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SAY, CAN I TEMPT YOU?
chapter four
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13
INT. SCHUESTER ESTATE – BLAINE'S BEDROOM – night
He's lost count of the amount of times he's read his college brochures by now. His acceptance letters are all neatly tucked away in a folder, but leafing through them for the third time that night still fails to provide him with any answers. Rachel wanted him to attend NYADA with her, but he hadn't auditioned so that was one school he didn't need to worry about. He loved performing, it was something he was good at, but unlike Rachel he'd never felt the need to pursue a career in it.
There were so many other options to consider, and not only with regards to which subject he wanted to pursue. Which school did he want to attend? He could attend a college further from home, far from his father's reach and influence, somewhere he could start over, a new life, without Kurt and the added pressure to follow in his father's footsteps. But what if he doesn't make any new friends? What if his loneliness gets the best of him and he ends up dropping out?
There were colleges closer to home, but those had equally negative prospects, like his father checking up on him, people knowing him. Then again, he'd have Rachel and Shelby closer and despite everything Kurt's a really great friend he wants to keep in touch with. If he goes to Yale he'd even see Quinn more often if their curriculums allowed it.
It suddenly strikes him that he doesn't know what school Sebastian's attending this fall. Had Sebastian decided yet? Or was he not the only one struggling?
His phone starts vibrating on the bed.
Unknown caller.
It's close to midnight. Who would be calling him?
"Hello?" he asks upon answering.
"Hi, it's Sebastian."
Why would Sebastian call him in the middle of the night? Wasn't he staying in one of the bedrooms down the hall? How did he even get his number? It's sort of impressive, he thinks, how determined Sebastian seems to become part of his life, even if his motives are questionable. But it's sort of flattering.
"I didn't wake you, did I?"
He crosses his legs at the ankles and leans back against the bed's headboard, one hand on his stomach. "No, not at all."
"Good," Sebastian says. "How was your date?"
Blaine frowns: where did Sebastian get that idea?
"It wasn't a date. Quinn's a friend," he says, not all too sure why he feels the need to add, "A female friend."
"I suppose I can't be too jealous then."
He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Was Quinn right and did Sebastian confess his feelings to those he actually felt for? Or was Shelby right and was this Sebastian's way of trying to force him to feel for him?
"Sebastian—" he starts, but gets interrupted immediately.
"How was dinner with your dad?"
He blinks his eyes open, wondering if Sebastian's actually trying his hand at small talk and how strange it sounds—but this is what friends do, make small talk, ask about each other's lives without any ulterior motives. It's nice to know Sebastian's making this effort for him.
"Eventful," he answers, decides the truth's probably best at this point.
He'd instituted the rule of weekly father-son dinners three years ago, when his father's career took off and they spent less and less time together. He'd already lost his mother to a horrible illness, he wasn't going to lose his father too, not to a political career of all things. Not if he could help it. Unfortunately this summer these dinners only revolved around one topic only. College.
"Boring," he adds as an afterthought; it was way more fun talking to his dad about sports.
He swears he can hear Sebastian smile over the line.
"And I thought my family was bad."
"He's been on my case about picking a college," he confesses unprompted.
He hasn't complained to anyone about his father in ages—Kurt's heard it so many times, and he couldn't relate because he had such a good relationship with his own father, and complaining to Rachel had always seemed strange because she loved him like a father, despite having a really good relationship with her own dad.
Why would Sebastian of all people want to hear this?
"Is this really why you called?" he asks, self-conscious all of a sudden.
"No," Sebastian answers. "Yes," he amends too fast and Blaine smiles. It's strange hearing Sebastian trip over his words. "I guess—I miss talking to you."
Likewise is the first word that springs to mind, but somehow he manages to keep it to himself. It's not normal, he's only had three conversations with Sebastian and he's been on his mind constantly, his charm and his wit somehow more endearing to him than in anyone else. But that's also what stops him. He needs to be careful with what he says to Sebastian.
"A moment of honesty," he says, his stomach doing backflips. Is it the excitement that he's allowing himself something he shouldn't? Or is it something more?
"You say that like I spew nothing but lies," Sebastian notes, his voice calm and steady. "That's your Deep Throat talking."
He chuckles. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted."
