the designer leather. The bottle of whisky was on the coffee table, only a sip left.
He grabbed it and drank the rest of it down anyhow. Fuck it.
The banging returned, and Sebastian sat up. Someone was banging at the front door.
Chelsea?
Staggering, Sebastian wobbled toward the door. Sunlight was flooding in from the windows, and his head throbbed. His mouth felt like he’d been licking garbage all night. He made it to the front door and pressed his hands against the heavy wood, then gazed out the peephole.
Rufus stood on the stoop, a disapproving look on his big, heavy features.
Fuck. Not Chelsea. He opened the door a crack and winced at the sunlight, his eyes mere slits. “She’s not here anymore. I’ll have my lawyer cut you a final check. Thanks for your services.”
The man’s heavy brows raised. “She left you?”
A bitter smile curved over Sebastian’s mouth. “Guess so, huh? Lucky fucking me.”
Rufus just tilted his head. “This have something to do with her meeting your mother yesterday?”
Sebastian stilled. The taste of vomit filled his mouth, and he had to fight down bile. “She . . . what?” The words were gritted out of his throat.
“She met your mother at a restaurant. Your mother was incognito. Hat and sunglasses. No camera. They talked for . . .” He paused and flipped through a tiny notebook. “Seven minutes. Then Chelsea left and came home. She didn’t seem happy.”
His damn mother. He was going to wring Mama Precious’s plastic-surgery-sculpted neck. God damn her for interfering. Of course it had something to do with her. He’d been so stupid to not see it early. “I take it back,” Sebastian said thickly. “You’re still on the payroll. Consider yourself on vacation until I call you again.”
Rufus nodded. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Muzzle my mother so she never says another word? “I’m good.”
He wasn’t really. Nothing in Sebastian’s life qualified as “good” at the moment.
But he was going to fucking fix it, so help him. And he was going to start with his interfering mother.
* * *
By the time Sebastian had showered and dressed, his hangover was mostly gone. He didn’t bother to wait for his driver to arrive, but instead took a taxi to his mother’s building. The anger he’d been sitting on was slowly building, until Sebastian felt as if he’d erupt the moment he saw her.
If she’d hurt Chelsea somehow, he didn’t know how he was going to act. He tolerated his mother’s strangeness because she was family and he loved his father and his siblings. But the more entrenched his mother became in her show, the less he liked her.
This could break their relationship entirely. He didn’t care that his ancient father still adored his much-younger and fame-obsessed wife. If his mother had caused him to lose Chelsea for good, he was going to lose his shit. He really, really was.
Sebastian slammed into his mother’s penthouse, not bothering to knock. He ignored the “FILMING—QUIET!” sign on the door and stormed in. “Mother? We need to talk. Now.”
His mother looked up from getting her nails done. Her friend Betty was seated next to her, and a manicurist sat between them, a case of nail polish bottles in front of her. Cameras filmed them as they sat on the sofas, no doubt dishing gossip about someone who had pissed them off lately.
And it had better not be Chelsea, or he was going to be guilty of suing his own mother.
Mrs. Cabral pulled her hand away from the manicurist and blew on them. “Nugget, we’re filming. This is going to have to wait—”
“It’s not going to wait. I need to know what the fuck you said to my wife.” His nostrils flared with anger, and it took everything Sebastian had not to launch himself at her and shake the truth out of her.
She paled. Looking away, she waved her hands at the cameras. “Stop filming. Stop. Let me up.” She detangled herself from the deep sofa and both Betty and the nail lady moved out of her way. Mrs. Cabral stood, straightened her white pantsuit, and then headed out of the living room area and waved for Sebastian to follow her. Still seething with rage, he did so.
Instead of heading for the kitchen, she headed into his father’s study and shut the doors behind them. “Listen, Nugget, I know you’re mad—”
“You cannot even begin to know how mad I am,” he said, voice hoarse. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What the hell did you say to my wife?”
She gave him a cool look. “Did she not tell you? She’s not good for you, darling. Between encouraging your doodling and then this newest, I really don’t think—”
“I don’t give a shit what you think, Mother. I love her. I love her and I want her in my life. Now tell me what you’ve done before I lose my mind.”
“So she’s gone?”
“Left yesterday. Refused to tell me why. Says we’re done. I know you’re responsible. Now spit it out.”
