I text Sebastian back.
Never mind.
He’s an asshole, and you’re right.
Let’s do this.
Chapter Eleven
Miles is waiting to greet me as I arrive at the building where Blake, Fields, and Moore is located. My heels clank in the vast rotunda as I saunter in, wearing my smartest black pencil skirt and blazer. It’s my armor to show Hardin I mean business.
“Miss Morgana, nice to see you again. Please, follow me.”
We head up the see-through elevator and into a small conference room with glass on two sides. Through one side of glass is the hallway we walked down. On the other is another conference room, larger in size. It’s the one Sebastian and I had Chinese food in all those weeks ago.
“Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?” Miles asks as he stands by the doorway.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” I say, taking a seat in one of the guest chairs.
“Mr. Blake will be right with you.”
It’s quiet in here. So quiet that I can hear my heart pulsing in my eardrums. I might not have wanted Sebastian’s help, but now that there’s a real possibility I can get Lady Featherington back, I’m a wreck. Before, it felt like she wasn’t with me only because Hardin was a douche. If I lose her today and she becomes his permanently, I’ll be devastated.
As I sit by myself, something catches my attention. In the adjacent conference room, Hardin is standing by a high-backed leather chair. As he faces me, I sit up straight. The way he seems to look right through me makes my blood boil. I glare at him, shooting beams of hatred at him, yet he appears to not even notice I’m here. Of all the low-life, rude, and conniving—
“He can’t see you,” I hear Sebastian say.
I gasp both at the sound of his voice and at the Sound. Of. His. Voice. It’s been too long since I’ve heard that deep baritone, and it still has the same tingling effect as it washes over my body.
I turn to see him, hoping maybe he’s gotten a cold sore or really bad acne since I saw him last, but no such luck. He’s still absolutely gorgeous, and my chest tightens at the sight.
I bite my lip, not sure what to say.
Thankfully, he speaks up first. “Hi.”
I take a deep inhale and stand. “Hi.”
“I’m glad you decided to take me up on my offer to help.” He takes a timid step forward.
I force a smile through my nerves that feel like they’re playing racquetball inside my body, bouncing back and forth. “I appreciate it.”
I glance at Hardin and then back to Sebastian. The difference between the two men is almost laughable. Where Hardin is dark and mysterious, the artsy type, Sebastian is ruggedly handsome and manly with a glow about him that’s radiant. Hardin is a good six inches shorter than Sebastian, who also makes this large room feel ever so small. He commands it, dictates its energy, and oozes sexual intensity with every breath he takes.
I point to the glass wall. “Can he really not see me?”
“No.” He holds up a remote. “There’s a setting on the glass that makes it viewable one way. All he sees is fogged glass. We can turn it off and on with this.”
I walk over to the wall and stare at it like it’s the most complex thing in the world when, in actuality, it looks just like a normal piece of glass.
Sebastian steps up to me. My chest rises, and my stomach flutters. My palms feel sweaty, so I play with them. Even though he’s not touching me, just having him close sends chills up my spine.
“Do you do a lot of interrogating here? Feels like an episode of Law & Order,” I joke—poorly.
He laughs anyway. “We use it sparingly, and we never record anything that happens inside these walls. Hardin brought an attorney. Can’t imagine he’s a very good one though. His business card also stated that he’s a realtor and part-time electrician. Still, it could get ugly. Can you handle it?”
My heart says no, but my mind is telling me to put on my big-girl panties and get this over with. I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and declare, “Let’s do this.”
My eyes meet his, and my face feels flush. His lips tilt to the side as he steps toward the door that leads to the other conference room, stopping just before walking through.
“Just sit back and enjoy the show.” He winks, and I swear my heart flutters at the sight.
I try to gather my emotions as I walk in and take my seat opposite Hardin at the large conference table.
Sebastian remains standing. His demeanor changes into one of a hardened man who is ready to get down to business. “Let’s get started with the matter of Lady Featherington, Miss Morgana’s Pomeranian.”
Hardin’s attorney speaks next, pulling a slip from inside a folder and placing it on the table. “The dog is a clear possession of Mr. Reynolds. This receipt shows the animal was purchased by him, and the license is assigned to Hardin J. Reynolds.”
The lawyer’s smug face is so shrewd. It matches the cocky one plastered on Hardin’s. If it was appropriate to bitch-slap him, I would.
Sebastian looks at the document, and my heart drops. I didn’t know Hardin was getting me a puppy at the time, or I would have been there when he got her and put her in our names jointly. Not that it would have helped. She’d still be half his.
Sebastian drops the paper and places his own folder in front of him, opening it and looking at the pile.
“In Pennsylvania, a pet is a personal possession. Seems ridiculous when they’re really a member of the family, but that’s the law,” Sebastian starts.
Hardin’s attorney takes out a receipt. “My client’s name is on this receipt. He purchased the animal; therefore, it is his possession.”
Sebastian doesn’t flinch. “That receipt makes Mr. Reynolds the purchaser. These documents, including”—he lifts up a piece of paper—“veterinary bills, signed by Miss Morgana”—one by one, he piles the papers up—“grooming bills, also signed by Miss Morgana; and a prescription for heartworm medication as well as tick and flea, which is charged to Miss Morgana’s Amazon account monthly, all show she was the intended owner.”
“That means nothing. Mr. Reynolds’s girlfriend walks the dog three times a day. Does that mean she owns the animal?”
Sebastian lowers his gaze to him. “Thirty-two letters of reference. That’s what we have from people in your own former neighborhood who can vouch that Miss Morgana is the one who walked, owned, and loved Lady Featherington. Of course, except when she was at work and Mr. Reynolds’s new girlfriend was hired—by Miss Morgana—to walk the dog. Not one of these letters states your client has ever been seen with the animal.”
I look up at Sebastian in complete and utter shock. I had no idea he was doing research into my ownership, nonetheless soliciting references on my behalf. I lift one and see it’s from a woman who says she lived in our building.
“This is a joke,” Hardin says. “She ran errands. Doesn’t mean the dog’s hers.”
My jaw drops, but Sebastian keeps calm as he makes his case as to why Lady Featherington belongs to me.
“Well, actually, it does. Because she was a gift from Mr. Reynolds to Miss Morgana, and here is proof of the gift, posted to both of their social media accounts, stating, in fact, that she was a birthday present. Which means she is indeed Miss Morgana’s property.” Sebastian lays multiple photos from Facebook and Instagram along with the captions that say just that.