Talking to Sebastian over the phone is different, he doesn't have to deal with his mesmerizing eyes or that mind-boggling smile and somehow it's easier to breathe—that should tell him enough about his feelings toward Sebastian, but he's determined to stick with his earlier resolution: he'll give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian makes an effort, he's willing to make one too.
"What are you doing tomorrow night?" he asks, the question out before he's sure he wants to go out with Sebastian in the first place. But Will and Emma will be at a benefit and he doesn't want to spend another night alone with his college brochures, undecided about his entire academic future.
Another breathy smile resounds over the line; it shouldn't do things to him, but it does, the thought that he can make Sebastian smile.
"Well, I'm going out with you, killer," Sebastian says.
He laughs, his stomach doing acrobatics, and that part's far more disconcerting; Sebastian makes him laugh. He's not an unhappy guy but he only met Sebastian days before and he's completely taken with him. It was a nice idea in theory, befriending Sebastian, but there's a part of him that wants it to be more, that wants to say 'fuck you' to whatever beliefs he holds and let a handsome guy flirt with him, buy him drinks, take him home—
"Not a date though," he says, shakes his head to chase away his daydream. No, letting Sebastian in would be a bad idea.
"I wasn't assuming that it would be."
The mere sound of Sebastian's voice shouldn't be doing things to his stomach either.
"Let's say seven?"
"Seven it is," Sebastian answers. "Night, killer."
"Goodnight, Sebastian," he says, and disconnects the call. He closes his eyes, places a hand over his eyes and breathes in deep, hoping his stomach will settle sometime soon.
He giggles.
He's in so much trouble.
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14
INT. STARBUCKS – day
It's a simple enough plan: expose Rachel's relationship with Jesse to her mother, Shelby goes crazy and makes Rachel end things, and Rachel once again ends up crying in his arms. And of course he'd be unable to ignore her cry for help. As far as plans went there was a certain grace to it, mostly because it wouldn't trace back to him; Shelby would never break his trust because she needed him to look after Rachel when she can't. That's the beauty of dealing with overbearing mothers.
He almost felt sorry for Rachel; overprotected, shielded from these human experiences no one should do without, in love for the first time with a boy mommy doesn't approve of. The only thing he can't figure out is why Brody does enjoy Shelby's approval; it's of no consequence to his plan, but he can't help but be curious.
He glances around the crowded coffee house, hands cupping his mug, foot tapping on the floor. His eyes wander toward the barista behind the counter, tall, blond, his short sleeves hugging his biceps tightly—
Sometimes he does wish he could be more like Sebastian. Not only does Sebastian have two parents who don't care about him, Sebastian doesn't care what people think of him. Sure, he upheld his reputation of playboy with great pride, but he didn't hide who he was, who he was attracted to and had zero shame. It's that same attitude that also got Sebastian in trouble, like getting caught in a broom closet with someone's hands down his pants and getting forced into taking therapy, but Sebastian's managed to make it his lifestyle, and for some reason it suited him.
Sadly that freewheeling attitude was a luxury he couldn't afford. He had his fun and transgressions, but it was always in the shadows, always somewhere he wouldn't get caught, far from the prying eyes of his father, who would disown him in a heartbeat if he found out his son was gay.
Sebastian had it so much easier. If it were Sebastian instead of him he'd go over to the counter, lean closer to the barista and whisper something provocative in his ear. The boy would blush and bite his lip, but one look at Sebastian would wash away any doubt. They'd isolate themselves to the restroom, or somewhere in the back where they'd have some semblance of privacy. He'd get sucked off and he'd come in that beautiful mouth, moaning his release, the danger of getting caught somehow heightening the pleasure.
Hunter averts his eyes reluctantly, forcing himself into a more formal mindset. He can't lose track of why he's here.
"Hunter, I got your message," Shelby's voice sounds rushed behind him.
He doesn't turn or make a move, but waits until she's settled down at the other side of the table.
"I came as fast as I could," she says, not even bothering to take off her jacket.
"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything."
"Not at all. What's wrong?"
"It's Rachel."
Panic strikes Shelby's dark eyes. "What about her?"
"You can't tell her you heard this from me," he says, making sure Shelby knows what he expects from this conversation. If he loses Rachel's trust his plan will unravel fast. "We've become good friends and I'd hate to destroy that."
"You have my word." Shelby nods, pulling her chair closer. "It's a boy, isn't it?"
He nods, feigning concern. "I'm afraid it is."