“She’s not right for you, Nugget—”
He remained calm, even though he wanted to utterly lose his mind. “So help me, Mother, if you do not spit it out right now—”
“She has a sex tape,” his mother hissed. “An incredibly vulgar, awful sex tape.”
That . . . wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “What are you talking about?”
“Your precious, sweet little bride had sex with some man on camera. She allowed him to do all kinds of nasty . . . things to her.” Her mouth pursed distastefully around the words. “Someone sent the footage to me to blackmail the Cabral family. They were going to release it unless I paid them an enormous amount of money. I took care of the situation and suggested she get out of your life so there’s no reason to blackmail.” She blew on her nails. “I see now that she’s a sensible girl after all. I—”
“Mother. Stop. Talking.” Sebastian had to walk away, or he was going to be sick. He paced around the room, his mind in utter agony.
It wasn’t a sex tape. He knew that. Someone had filmed her rape and was now trying to blackmail his family over it. It was utterly sickening. He wanted to vomit at the thought of that tape being out there, and someone threatening to release it.
And then he wanted to put his fist through a fucking wall. Someone had violated his Chelsea and taped it? And they were walking around free?
It’s not that I can’t tell you about it. It’s that I won’t.
He’d tried to make her talk about the worst moment in her life, and she’d been hurting too much to do so. And then he’d turned it around and made it about him. He’d been hurt that she wouldn’t share. Of course she wouldn’t fucking share. It was a damn nightmare.
He grabbed the sculpted centerpiece from the dining table and flung it against the wall. It shattered with a crash, raining glass down.
“Nugget! What on earth—”
“Damn it,” Sebastian seethed. “Do you know what you’ve done, Mother?” He pictured Chelsea, and her blank, shattered expression from the other day. He couldn’t imagine the agony she was going through.
She’d left because she’d wanted to protect him. The irony made him sick. Chelsea was the one needing protecting, and he’d brought her into a family that was determined to destroy her.
“I’ve been trying to save this family, that’s what I’ve done.” Her tone was defensive. “Whatever you may think of my actions—”
“That is a video of a crime,” Sebastian bit out. “Chelsea was drugged and raped three years ago and left in the garbage. She still has nightmares. And you fucking flung it in her face.”
Mrs. Cabral sucked in a breath. “What?”
He told her an abbreviated version of Chelsea’s story. Of her nightmares and inability to sleep with the lights off. He didn’t want to tell her, but the dawning horror on his mother’s face felt too good to not rub it in a bit more.
She sat down weakly in one of the chairs, staring at the table. “Oh, Sebastian. I didn’t know. I just assumed . . .”
“Did you watch the video?”
“Not much of it. It was vulgar.”
“Did she look like she was voluntarily participating?”
Mrs. Cabral pressed a hand to her mouth.
That was enough of an answer for him. “I cannot believe you didn’t come to me with this, Mother.”
“How was I supposed to know? He blackmailed us. Imagine what would happen if it got out.” She shook her head slowly. “I said such unkind things to her. Oh, I’ve messed up, Sebastian. I don’t hate her, you know. It’s just a story line for the show. I’m supposed to start liking her next season—”
“Find a new fucking story line, Mother. Ditch the cancer story line, ditch the hating-your-son’s-new-wife story line. Ditch it all. Better yet, stop living your life through your television show, all right? Be there for Father. How much longer do you think he’s going to be around?”
“That’s not fair.”
“What, using the truth? I realize you’re not too familiar with it, but life isn’t scripted, Mother. You can’t do something like this and expect there to be no consequences.” He shook his head, wishing there was something else nearby he could throw. A chair, maybe. “Chelsea is the most beautiful person I know, inside and out, and you’ve got no idea of the harm you’ve done.”
She pulled a jeweled box of Kleenex close to her and began to dab at her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I only wanted what was best for you.”
Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. It’d do no good to keep railing at his mother. He needed to figure this out and get things moving. Start making headway to getting Chelsea back. First off, though, he needed that damn video. “Do you still have the file?”
Mrs. Cabral clutched her pearls. “Are you going to watch it?”
“Fuck, no.” The thought made him ill. “I’m going to take it to the police. I want that sick fuck arrested.” His fists clenched, over and over again. He imagined the asshole in front of him, and pictured punching his smug, grinning face.
