Page 21 of His Obsession
“Valentina,” a deep voice booms.
I stop in my tracks. He’s the last person I want to see at this particular moment. Sebastian is standing near the stage riser in dark slacks and a pale gray shirt with the sleevesrolled up, talking to someone from hotel operations. He ends the conversation with a glance my way, and the other man disappears immediately.
“You’re angry,” he says as he approaches.
“I am,” I confirm.
“Whose head is going to roll tonight?”
I stare at him blankly.
“Val, what happened?” he tries again.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
The answer is automatic, a little sharper than I intended.
One of his brows lifts slightly.
“I know you can handle it,” he says. “But I can also help you.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Just a small vendor issue. It’s already taken care of, really.”
“Which vendor?”
I shouldn’t tell him. I should solve it myself because I’m a goddamn expert at my job. I don’t need a man to step in and save the day when I’m more than capable of handling it.
So naturally, what comes out of my mouth is, “The candle vendor dropped out.”
The second I say it, I wish I could bite through my own tongue.
He just says, “All right.”
He pulls out his phone, steps a few feet away, and makes one call. When he hangs up, he looks back at me.
“You’ll have replacements by ten tomorrow morning.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“I said you’ll have replacements by ten tomorrow morning.”
I fold my arms and look him up and down. “You just happened to have a backup candle vendor in your back pocket?”
“No.” He smirks but gives me nothing else.
“Fine,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Keep your secrets.”
“Make it through the gala without quitting, and maybe I’ll share the magic with you.”
In different circumstances, his help would annoy me. I came here ready to fix this on my own. Instead, Sebastian steps in, makes one call, and resolves it in under two minutes.
I’m not annoyed at all, though. Relief washes through me so hard it nearly makes me dizzy. I’ve been holding the whole event in a white-knuckled grip for so long that having a disaster resolved that quickly feels like a miracle.
Something shifts in his expression. Almost a smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” I say through gritted teeth.
Since I’m already here and my blood pressure is still elevated, I pull out the latest venue packet and start walking him through final placement adjustments. The ballroom is almost beautiful already, even in this half-built state. The base linens are on. Charger plates are set for the sample table near the stage. One side of the floral structure is in place, climbing upward in pale greens and cream tones. It takes vision to see the finished room when it still looks like labor and ladders and taped floor marks.