Shelby slams her hand down on the table. "I knew it."
He has no idea how Brody fits into all of this; did Shelby mean to have him fall for Rachel so she could make it into the summer production? Or did she offer the same advice as he did: lead Brody on to get what she wants?
"I've told her so many times not to let boys distract her," Shelby adds and stares up at him intently. "We have a plan."
"And I would hate to see that ruined by Jesse St. James."
If at all possible Shelby's eyes just about pop out of their sockets. "Jesse?!" she squeals for the entire coffee shop. "That's crazy!"
"I know," he says, even though he hasn't found anything wrong with Jesse. Shelby and Jesse met during his own time at NYADA and crossed paths on Broadway afterwards. Did her objection stem from his age? Four years isn't that much of an age difference.
"She's so young and he's so—"
"He's an idiot!" Shelby exclaims, making the barista that makes her way over to them jump.
Hunter looks at the barista apologetically and waves her away.
Maybe he'd underestimated Shelby's insistence on being in charge of the men in Rachel's life. Was she really so controlling because she'd made mistakes herself at that age and had no one mentoring her? Or was it a specific objection to Jesse because for some reason he wasn't good enough for her daughter?
"He's been sending her love letters," Hunter says, to make sure Shelby looks for the proof herself—it's one thing for him to say it, it's another for Shelby to find the letters, read Jesse's wild love confessions and realize exactly what her little princess has been up to.
Shelby stares down at the table with a pained expression.
"I questioned whether or not to tell you, but we both want what's best for Rachel," he adds, reaches for Shelby's hand on the table. He's well aware that he's managed to charm Shelby, and he's not above using that to its full advantage. "I hope I did the right thing in telling you."
Shelby looks up fleetingly, eyes unsure where to settle; she probably wants to get home and confront Rachel.
"No, I can't thank you enough," she says, placing her other hand over his.
"You will be discreet about this?" Hunter asks, fairly certain she'll do the exact opposite.
Shelby nods. "Absolutely."
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15
INT. ANDERSON-CORCORAN APARTMENT – day
Discreet, it turns out, is not a word in Shelby Corcoran's vocabulary, at least not where her daughter and boys is concerned. She gets home in half the time it should've taken to get there, ignores the lingering glances of campaign managers and interns from behind the glass on the bottom floor of the apartment complex, storms into Rachel's bedroom and starts searching her drawers. She's careful not to displace anything or to make too much noise, aware that Rachel and Jesse are rehearsing in the living room.
How many times had she told Rachel to stay away from these kinds of boys? Boys with dreams bigger than their skill, boys that will take advantage of her and drop her like a brick afterwards, boys like Jesse St. James who knew how to spot talent and would leech off her daughter to get them back to their former glory.
She knew a boy like that once, Steven, all smooth talk and precious bright eyes—she'd fallen for his quick wit and charm, for his compliments and easy smiles. By the time she had her chance to audition for NYADA she was seventeen and pregnant with Rachel, all alone after her family turned its back on her. At least Steven had proven to be a somewhat decent father, there to provide when she was in a tough situation, made Rachel break out in that special kind of giggle that put a smile on everyone's face. But they fell out of love as fast as they'd fallen in love.
Her dreams would've been shattered if it hadn't been for the patronage and kindness of Carmen Tibideaux and her unique gift to spot talent.
She didn't want that life for Rachel, she didn't want Rachel to ever experience what she did, to have to learn what rock bottom felt like—Rachel deserved better than that, her precious daughter, who had filled her heart with so much love, more than she ever thought herself capable of. She'd gotten her life together, chased her dreams to provide for Rachel, but it hadn't been easy. She'd struggled long and hard, juggling motherhood and school and a stint on Broadway.
There's a part of her that had hoped Rachel would have more realistic dreams. But her daughter's talents proved undeniable, there was no way around it: Rachel could follow in her footsteps and do all the things she never got to do. And that meant no boys, at least not irresponsible wannabes like Jesse St. James, who got lucky with what they got but never showed any real gratitude.
She knows her reputation on Broadway, knows what the rumor mill produced in the few years she was at the top of her game; how she slept with casting directors to get the lead, how she seduced her co-stars and wrecked marriages. None of that was true. In fact, after Steven she told herself to swear off men for good, that they'd only cause her problems or break her heart and for years that philosophy worked fine.
Until she met Thomas.
