Chapter 13
Unlike the previous party, ReidCorp held their holiday bash at their own headquarters. The second floor of the building had a dining room that doubled as a ballroom and a full kitchen. Mostly it produced cafeteria food for employees and fine dining for executives, but a few times a year a catering company came in and provided food for a great party.
During Sebastian’s father’s era, they consistently had fossil-fuel themes. They often used caviar in their hors d’oeuvres, mixing it with olive oil and black food coloring and drizzling it over crab puffs or lobster quiche. They always had a sundae bar, in which an engineer created a working miniature oil well that pumped black hot fudge out of a fake mountain onto the ice cream.
They brought in cooks who knew just the right amount of charcoal to add to sauces to make them black without having a medicinal effect. They hired a specialty pastry chef who made all their desserts with molasses.
Since the climate crisis had escalated, Sebastian had abandoned these traditions. But the sundae bar had originally happened on his tenth birthday. The kids liked it, but the adults had loved it so much that his father had replicated it at the holiday party.
The ballroom was really just a huge box on the second level, with a wall of windows and a lacquered wooden floor.
Morgan walked in, wishing her cocktail dress weren’t quite so short. Not only because it was cold, but also because she felt exposed. She knew it was irrational. No one, least of all Sebastian, could see up her dress. But every time she sat, stood, or took a larger than usual step, a wisp of air floated between her legs; it set her tingling, reminding her of being with Kevin. Had that really happened? She couldn’t believe it.
Such a short time ago this life with Sebastian had felt like a dream, and now it felt like a grim reality. Even thinking about Kevin made her heart ache. But he was reality, too. His warm skin. His strong hands.
Focus. Morgan looked at the buffet. She had heard about the molasses desserts at the party. They didn’t use it as a drizzle anymore, Sebastian had said. But they still cooked with it. As Morgan tasted the sweet desserts, the tiny pecan tarts and the eclairs, she could feel the molasses on her tongue. That’s what color Kevin’s eyes were, molasses.
She chewed the sweets, the cream and pastry dissolving on her tongue, and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
But she didn’t have time for that right now. To make that dreamy afternoon a reality, she needed to handle business tonight and get out of there.
Morgan stayed at Sebastian’s slide. She drank slowly so she wouldn’t need to go to the restroom. She watched everyone who interacted with him. Every waitress who handed him a drink, every colleague who patted him on the back. Every low-level employee shaking his hand for the first time and gushing. Were they handing him anything? Did Sebastian’s hands go to his pocket after the interaction? Was anyone whispering in his ear?
Sebastian was the one who’d given the kitchen staff a night off to attend the party. People treated him like a folk hero. Not a billionaire who could easily spare the pocket change to hire caterers.
Morgan smiled and shook hands and stood and sat, trying to ignore the sensation between her legs that beckoned elsewhere.
* * *
Morgan had been keeping a sharp eye for anyone she recognized. She saw various oil executives, but they just seemed to come over for a frat boy, chatty laugh moment and then move on. Presumably, they had skirts to chase or deals to make.
But soon she saw someone she hadn’t been expecting. Daphne Brightwell, wife of the man on the other side of the firewall. She was dressed in a sun-yellow gown, with emerald sequin leaves cascading down one shoulder to the floor. Leaves? Trying a bit too hard, wasn’t it? For the wife of the man who was decimating the Amazon rainforest. But maybe not. Maybe they took leaves so for granted, she couldn’t see the irony.
Mrs. Brightwell was alone. The trophy wife walked up to Sebastian with her hand out. Morgan smiled, as she had done a thousand times that night. But why would Mrs. Brightwell want to shake Sebastian’s hand? They had hugged the night before. The wife had on white gloves with the dress. Her hand was extended, but the thumb was pressed against the palm. Did she have something for Sebastian?
Morgan stood.
“Mrs. Brightwell!” she said. “I never got a chance to meet you at the other party; we had to leave early.” Morgan extended her hand. “I’m Morgan Faraday, Sebastian’s girlfriend.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Brightwell said. Instead of shaking with the hand she had extended to Sebastian, Mrs. Brightwell used her left hand to squeeze Morgan’s. “So lovely to meet you,” the wife said. “Call me Daphne.”
Morgan activated her small-talk engine. She loved Daphne’s dress. Who was the designer?
Daphne butchered the name. He was an up-and-coming young man from South America. Brazil, she thought.