His poor Chelsea. God, how utterly betrayed and violated she must feel at the moment. He had to fix this for her. Even if she never wanted to see him again, he had to make this right for her. It was his fault she’d gotten mixed up with his family in the first place. If she hadn’t, would the tape have ever surfaced? Her pain could stay buried and she could have gone on with her happy life, skating with her friends and making her soaps. Participating in Gretchen’s wedding.
He didn’t deserve to have her.
“Going to the police—that’s good, Sebastian,” his mother said encouragingly. “They’ll know what to do. But once this man knows the information is out there, won’t they come after us?”
“I don’t know, and don’t care.”
“Whatever you think of me, your father doesn’t deserve to have his family smeared through the mud.”
Sebastian ground his teeth. She was good at aiming where you were weak, his mother. “What do you propose?”
“You’ll have to keep quiet about the video until the police have captured this man. I’ll come up with something else that will distract the tabloids.”
“Like what?”
She gave him a sly look. “I’ll enlist Lisa. She wants to be famous and doesn’t care how. You leave it to me. We’ll have a new story for the tabloids and one that will scare your blackmailer into silence for a little while.”
He nodded. “You do what you need to do. I’ll go to Austin and get Chelsea and let her know—”
His mother put a hand on his arm. “Wait, you can’t do that.”
“What do you mean?” Knowing Chelsea was in pain and hurting? It gnawed at him like a wound. He had to let her know he didn’t care about the tape. That he loved her and still wanted her, and that his mother had been wrong. That she could come back.
That he could hopefully fix this for her, even if only a little.
“You can’t contact her. Whoever’s blackmailing us is clearly following the family’s footsteps. If you go hauling off after her, they’ll know something’s up. If we say we’re going to the police, you might never catch them. The best thing you can do is go about as if things are normal.”
“But Chelsea—”
“Is in Austin, like you said. And I haven’t received any updates from the blackmailer, which means that they’re watching you and not her.” She gave a small shake of her head. “You’re going to have to act as if nothing is going on.”
Every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought. He wanted to protect Chelsea, to keep her from further harm. To enfold her in his arms and let her know everything was going to be all right. That he’d never let her get hurt again. To leave her in Austin, in pain and hurting . . . it went against everything he was. “She deserves to know.”
Mrs. Cabral waved a hand. “Then tell her. Go run to Austin and tip off the blackmailer, and kiss good-bye any chance you’ll ever have of getting her justice. You think this person is going to sit around and wait for the police to come get them if they find out you went to the authorities?”
She was right, he realized with a sinking heart.
To get justice for Chelsea, he was going to have to let her continue to believe the worst.
Chapter Twenty-five
Ten Days Later
“I love you, girl, but if you bring that sad face to my bout tonight, I’m gonna give you a flying-elbow from the track-side,” Pisa commented as she ran around her apartment, getting her derby gear together. She lifted one of her elbow pads and sniffed it. “Does this smell like B.O. to you?”
“If you have to ask, then, yes, it does,” Chelsea said. “And I’m fine. Really.” Sure, she was on her fourth bag of chocolate-covered pretzels today, but fuck it. So what if she’d gained five pounds in the last week by eating ice cream and chocolate by the bucket? It didn’t matter.
Stuffing her face beat crying all the time, at any rate.
“Well, this is my first game on the banked track, so don’t bring me down, okay?” Pisa squirted her pads with Febreze, sniffed them, and then squirted again. One of the Austin banked-track derby teams had a bad run with players and pregnancies, and Pisa had ended up an alternate. Tonight, she was going to play.
She deserved it after dealing with Chelsea’s shit all week. She knew she’d been a terrible guest to have around. After showing up on Pisa’s doorstep and sobbing for three days, she’d finally started to crawl out of her shell and start thinking about a new life in Austin. She could start her soap business over. Join derby down here. Begin again.
The thought made her want to vomit.
It wasn’t just that she was going to miss the Rag Queens and Gretchen and New York. It wasn’t just that she ached for Sebastian with every fiber of her being.
Somewhere in the last month, both she and Pisa had moved on, and it was weird.
Pisa had a boyfriend now, an Austin hipster who was into derby and had a long, thick beard and wore plaid shirts. His name was Drew and he was nice, and Pisa seemed happy. Actually, she seemed happier in Austin than she had in a long, long time. It wasn’t just the change of derby (from flat track to banked track) and the boyfriend. She loved her new job and her new city.
And Chelsea hated all of it, because she just wanted to be home with Sebastian. It had been so much easier to be miserable and lonely when they’d both been miserable and lonely.
