A Waltz With Wolves (Book II in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Into My Own Hands

**

JANUARY

For the last thirty days, I've been dealing with the most unbearable anxiety.

Not because of everything that happened in December—I have been seeing a therapist for almost an entire month who has helped me tremendously with correctly channeling my feelings about everything that happened to me; Sebastian promised to talk to someone if I did, so we're both making weekly visits to shrinks.

It isn't work, either. Work has been "relatively" normal ever since I returned to my apartment and eventually got back into my routine. The ideal reasons aren't the reasons at all. The real reason involves a man that I can't seem to get enough of—a man that seems to always spiral my life out of control:

Sebastian and I have been hooking up since late December, and I'm terrified that the press will find out.

Claire has an idea about us messing around, undoubtedly. I invited her to talk about her "relationship" with Sebastian and how to go forward with it, but her manager has made it abundantly clear that Claire wants nothing to do with me. Of course, I'm no longer her publicist, but I'm still Sebastian's publicist, therefore, she's still technically my problem. This fake relationship has made Sebastian's name calm and unsuspecting in the tabloids, and my goal is to keep it this way. However, this is harder to achieve than it sounds; Claire and Sebastian don't even like being in the same room together, and Claire has been sleeping around with countless guys herself.

I've been involved in this horrible line of communication with Sarah, Claire's manager, and Claire's "talent team." Together, we've set up appearances that Claire and Sebastian have had to make together to make their fake love believable. The public widely approves, so if said public found out that Sebastian Harrison has been screwing his publicist, I'd be crucified.

Sex has taken up most of our time together; Sebastian has been busy traveling for Harrison Inc. and "other" matters, and whenever I do see him, we're working or doing press appearances. There's no room for a dinner under the stars or movie dates, considering he has a fake girlfriend and happens to be one of the most talked-about celebrities in Hollywood, in addition to being the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar company.

You're overthinking again, Leslie.

Right. Bottom line, Sebastian and I are basically friends with benefits—fuck buddies. How do I feel about this? I hate it. In truth, I'm envious of Claire and the "fake" dates she gets to spend with Sebastian. I have to remind myself constantly that it's for the best and that what Sebastian and I are doing can't go beyond sex like he and I initially wanted before the Christmas party shooting. Every day when I wake up, every sentence of every pitch and email I write, and every minute I have to sit through in meetings about Claire and Sebastian and how much the public loves them, I have to remind myself that it's for the best. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I said yes to Venetia, but whenever I think this, I again remind myself, "it's for the best."

But the best fucking sucks.

**

I wake up in a bed that isn't mine. A soft bed—large, with a decorative headboard. The curtains are drawn across the room, the same color as the sheets I'm tangled in—white. "Hotel white" as Sebastian calls it.

The time is a quarter before 10 AM, and Sebastian and I are both up. I put on my jeans and my bra, and Sebastian watches me, still naked underneath the blanket. I look over my shoulder at him, and he chuckles when I frown playfully.

"Shouldn't you be getting dressed?" I tell him, grabbing my blouse from the floor.

"I have all the time in the world."