Morgan’s smile almost faltered. Brazil? Really? She was wearing a dress that celebrated the very Amazon her husband was burning?
Sebastian slid over to Daphne’s other side.
“Daphne,” he said. “Thanks so much for coming.”
A waitress walked by with a tray of champagne, and Morgan grabbed a glass, reaching between Sebastian and Daphne.
“Daphne, you don’t have a drink, do you?” she asked. “Here you go.”
Daphne’s closer hand held the—whatever it was. She would have to take the glass with that hand or reach all the way across her chest with the other hand, which would look incredibly awkward.
“Thank you,” Daphne Brightwell said, taking the glass with her closest hand.
A quick glance let Morgan know that her plan had worked. Daphne held the champagne flute awkwardly by the stem, her thumb still pressed to her palm.
Next to them, an older man engaged Sebastian.
Before Daphne could switch hands, Morgan took her free hand.
“Where are you sitting?” Morgan asked. “There’s a spot at our table.”
Could Morgan jostle her, get her to drop whatever it was?
Morgan went on: “Sebastian’s assistant, Dawn, is out of town and wasn’t able to make it. Won’t you join us?”
“Sure,” Daphne said. “I suppose I could. Sebastian, we can catch up at the table.”
Morgan held Daphne’s free hand in a tight grip as she steered Daphne across the room. They moved around a few people with quick turns, but Daphne gripped tightly to whatever was in her hand. At the table, Morgan moved someone’s purse to another chair so Daphne would be seated farther from Sebastian.
When she sat, Daphne set down the champagne glass on the table and clasped her hands for a moment, then slid her other hand briefly into her purse.
“I’m so glad to have gotten you alone,” Morgan said. “I’m so sorry I’ll never get a chance to meet Sebastian’s parents. I think you and Mr. Brightwell are the closest I’ll find to sort of surrogate father and . . .” what could say here? Certainly not “mother.” Daphne looked only a few years older than Morgan. “. . . and his wife,” Morgan finished awkwardly.
“Sebastian asked me to move in with him. I don’t know if you know that,” she said. “I was really clear that I didn’t just want to be a live-in girlfriend. But I want to know that we have a future together. But he’s so . . . so . . .” Morgan searched for the words. She couldn’t find them until she thought of Kevin. How she’d felt when he withdrew? “Opaque,” Morgan said. “You know, distant. He says he’s just worried about business, but I wonder. I mean, I quit my job when I moved in with him, and now I just sort of spin all day, wondering if I’m doing the girlfriend thing right.”
“Oh, honey,” Daphne said, putting a gloved hand on her shoulder. “You have to step back and take a breath. Sebastian Reid is just a man. And like any relationship, it’ll either work or it won’t. Just . . . find your own interests. You should volunteer for the ReidCorp Foundation. That would be a future wife move.”
Daphne tilted her head to the side and smiled. Condescending, but probably good advice, if Morgan really had wanted to be Sebastian’s wife. Start acting like one.
“Thank you,” Morgan said.
When Sebastian came back to the table, Morgan watched as Daphne made several moves to connect with him.
Every time, Morgan was there to interrupt, intervene, intrude. With every block Morgan made, Sebastian’s smile got tighter and tighter.
Eventually he steered her to a dark corner by the sundae bar. Less popular these days, with so many people watching their carb intake.
“Morgan,” he said, his smile so tight it was almost a grimace. “As my girlfriend, you need to understand that this is a work function. I need you to give me a little space to operate.”
“A little space?” she asked.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “I need to be able to connect with colleagues and employees. I’m not going to be able to introduce you to everyone. Can you talk with other people while I’m operating?”
“Operating?” Morgan asked. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”
“You do realize that this is my company’s event, right?” he asked. He spoke slowly, like she was dense. “The Reid Corporation party.”
“I do realize that,” Morgan said. “I also realize that Daphne is not a colleague or an employee. Daphne is the only person I’ve impeded from talking to you. Because she keeps trying to get close to you, and you keep trying to get close right back.”
“What are you talking about?” Sebastian asked.
“You all are having an affair, aren’t you?”
“You’ve lost your mind,” he said. “She’s Mitchell’s wife. My godfather’s wife. It practically makes her my godmother. That’s crazy.”
