Page 98 of Hate To Be Mine

The quotation marks around “modeling” felt like a slap. Like he was mocking me. Dismissing something that had actually been beautiful as something embarrassing and shameful. He made it sound like I was being frivolous and selfish.

This is beyond unprofessional. It’s embarrassing. You’re making yourself look like a stupid little girl playing dress-up, and by extension, you’re making the company look incompetent. How are we supposed to maintain objectivity when our representative is prancing around in skimpy dresses?

I scrunched up my nose. The dress was definitely not skimpy. As if I would ever wear anything skimpy. I was Buzzkill Bernadette. Boring suits and flat shoes for the lame insurance rep.

This is a clear conflict of interest. You’ve compromised the entire policy. I can’t believe you would sell me out for some pretty boy who’s probably too dumb to tie his own shoes. You’ve always been naive, but this is a new low.

Of course he had to include a threat about pulling me from the project, firing me, and then disowning me. And of course, he threatened to cancel the policy and keep the premium.

Same old shit.

Every insecurity I ever had about working for him was in that stupid, brief email. Every doubt about whether I’d earned my position or just inherited it and the constant fear I wasn’t good enough had been confirmed in one brutal email.

The empty bungalow felt suddenly suffocating. Annika had gone out, giving me space to wallow, and now I was alone with my father’s words echoing in my head.

My entire life was crashing down around me. My job. My relationship with my father. My credibility. Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d sacrificed was all imploding because I’d let myself feel something for Sebastian Blackwell.

I wanted to call my father and defend myself. I wanted to try and explain and make him understand. But I couldn’t. Not right now. Because if I heard his voice saying these things out loud, I’d cry. And I promised myself years ago that I’d never cry in front of him again. He would take advantage of my show of weakness. He hated when I looked even a little weak. I remembered one time he called me pitiful. I couldn’t explain it, but that word had stuck with me.

I didn’t want to be weak or pitiful.

Instead of calling, I typed out a reply to his shitty email.

Dad,

I have a question. Why have you been so determined to void this policy? If it was such a bad deal, such a risk, why did you agree to insure them in the first place?

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

Hiding under the blanket wasn’t going to save me from the fallout. But sugar might. I threw off the blanket and walked into the living room. I jumped and screamed when I saw Annika sitting on the couch, headphones on as she read a book.

She took off the headphones. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Because you were hiding. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

A knock on the door made me jump and yelp a second time in less than a minute. My poor heart couldn’t take all this stress.

“Bernadette?” It was Sebastian’s voice. “Are you in there? Are you okay?”

Annika looked at me. “Are you going to answer it?”

I looked down at my rumpled pajamas. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, trust me, honey, he does not care what you look like.”

“Bernadette?” He knocked again. “Please.”

The raw note in his voice broke through my indecision. I opened the door and felt my heart skip a beat.

Damn. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept. His hair was messy. There was thick stubble along his jaw and his eyes were bloodshot. He was still gorgeous as hell, but wow. Maybe he had spent the night in jail.

Behind me, I heard Annika get up. She walked to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and smiled. “I’m going to check on wardrobe,” she said. “Take your time. Just tell me everything later!”

She practically ran down the path.

“Can I come in?” Sebastian asked.