And that made her a bad friend.
Chelsea stuffed another chocolate-covered pretzel into her mouth and thought about Sebastian. She blinked rapidly, determined not to cry again. Her eyes felt permanently puffy and hot thanks to all the weeping she’d been doing. He probably felt so betrayed. Was he sketching out his emotions? Or was he keeping them all bottled up inside, utterly furious with her?
Worse yet, was he seeking comfort with Lisa? She knew that Lisa would be all too ready to jump into Sebastian’s bed. The thought made her shove another pretzel into her mouth.
It all just hurt so much. She could have dealt with it, she figured, if she had Sebastian to pet her and hold her and make her feel better about the video. But losing Sebastian when she needed him the most?
That made her feel hopeless and hollow.
She knew it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t shaming herself. It was just . . . a difficult burden to shoulder all alone. And Pisa tried to help, she really did, but when Chelsea was reeling from both the loss of the man she loved and the discovery of the video? It was hard not to just shut down entirely. To surround herself with comfort foods, wear sweatpants, and not leave the sofa for months.
But Pisa was excited about tonight’s bout. And Chelsea had to admit that however mopey and miserable she was, she wanted to support her friend. She’d been there for Chelsea, and it would mean a lot to her if Chelsea went to her bout.
So she’d promised to go.
“What time do you need to head out for the bout?” Chelsea asked, forcing herself to get up off the couch.
Pisa raced past her, no doubt looking for more scattered gear. “Drew’s picking us up in a half hour and we’re going to eat something, then I need to head in for warm-ups. You coming or are you going to stay here?”
“How could I possibly miss seeing your first banked-track bout?”
Pisa gave a happy squeal and flew into Chelsea’s arms, hugging her. “You are the best friend!”
Chelsea hugged her back, wishing she could feel quite as happy.
She’d get past this. She would. She’d been through hell before and come out the other side. She could do it again.
* * *
Chelsea and Drew picked seats in the stands that would give them a great view of the track. The stadium here was very different than the one Chelsea was used to skating in. It had more of an eclectic warehouse sort of vibe, and the crowd was rowdier than up in NYC. On the track, two girls mock-pillow-fought on skates, and loud music blared overhead. It was fun, but it wasn’t home, and she was hit with a pang of regret for having to leave New York. She wondered how the Rag Queens were faring at practice, and who’d be skating in her spot in the next bout. With a small, unhappy sigh, she sipped her soda.
“You want a beer?” Drew asked. “I’m going to go grab one.”
“No, thank you.” She held her takeout cup up. “I’m good.”
“Be right back,” he said, and headed down to concessions. As he did, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. She saw Sebastian’s name and sent it straight to voice mail, her heart doing an unhappy little flip.
He’d been calling her constantly over the last ten days, and she’d refused to answer. It was too hard. Hearing his voice would destroy her. So she was a coward and avoided him. So what? She was trying to close that part out of her mind and move forward. She couldn’t move forward if she was constantly weeping over Sebastian and the ruin her life had become, and how she’d lost the man she loved.
So she ignored, because it hurt less.
She suspected he was texting her, too. That’s what she would have done. Of course, she’d anticipated this and adjusted the settings on her phone to where it wouldn’t show her incoming texts. She ignored all of them until she was ready to look.
She might never be ready. The feelings of loss and the ache of being without Sebastian hadn’t subsided one bit in the last ten days.
A stranger sat down nearby and gave her an appraising look. Ugh. She gave him a polite smile and then pretended to look something up on her phone, wishing Drew were back already. The weather app could only be stared at for so long, so she switched over to a news website.
And sucked in a breath.
Cabrals Under Siege: The Video That Rocked a Family.
Her skin prickled with dread. Oh, no. No, no no. Her stomach churned sickeningly, and she stared at the headline. Please, no. Wasn’t this why she’d left? To protect Sebastian from her awful past? She didn’t want to look, but she had to. She clicked on the article and skimmed it, wanting to puke.
In a statement exclusively to Media Weekly, Lisa Pinder-Schloss, of the reality television show The Cabral Empire, has revealed that an ex-boyfriend of hers has a sex tape of the two of them and is threatening to auction it to the highest bidder. The video was allegedly made several years ago when Pinder-Schloss was in a relationship with freestyle motocross star Dirk Zayven.