“Don’t tell me I’m crazy,” she said. “I know what I saw. And ‘godmother’ is a stretch. She’s younger than you are. And looks like a bikini model. Of course she’d be interested in someone her own age after she married that old man.”
“Morgan,” he said. “I don’t think this is working.”
“Here we go again,” she said. “You’re dismissing me? You’re gonna send me home?”
“Not this time,” Sebastian said. “You need to pack your things and move out. Tonight.”
“What?” Morgan said. “Are you having Daphne over tonight?”
“Just get out of my apartment,” he said.
“So classy,” Morgan said. “How am I gonna get a hotel room this time of year?”
“Call my assistant,” Sebastian said. “She’ll take care of it.”
“She’s on vacation,” Morgan said.
“She’s always on call for me,” Sebastian said.
“Then I’ll certainly call her,” Morgan said. “I couldn’t stay under the same roof with you for another minute.” That part was certainly true. But even as she stormed toward the back door, she circled back and followed him.
Sebastian pulled an unfamiliar phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “I’ll be in the kitchen through the back hallway,” he whispered. “Be careful.”
And then, three minutes later, Daphne Brightwell came in. She had on a dark coat over her bright dress, but it was definitely her. Morgan slipped into the kitchen behind her with her phone out and snapped a burst of photos before Daphne could cross the room and get to Sebastian.
The room was dimly lit. They were turned to the camera. Faces bleached with the flash. Looking surprised and guilty with a rack of oversize pots in the darkened kitchen background.
“So who’s crazy now?” Morgan demanded, loud, slurring a bit. “You’re meeting her in a back room? Away from the surveillance cameras? Oh, but I’ve got a camera of my own. I got it all on camera. No wonder you were so eager to get rid of me.” She turned to Daphne. “Are you fucking my boyfriend?”
“This has all been some kind of mistake,” Daphne said.
“Mistake?” Morgan said. “You all are a fucking mistake. You fucking super-rich people act like you’re so superior, but you’re just fucking corrupt. No goddamn morals at all. You are disgusting.”
“I—” Daphne said, backing away. “I should leave.”
“Yeah, you should,” Morgan said.
Daphne Brightwell left the kitchen in a swirl of black wool and emerald satin.
Morgan made to storm out as well.
“Morgan,” Sebastian said. “Honey, let’s talk this over.”
“Nothing to talk over,” Morgan said. “You threw me out, so I’m moving out. And going to whatever fucking hotel your assistant sends me to.”
“Morgan, wait,” Sebastian said. He seemed shifted somehow. His voice was nearly a whine. “Please,” he said. “Just hear me out.”
“I’ve heard enough,” she said.
“One minute.”
“I need to go pack,” she said.
“Thirty seconds,” he said, his tone desperate.
“Fine,” she said.
Morgan turned around, crossed her arms over her chest, and regarded him coldly.
“It’s—it’s not what you think,” he stammered. “It’s not an affair.”
“Why else would you meet a married woman in a dark kitchen?”
Sebastian hung his head. “It’s something else.”
She scowled at him. “What else could it be?”
“Her husband . . . Mitchell,” Sebastian said. “I—I tried to bribe him. He was trying to give the money back. It was stupid. He couldn’t get it to me directly, so he was getting his wife to do it. A favor for me. He knew my dad.”
“A bribe?” Morgan asked. “Sebastian—”
“I know,” he said. His voice cracked. Was he crying?
“I’ve just been under so much stress,” he said. He sank down onto the floor, his head in his hands. “I’ve been making terrible decisions. But the worst of all was asking you to leave. This is the place when I always sabotage my relationships. I always push people away.”
Whoa.
He was sitting on the floor in front of a shelf of large baking pans.
He looked up. Yes. He was definitely crying. In the dim light, she could just barely see the glint of tears on his cheeks. “Morgan, there’s something about you. You’re just so genuine. It scares me, but I know it’s what I need. You’re what I need.” He reached for her hand. “I love you.”
“Sebastian, this is too much,” she said, pulling her hand away. “First you were kicking me out, now you’re telling me that you love me?”
“More than just that I love you,” Sebastian said. “I want you to marry me. Will you marry me?”
Morgan was flabbergasted. She was forgetting to act drunk. He was asking—what? An hour, two hours before, she would have turned him down flat, but something about his declaration moved her. The tears. He was totally broken down now. He was completely vulnerable.