He was a broken man when they'd met, introduced at some high society party not long after he decided to enter politics—he was a single father hoping to ensure a future for his son, looking for a way to keep the memory of his wife alive. She told him her memory lived on in his son, that Blaine would have questions in the years to come and he had to make sure to be there for him.
Thomas told her later that's the moment he realized healing was possible.
It was the same moment she realized shutting out love wasn't fair to Rachel, and it wasn't fair to herself.
But Rachel was too young for those kinds of emotions. Shelby had hoped that some of Blaine's convictions would rub off on Rachel, but it seemed she couldn't get lucky with two children set on waiting for love.
And she doesn't care what Rachel tells herself; she's not in love with Jesse St. James.
Brody Weston was a convenience, civil and cordial—he was a better match for Rachel, but she was far too young for a serious relationship.
It takes her a good twenty minutes before she finds the letters, written in Jesse's tidy penmanship, quoting the great Romantic poets and books she's certain he hasn't even read, all strung together by love confessions that make her stomach turn. How did this happen without her noticing? How can she pick up on Blaine's moods so easily but not her own daughter's? When did Rachel decide to stop heeding her advice?
She makes her way to the living room, where Rachel and Jesse are practising vocal runs behind the piano.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouts, both of them startling so hard they turn around instantly.
"Excuse me?"
Rachel stands up. "Mom—"
"I got you in this production as a favor and this is how you repay me?"
Jesse gets up alongside Rachel. "Ms Corcoran, I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"You care to explain this then?" Shelby asks, holding up the letters. Dozens of letters, dating back weeks, suggesting this has been going on much longer than even Hunter knew. Is this why Jesse came back to New York?
Rachel's jaw drops. "Where did you find those?"
"Margarita found them while cleaning," Shelby lies, but she promised Hunter she wouldn't break his trust. Hunter's the kind of boy Rachel should be dating, he was a hard worker and a talented student and he has his head on straight; he has no delusions about Broadway, knows he'll have to work hard if he wants to make it in this cutthroat business.
Shelby looks at Rachel. "Go to your room."
"Mom!" Rachel shouts, a warning lilt to her voice she's heard many times before; whenever Rachel doesn't get what she wants — which isn't all that often — she goes full diva.
"Now, Rachel!" Shelby commands. "I'll deal with you later!"
Rachel's eyes fill up with tears, lips set in a tight line, anger bristling just below the surface. But she knows her daughter and knows she'll listen, and it's only moments before Rachel storms out.
Shelby returns her attention to Jesse. "How dare you treat me with such disrespect? I mentored you, taught you everything you know about Broadway."
She'd seen great potential in Jesse once upon a time; he wasn't the brightest tool in the box, but he showed a lot of promise, both in his dancing and his singing. Helping young aspiring artists like Jesse was her way of paying Carmen back for everything she did, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't a wonderful feeling. She could've mentored Rachel herself as well, but Carmen thought it best she let someone else take care of that—it was a good idea, when it came to Rachel she often suffered from tunnel vision. And Hunter had been really good for her so far.
"I made you!"
"Made me?" Jesse asks. "I worked hard to get where I am today."
"Which is right back where you started," she sneers. "Hollywood, Jesse? What made you even think they'd have you?" she asks, applying words that are sure to cause the maximum amount of damage. Maybe that'll convince him to stay away.
Jesse's eyes go wide, a pained expression coloring his features.
"Don't look at me like that," Shelby says, "You're good, but you'll never be as great as Rachel."
Jesse casts down his eyes. "I guess that puts me in my place," he says solemnly, and she hates how calm he manages to sound. She expected him to throw the same tantrum Rachel had.
"You are never to set foot in this house again and any and all rehearsals for West Side Story will happen under my or Hunter's strict supervision, do you understand?" Shelby says, pointing a finger for emphasis. "You're lucky Cassandra was too short-sighted to hire an understudy for you. If it were up to me you'd never see my daughter again."
Jesse's eyes shoot up. "I never touched your daughter. And I'd never do anything to jeopardize her chances. She's going places you've never even dreamed of."
That's the final drop.
"Get out!" Shelby screams, shaking where she stands.