Pinder-Schloss made a statement via her lawyer. “This tape was made for a private moment between a man and a woman in a relationship. Now that the relationship is over, it does not mean that what was once private should now be put on display, and it is utterly sickening that someone would try to turn around and make it public. My lawyers intend to pursue this to the fullest extent possible. We will fight the release of this. It will not be allowed.”
Pinder-Schloss is currently dating Dolph Cabral, and will be featured heavily in this upcoming season of The Cabral Empire.
The article went on about female celebrities and their lack of privacy online, but Chelsea’s vision blurred. She exhaled slowly.
There was . . . another video? Of Lisa? And it was coming out now? This made no sense. Her heart ached for Lisa. To go through the same hell as Chelsea, but to be a more public figure, had to be rough. She wished she could reach out to her, to let her know that someone else understood what she was going through. But would a call from her even be welcomed? She doubted it.
A male body scooted next to her on the bench, and Chelsea stiffened. Right now was not the time to hit on her. “Seat’s taken,” she said, deliberately not looking up from her phone.
“That’s a shame,” a familiar voice said, barely audible as the crowd started to roar. Chelsea looked up into Sebastian’s face just as the announcer came on, his voice blasting over the speakers as he welcomed everyone to the bout that night. Stunned, she gazed up at him. He was . . . here?
Next to her?
Sebastian smiled, the edges of his beautiful mouth curling up, eyes crinkling, and she was lost in the masculine beauty of his face. He said something else, but it was lost in the noise of the crowd. And oh, she suddenly hated them. Why couldn’t the world be silent when she needed it to be?
The roar grew louder, and she shook her head and touched her ear, indicating she’d missed what he’d said.
Sebastian leaned in and yelled, “Want to go talk somewhere?”
She wanted to fling herself in his arms and bury her face against his neck. But the music changed, and Pisa’s new team skated out, just as Drew sat down on the other side of her. Oh, should she stay or should she go? Would Pisa understand? Or would she even know that Sebastian was next to Chelsea? She hesitated, torn, and then lifted a finger to Sebastian, indicating they should wait, and then pointed at the track. “I have to stay to cheer her on,” she yelled back.
“I’ll wait for you,” he shouted just as the announcer began the roll call of names.
She nodded and forced herself to stare at the track. She knew Pisa would be looking for her and Drew in the audience. And even though the lighting would probably make it impossible for Pisa to see them, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t bail on her friend, the person who always picked her up when she was down. So she waited, and clapped and whistled for each player that was introduced, and all the while her thoughts were in a jumble. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sebastian texting someone on his phone, and a stab of jealousy shot through her.
Was he texting Lisa? Had he come here to tell Chelsea it was over? Why did that hurt so much?
She closed her eyes against the pain. God, why had he come here to tell her in person? He should have just texted her . . . Then again, maybe he had. Damn it, she should have answered them. Then she wouldn’t be sitting here, in agony, waiting for the worst to be flung down on her. For him to twist the knife. This wasn’t going to help her get over him. Not in the slightest.
A hand touched her arm.
Chelsea opened her eyes and saw Sebastian holding his phone out to her. She read the message he’d typed in.
Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been able to look at your beautiful face? I don’t know if you’ve been counting, but it’s been eleven of the longest days of my life. 264 of the most gut-wrenchingly awful hours, and 15,840 of the slowest minutes ever. Not a single one of those minutes passed in which I didn’t think of you. Over and over again.
Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up at the top of the screen to see who he was texting it to.
Safety Date Chelsea.
Oh.
Her vision blurred with tears. The music changed and a new team started to come out on the track, but Chelsea stared at that phone, at the beautiful message there . . . and began to type one back. Still using his phone, she entered in her response.
You shouldn’t be here. We’re done. Our marriage just can’t be, okay?
It hurt her on every level to have to type in the short, hateful words. He’d come after her, and she had to push him away again. She handed the phone back to him, loathing herself for it.
Sebastian didn’t get up and leave, though. He started to type again. A curious sort of anxiety built in her stomach, to where she couldn’t even watch the bout as it began. It was noisy, but not so loud that they couldn’t talk anymore. And yet, she was silent, just watching him type into his phone. Eventually, he handed it back to her and waited.
You really should learn to answer your phone, Elsie.
Elsie? Was that one of his horrible nicknames? A giggle rose in her throat, and she couldn’t resist texting back her own snappy answer.
Maybe I didn’t want to talk, Basty.
He typed, then gave it back.
It could be worse, I suppose. You could have called me Nugget.