This took it to another level. It would be one thing to get some dirt on Sebastian and Mitchell. But what if she could turn Sebastian? If she could get him to be a spy for the movement? Or a whistleblower? What kind of ammunition could they get on the entire fossil fuel industry?
“Sebastian,” Morgan said. “I don’t think I can say yes to you. Not here and now. Not like this. And it’s never been just you and me. You’re already married to your job. And your company, with all the drama of your family. That will always come first. And be this big secret thing in your life. Even if I become your wife, that job will always be your secret mistress.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “I need to change things at work. I need to—I don’t know what I need to do.”
“I know what you need to do,” Morgan said. “Take some time off work. Get some perspective. Can we get away after Christmas? Just you and me. And we can tell each other our life stories? All our secrets. Really connect. Just the two of us?”
“Yes,” he said. “Anything you say.”
For the first time they both stood there and faced each other. He wasn’t the billionaire. He was just a sort of messy guy.
“Do we go back to the party?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Let’s just slip out the back.”
“What will people say if you disappear from your own party?” she asked.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “Oh God, that feels good. I don’t give one single fuck. Let’s go.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hallway.
“What about our coats?” she asked.
“Fuck the coats,” he yelled, and they went down in the elevator.
He called the limo, and they ran out into the cold, shivering and laughing.
The limo picked them up.
“I wasn’t expecting you until much later, sir,” the driver said. “Are you headed home?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian said and turned to Morgan. “Are we headed home?”
“No,” Morgan said. “We’re headed to Brooklyn.”
“What’s in Brooklyn?” he asked. “I never go to any of the boroughs.”
“The last vestiges of anything real in New York City,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like the best fucking Jamaican food you’ve ever tasted.”
“Okay,” Sebastian said. “Brooklyn it is.”
* * *
She took him to Dashawna’s favorite spot. A tiny place that did mostly takeout but had three plastic tables. They were the only people in the place that weren’t dark-skinned. The two of them could not possibly have stuck out more.
“Are we gonna get mugged in here?” he asked.
“Calm down,” Morgan said. “It’s fine.”
She turned to the woman behind the plastic partition. “Four beef patties, please,” Morgan said, ordering for Sebastian.
She couldn’t help but smile as she paid. Then they got the food and sat down.
As they pulled the patties out of the crinkling paper bags, it was awkward. Like a real date. She didn’t know what to say. Her eyes strayed to the thin patches in the linoleum floor. The place was clean but well-worn.
“Oh my God,” Sebastian said as he took his first bite. “There was this guy at Yale who used to throw Jamaican parties. He sold these. They were so fucking spicy.” He breathed in to cool his mouth and stood up.
At the counter, Sebastian bought sodas for both of them. Green bottles. Ting. They tasted like grapefruit.
“This is what I mean, Morgan,” he said. “This is where I need to be. Eating something unexpected and remembering my youth. When I cared about . . . things . . . more . . . things other than profitability. You take me to the places I need to go.”
Morgan’s mouth was on fire. Her eyes were starting to water, too.
“Let’s get away,” he said. “Let’s go to Jamaica. A friend has a private beach. Just the two of us.”
Morgan nodded. Thinking of Kevin. Her mouth full of spice and her eyes watering.
* * *
In the limo Sebastian reached for her. They were riding over the Brooklyn Bridge, the lights of the city sparkling ahead of them.
Morgan took a breath. “Sebastian, I just can’t right now. It’s been too much. Tonight. Thinking you were cheating. You throwing me out. Then proposing. I just—I need a moment.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”
She liked this kinder Sebastian. This vulnerable Sebastian. She leaned against him on the way home.
* * *
She couldn’t sleep when they got home, although Sebastian knocked out shortly after they got home. She always slept well after a good cry, too.
This time it was a different tangle of emotions. The memory of Kevin, the unexpected turn of events with Sebastian. Morgan finally managed to fall asleep around four a.m. When she woke up, he was leaving for the day. Dressed in sweats.
“I’m going in to tell them that I’m taking a few weeks off,” he said and kissed her.
“Wait,” Morgan said. “What about the bribe money?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastian said. “I guess I’ll figure that out in January. Maybe I’ll let him keep it. Maybe I’ll turn myself in for offering a bribe. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. It feels so good not to know. Not to have to know.”
This was going to work. She could turn him. She knew she could.
The moment he was out the door she texted Kevin for an urgent meeting.