Jesse takes a deep breath, but decides he's going to walk out of there with his head held high. He'll be damned if he lets Shelby Corcoran get to him; he worked hard to get where he is and so what if Hollywood hadn't worked out? There were no roles for Broadway stars at the moment, but one day there would be and he'd have his chance. He came back to New York because it was a city filled with opportunity, and the prospect of helping Rachel out the way her mother once helped him was an honest attempt to thank Shelby for everything she'd done for him.
He never meant to fall in love with Rachel.
Sadly he now found himself in this predicament and his future looked grim at best. He was in love with Rachel and he's sure Rachel has feelings for him, but how do they stand a chance with Shelby hovering over them?
He'd heard most of the story, how Shelby got her heart broken by Rachel's father and swore off men for herself and Rachel. Rachel told him a certain senator managed to thaw her out, but that relationship wasn't common knowledge to protect Thomas Anderson's political career from any potential scandals. He doubts many of the rumors surrounding Shelby were true, but NYADA or Broadway weren't the only cutthroat worlds out there, and journalists would sooner make up a story than write nothing at all.
How can he convince Shelby that he's not like that? That he only means the best for Rachel and has no intention of hurting her? One thing's for sure, he's never getting into this apartment again, Shelby will inform the doormen to keep him out. He could text or call, but surely Shelby would be taking Rachel's phone.
He rides the elevator down feeling defeated in every way. He'll never get a chance to talk to Rachel again.
The elevator doors slide open, revealing none other than Hunter Clarington himself, looking as charismatic as ever in black dress pants and a fitted blue button-down, collarbone showing where the shirt's unbuttoned.
Hunter holds up a letter, his name scribbled on the outside.
He recognizes the handwriting as Rachel's immediately.
"Come with me," Hunter says.
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16
INT. CLARINGTON TOWNHOUSE – LIVING ROOM – day
He's not sure why Hunter asked him to join in on this part of his elaborate plan; surely Hunter doesn't need him to manipulate a love-struck Jesse St. James? Love opens everyone up to manipulation. More than anything he suspects he's here because he's far more relaxed and spontaneous than Hunter, and he's been around the block enough times to know what to say and when to say it. For all his own charm, Hunter prefers a well-laid plan to the whimsical unpredictability of a heart in love.
It's admirable how Hunter's managed it though, got Rachel to trust him with Jesse's love letters and convinced her to let him help her—Hunter can believe what he wants, they're both equally equipped at these kind of games.
"I never knew she had these types of feelings," Jesse says, his eyes scanning Rachel's letter again.
"You're a lucky guy," Sebastian says.
They're in Hunter's office, the place of most of Hunter's dealings, Sebastian and Jesse seated next to each other in front of the desk, Hunter casually leaning back against it. His brother's eyes remain transfixed on Jesse the entire time.
Jesse looks up at Hunter. "What do I do?"
"Easy." Hunter shrugs. "Tell her you love her."
"How? Shelby will have me shot if I go anywhere near her again."
"Well then," he says, glances up at Hunter briefly. They hadn't discussed any tactic, but it's clear where Hunter means to take this. "Write her another letter."
"We'll make sure she gets it."
Jesse eyes them both suspiciously. "Why are you guys doing this for me?"
"Because—" Hunter answers too fast, because he loses track of his answer and turns to Sebastian for help. So that's why he's here, to gauge Jesse's sensibilities.
"Because we want to see Rachel happy," he provides, amused by his brother's sudden lack of meticulously chosen argumentation. "Just because Shelby's her mother doesn't mean she knows best. Brody Weston is a tool. You're the one she wants."
Jesse looks at him, then up at Hunter, but seems to decide they're worth listening to. "You guys mind if I have some privacy?"
"My office is right across the hall," he says, motioning toward the door. "Make yourself at home."
He and Hunter wait patiently for Jesse to leave the room, both convinced they have him right where they want him. He'll write his soppy love letter to Rachel, they'll make sure she comes over to read it because they can't risk it falling into Shelby's hands, and then it's Sebastian's move. He'll speed up her sexual awakening all right.
He's not sure why that thought fills him with a sudden pang of guilt.
"Who are you calling?" he asks when he sees Hunter reach for his cell phone.
"Rachel."
He gets up and snatches Hunter's phone from his hand. Hunter shoots him a glare but waits for him to speak.
"Before we go through with this I want to make sure you're aware of the damage we'll cause," he says, wondering if for all his planning Hunter has thought about the repercussions of his actions. This goes beyond Rachel; destroying Rachel's reputation will destroy her mother, which is why he's in it too, but it could ruin Rachel's chances at NYADA and eventually Broadway. Hunter's intention was to destroy Brody Weston by going through Rachel, but where does this end? How does this end?