A horrible giggle escaped her throat.
She returned: I would never.
He sent back: And that’s why I love you.
When he handed the phone back with that, she started to cry again. Damn it, she’d told herself she wasn’t going to weep and blubber like a baby over a man. She was strong and independent. She was Chesty LaRude, badass derby diva. A survivor.
But right now? She would have given anything to be a snuggler instead of a survivor. To let Sebastian envelop her in his arms and let her know everything was handled. That it was cool. That she was safe, and she was his, and he loved her, and nothing would ever separate them again.
But that was a dream, of course. Reality had shit all over that.
Upset, Chelsea stood up and handed the phone back to him. She had to get away. Fumbling, she pushed her way through the crowd and exited the stands. She knew he was following her, but she didn’t care. She’d retreat to a bathroom, or to a locker room—somewhere, anywhere—that she could get away from him.
This event was packed and she wasn’t familiar with the venue. She looked around in vain for a bathroom, and then just ran out the front of the building. At least there she’d have fresh air to clear her head. Chelsea ran, wishing she had her skates on. Life was so easy to escape when you had your skates on . . .
Was that what she was doing? Escaping? The thought made her reel, and it hurt.
Was she being a coward after all?
Outside, the night air was crisp and slightly cooler than inside the venue, and she sucked in lungfuls of air, relieved. Her head ached. Her heart, too. The sound was muffled, at least, and for that, she was thankful.
“Chelsea?” Sebastian called behind her. “Are you okay?”
“I just need a moment,” she said, not looking back at him.
“Is it me? Am I frightening you?” The remorse in his voice made her heart ache. “You know that’s the last thing in the world I’d ever want.”
She turned around for that, because he deserved to know that she wasn’t afraid. “I’m not scared of you, Sebastian. It’s just that . . . this is hard.” A huge knot formed in her throat.
“Then let me make it easier for you.” He strode toward her, and god, he was so beautiful, all dusky skin and dark, curly hair and those piercing green eyes. He was dressed in a pale khaki sport-shirt that brought out the warmth in his skin and the perfection of his jaw, and jeans. This was probably Sebastian’s version of dressing down, and a miserable half-giggle escaped her.
“You being here makes it hard, Sebastian.”
“Is it because you don’t want me here?” He came to her side and lifted his hand, as if he wanted to touch her cheek, to caress her jaw. Instead, he just brushed a few curls of her wind-blown hair back.
“It’s too hard,” she whispered again. “It makes me want things I can’t have.”
His thumb brushed over her lips then, and he cupped her jaw, tilting her head up so she’d meet his gaze. “Then let me tell you why you’re wrong, love.” He leaned in and gently brushed his mouth over hers. “I love you. I don’t want you to leave me.”
Protests sprang to her throat, that he couldn’t be here, that she was protecting him, that—
“—and I know all about the video,” he added, interrupting her jumbled thoughts.
She stiffened, gaze flying up to his in shock. “What? You do?”
He nodded, pulling her against him even when she pushed against his chest. “Let me explain before you freak out, all right?” She reluctantly nodded, and he continued. “Rufus showed up to check in on you after you left, and mentioned you’d met with my mother. I figured out she’d said something, and stormed over there to give her a piece of my mind.”
Chelsea bit her lip. Boy, she hadn’t covered her tracks well, had she? She’d been in such a daze, so utterly fogged with misery and unhappiness that she hadn’t been thinking clearly. She should have said something to Rufus. He’d been nothing but kind and she’d completely forgotten about him.
“My mother told me about the video. She thought it was voluntary. When I told her it was a crime, she was apologetic.” He made a face. “She fucked up bad, and she knows it.”
Chelsea shook her head and patted his chest. “She’s trying to protect you. Like I am.”
“Do you think I care about that video? The only thing I care about is that someone’s using it to hurt you.”
“I’m not the target, Sebastian. You are. You—”
“I know. And that’s why I’m here to tell you that I gave the video to the police.”
Stunned, she jerked away from him. “But—the blackmailer—”
“Is in custody. Remember you said you had a case that got mishandled and never went anywhere? I convinced the police it was worth looking at again.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Talked to the police chief, made a few generous donations, and, well . . . Seems that asshole was rather proud of himself. They were able to identify him in the video because he had a prison record.” His voice softened. “He’s not going to be able to hurt anyone again. The best lawyers money can buy are going to make sure of that.”