* * *
At the bar she went straight to the storage room. She opened the door and saw Kevin waiting. She could feel her face leaping into the world’s widest grin.
Kevin took one look at her and his own face split open in delight.
“You’re done?” he asked, grabbing her around the waist.
“Better,” she said, throwing her arms around him.
“Done and got smoking-gun evidence?” Kevin asked.
“Better,” Morgan said, stepping back a bit to see his face.
“What could be better than a smoking gun and done?” Kevin asked.
“I think I can turn him,” Morgan said.
“You what?” Kevin asked, his face falling.
Then it all poured out. Daphne. Her confronting Sebastian. Him breaking down. The marriage proposal. How he was different afterward.
“So, instead of being done, you’re going to marry this asshole?” Kevin asked.
“Of course not,” Morgan said. “This is so much bigger than that. Can you imagine what Sebastian knows? What would it do for the cause if he turned state’s evidence? It’s not just about stopping ReidCorp. Or catching him with his hand in the cookie jar. It’s about taking down the whole consortium. If we could get one of them to turn? Can’t you see it?”
“Of course I realize how valuable that would be,” Kevin said. “But one little weepy moment with your billionaire boyfriend doesn’t make a class traitor.”
“No,” Morgan said, feeling irritated. “I’d have to work on him.”
“Think it through, Morgan,” Kevin said. “Even if you get him to agree in a moment of weakness. The second his people get hold of him, they’ll talk him out of it.”
“I’ve thought about that,” she said. “That’s why I set up for the two of us to go away and tell each other our life stories. I’ll record the conversations. Even if he backpedals, I expect to get an incredible amount of evidence.”
Kevin’s mouth grew tight. “Are you maybe overestimating your methods of persuasion?”
“What?” she asked. “My ‘feminine wiles’?”
“I just mean—” Kevin said.
“Kevin,” Morgan said. “I’ve known this guy for almost a year. I’ve never seen him like this. Don’t you think it’s worth a try?”
“And who’s supposed to be bankrolling all this?”
“Sebastian, of course,” Morgan said. “And I brought you the cocktail dress to return. Thanks for the loan.”
“He proposed and you said yes?” Kevin said. “You didn’t even say you’d think about it?”
“No way I said yes,” Morgan said. “But my plan is that I might say yes while we’re on the getaway. As part of breaking him down. Getting him to turn.”
“While you’re fucking him?” Kevin said.
“Maybe,” Morgan said. “My plan wasn’t that specific. Insert penis. Say ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’ You know I’m in a sexual relationship with Sebastian. We talked about this. You were the one who said to spy on him and to just keep going like everything was normal.”
“But that was before,” Kevin said. “Before . . . us.”
“This has nothing to do with us,” Morgan said.
“This has everything to do with us,” Kevin said. “I can’t believe I’m fucking the same woman as Sebastian Reid. You know what guys say? If I go down on you, it’s like sucking Sebastian Reid’s dick.”
Morgan could feel her rage rising. “No,” she said coldly. “No, it’s not like that at all. What do you think I am? Some bone that you two dogs are fighting over?”
“I just can’t see—” Kevin began.
“That’s right, Kevin,” Morgan said. “You can’t see. You wanted me to be a spy, and you turned me into a spy. Now you want me to turn back into a regular girl? Maybe I could reclaim my virginity while I’m at it. You wanna take me to a goddamn purity ball? Well, I’m not turning back. This is an incredible chance for the movement, but you can’t see it because yes, I’ll have to do some fucking to get this evidence.”
Kevin winced.
“Which is the fucked-up part,” Morgan said. “When you were the spurned lover, you sent me in to fuck the guy I was learning to despise. And now that you want me again—and now that he’s less despicable—you don’t want me having the emotional intimacy with him that I’ll need to get this information. But I’m done being your flunky, Kevin. I’m going. I’m getting that intel. And I’m going to take it as far as I can. This one’s for the fucking planet.”
She pressed the garment bag into his chest a little harder than necessary and crossed to the door of the storage room.
“You’re making a mistake,” Kevin said. “How long have you been an activist? Like for all of five minutes? You’ve still got a lot to learn.”
“Fortunately, I won’t be learning it from you,” she said. “Let Yolanda know I’ll be calling her when I turn Sebastian. Goodbye, Kevin.”