"You mean the damage I'm personally devising?" Hunter asks, nonchalance overtaking any possibility of remorse in his voice. "I'm aware, brother."
"Are you?" Sebastian asks, handing back the phone, still unsure whether Hunter's resolve matches his own. There are other ways of getting back at Shelby Corcoran. "We've done some pretty fucked up shit in our time, but this is..."
What is this exactly? It's Hunter's messed up way of taking out his competition while both of them know he's going places no matter who he's up against. He has the talent and the drive, he could wreck Brody on a stage without all this scheming in the shadows. But then that's never really been Hunter's style.
"We're destroying an innocent girl," Sebastian says. "You do realize that?"
Hunter's eyes darken. "Brody Weston is going down. And if you won't help me someone else will."
He huffs a scornful laugh. "You will never cease to amaze me."
"Fuck you, Sebastian," Hunter sneers, and stares at him with so much contempt he's taken aback.
Aren't they in this together?
It's true, they've done some things that would ruin them both should it ever get out, and that's tied them together as more than brothers, yet this particular venture that has them in disarray: Hunter's hate for Brody struck him as petty at best and if anyone asked he believes Cassandra deserves a lot more of his anger. After all, she's the one who took advantage.
"It's alright for you to fuck everyone and get away with it because your parents never gave a fuck about you, and my father stopped trying when he found you doing the cook in the kitchen.
"But not everyone has it as easy as you," Hunter says, "I can't afford to be out and proud because I'll either get sent back to military school or I'll lose my trust fund, if not both.
"Do you think I enjoy acting like a saint 24/7 so I can be considered a gentleman? I'm the Mark fucking Brady of the Upper East Side and sometimes I want to kill myself."
His heart rate spikes. He's never heard Hunter talk like this, his voice full of resentment—he knew Hunter struggled more than him, that pleasing his father was a big deal to him and even though Sebastian joked about it, he respected that it was important to Hunter and protected his secrets as best he could. But this, this anger, this hatred almost, this has been festering for much longer.
Does Hunter's resentment stretch to him? Or is this yet another way of manipulating him?
"There's your psychoanalysis, Dr Freud," Hunter says. "Now are you in or out?"
He sighs, "Call her," and settles down in his chair again.
He has to let this go; they've known each other long enough to trust that the other knows what he's doing. His loyalties lay with himself, first, Hunter second, and for years that's all they've needed to maneuver through this labyrinth of social politics.
Hunter dials Rachel's number.
"Shelby?" Hunter asks when the phone gets answered.
"I know," Hunter says. "Let me talk to her."
There's a short silence while Shelby passes the phone to her daughter.
"Rachel, it's Hunter,"–strangled cries sound over the line–"Stop crying."
Sebastian barely suppresses a smile.
"Stop—stop crying."
He reaches out a hand, signaling for Hunter to give him the phone.
"You know what, hold for Sebastian," Hunter says, and hands over the phone, his lips curling in disgust.
"Rachel," Sebastian starts as he puts the phone to his ear, Rachel's loud sobs resounding over the line.
"Stop crying," he repeats his brother's words, but Rachel only sniffles and sobs some more. Maybe it's best if he gets to the point. "I need you to listen to me carefully. I have a letter from Jesse."
"J-Jesse?" Rachel chokes out. He sincerely hopes her mother's no longer in the room with her.
"He asked me to give it to you," Sebastian says, grateful he finally has her attention. "Now, I can't bring it to your house because your mother despises me, so here's what we're going to do."
There's only silence on the other end of the line now, Rachel patiently waiting for his suggestion.
"You're going to sneak out and come over here. Say, eleven?"
"I—" Rachel hesitates at first, but he can tell from the way her breath hitches and her sniffling disappears that she heard him just fine and is considering his offer.
"Okay," Rachel breathes.
Sebastian smiles up at Hunter. "See you soon," he says, and ends the call.
"Excellent."
Hunter shoots into action and opens up the liquor cabinet, talking a million miles an hour about how he should make sure Rachel comes at least once and he has to make sure her mother doesn't suspect a thing.
All he can think about, however, is a certain senator's son, and their not-date tonight at seven.
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tbc
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