She slammed the storage-room door behind her. It felt good to storm out—her whole body felt explosive. She took long, angry strides out of the bar. She kept going right past her subway stop. She wasn’t ready to be contained yet. The weather was chilly today, but all she could feel in her face was heat.
People walked by her, huddled against the cold. She stood tall, her flushed neck exposed. But by the time she walked past the second subway stop and strode to the third, her rage had cooled.
There was so much finality to the goodbye as it left her lips. A lump of grief had taken its place. This was supposed to have been a moment of triumph. Just a delay on the way to something . . . wonderful. As she walked down the final block to the subway, she willed herself not to cry. As the wind whipped her face, she held her head high, acting like the tears were only a symptom of the cold weather.
* * *
She sat on the train in silence. Unable to read her book or listen to music or anything. Well, that solved one of her problems. How was she going to handle the situation with Sebastian and Kevin? It would be Sebastian. Who would have guessed?
Maybe if Sebastian wasn’t busy being such a billionaire fossil-fuel asshole, he could really be her boyfriend. Men had turned from one side to the other in the past. She had read about Daniel Ellsberg, who had been a warmonger but had published The Pentagon Papers and really shaken up the military. In fact, there were a lot of veterans who had taken stands against war. Maybe Sebastian could become a big whistleblower. Who knew? She would keep an open mind. But there was a stinging in her chest and she couldn’t shake it. Ever since she had walked into the bar grinning and watched the joy drain slowly from Kevin’s face.
* * *
When Sebastian’s jet landed in Montego Bay airport and Morgan turned her phone back on, she had gotten a notification from CFI. She’d been selected as one of three finalists of the quilt contest. At any other point before in her life she would have been joyous. But now she just felt disconnected from everything that represented.
Sebastian had held her hand as the plane went in for a landing. He had confessed that he was terrified of flying. That was part of why he had his own jet. Because he hated for anyone else to know.
He squeezed her hand as they touched down.
* * *
Jamaica was disorienting. She had never been out of the country before. Sebastian had to get her a rush passport. There were lots of Americans in the Montego Bay airport. But once they got into the limo, that was the last time she saw anyone who wasn’t brown.
The moment they got to the guesthouse, she felt awkward with the people working there. The dark-skinned men and women who cooked and cleaned for them. Could they tell she was also of African heritage? That her mother worked as a cleaner? Did it even matter? Mostly, they probably saw her as American.
At first things were awkward with Sebastian, too. They hadn’t had sex since his breakdown. Things were different between them. There was an emotional connection and intimacy. They had kissed once, on the lips, and it had been sweetly bumbling.
* * *
The beach where they were staying was a cliché. Pale sand. Turquoise water. Palm trees. Boiling sunsets. like walking into a postcard. Two miles of private coastline.
Every morning, before it got too hot, Morgan and Sebastian ran on the beach. She was always faster, but by the third day he didn’t need to stop every so often to catch his breath, hands on his knees, while Morgan jogged in circles around him.
“Look at you,” she teased. “Didn’t you play sports at Yale? The billionaire lifestyle has made you soft. You have that treadmill at home, but you never use it.”
“I have one at the office,” he wheezed.
“Do you run on it?” Morgan asked. “Owning something isn’t the same as actually using it. Telling your assistant to buy something doesn’t improve your fitness.”
She could tease him now. Things were different.
“Or are billionaire calories different?” she asked. “Let’s see. ‘I texted my assistant. That probably burned four hundred calories. Time for lunch . . .’ ”
“Keep talking trash,” he said. “One of these days I’m gonna get my fitness back and catch up with you.”
“Well, it won’t be today,” Morgan said, jogging backward with her hands on her hips.
* * *
They swam in the afternoons. On the third day Sebastian had just gotten out of the shower. Morgan was sitting on a couch when he walked into the sitting room. She patted the seat beside her and he sat down.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, gently but without passion. They still hadn’t had sex. Sebastian had made a few hesitant overtures, but Morgan had said she wasn’t ready.
“Who are you really?” Morgan asked. “Who are we both?”
“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked.
“If there’s any hope for this relationship,” Morgan said, “we have to be honest with each other. About everything.”
He looked wary. Almost as if he knew her phone, which lay facedown on the coffee table, was recording.
“I can start,” Morgan said. “After I moved in, I wasn’t really my authentic self. I was hoping to get a proposal. That was the original idea. But I didn’t like living with you as a kept woman. I probably would have moved out even if we hadn’t had that fight. In fact, I was just named as a finalist for an art prize and might have a windfall in my checking account soon. Either way, I’ll have professional opportunities. I definitely was planning on moving out when that happened. But then you broke down and showed me this other side of yourself—showed me something real, not flashy and fake. I remembered what I liked about you in the first place. You have a genuine kindness, Sebastian. And a wit. If I could spend more time with this part of you, I might fall in love with you.”
“I already am in love with you, Morgan,” Sebastian said. “Maybe originally I was in love with the face you put on for me. You seemed so warm and easy to be with. My mother—my whole family—was really cold. And my parents died in that plane crash. I’m sure you know the story. I had all these nannies and guardians. I just—you weren’t like a lot of women I dated from school and stuff. They had a future planned for us. They were all ambition but no heat. You’re so alive. Like the colors you wear. You just brought this energy into my life, and I like it. It’s no wonder I can’t do what I’ve been doing up until now. I don’t want that life. Why do I need to spend my time living out my father’s dream, of running ReidCorp? I have plenty of money. I can just chill. This can be my life. This can be our life together. Let me—let me do this right.”
Morgan could feel her heart start to beat hard. Was he—?
Sebastian slid off the wicker couch and got down on one knee.
He was. He definitely was.
Sebastian opened a small, red-velvet box. “Morgan, will you marry me?”
She looked at the ring. It was huge. Befitting a billionaire.
She laughed. “Yes, Sebastian.” She wasn’t sure what it meant. Was she saying yes for real? As a spy? Maybe if she turned him, it could become real.
He put the ring on her finger and kissed her. Not entitled. Sort of checking as he went if it was okay. She kissed back. It wasn’t what she had with Kevin. But it was warm and different from what it had been with Sebastian before.
Later that night—long after she had turned off the recorder—as they had sex, she wondered if he would really go through with letting ReidCorp go. But soon he was going down on her, and she wasn’t thinking of ReidCorp at all.
* * *
The next morning was overcast. Usually they had to come back after they ran because they had sweated off the sunscreen. But with the cloudy sky, they could go for a swim. The beach was beautiful, miles of pristine sand.
When they got back to the villa, she lay down in bed beside him.
“What are we going to do about that bribe to Mitchell Brightwell?” she asked.
“We can probably get out ahead of it,” he said. “I can confess it and step down as CEO of ReidCorp.”
“You would really do that?” Morgan asked. In that moment she felt a swell of hope in her chest. Maybe this could be something real.
“I don’t want that life anymore,” he said. “It killed my parents. My dad had them flying in unsafe conditions to survey some freshly discovered, potential new fuel. Because he had to get there first. He couldn’t stand for anyone to beat him. That fuel didn’t even pan out, but if the crash hadn’t killed him, the heart attacks would have. He’d already had three. His chest was all plastic wires at that point anyway. I’m just pissed that he took my mom with him.”
“Are you serious about stepping down and confessing?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s over for me. I already told the board I was taking a leave to sort things out. I let them know resignation was on the table. Now I’ll just let them know it’s for sure.”
“What about . . .” Morgan began. But it was too early for that. She couldn’t pressure him to turn. She should wait until there was an opportunity. Some crisis, or news about climate or something, where it would come up naturally. Although she wasn’t sure when that would be. They didn’t listen to the news. Had little contact with the outside world. They swam, ate, got massages, had sex, walked on the beach. In their wealthy bubble of relaxation, nothing about the climate crisis touched them.
Of course, with all the swimming she couldn’t keep her hair straight. She would pull it up into a tight bun to disguise the texture. But one day they had sex after a shower, and she fell asleep right after.
She woke up to Sebastian playing with the ends of her hair.
“It’s so curly,” he said. “I had no idea.”
“I usually keep it flat ironed.”
“Why?” he asked. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s so unruly,” Morgan said.
“Like you,” Sebastian said. “I like it that way. I like you that way.”
Morgan just smiled and shook her head. “Hair is complicated for Black women,” Morgan said.
“I don’t think of you as Black,” Sebastian said.
“Well, I am,” she said.
“Maybe half Black,” he said.
“I’m not half anything,” Morgan said. “I’m fully Black. I just have other heritages, too.” Unapologetically Black was the thought, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. Could she?
But before she could decide, he grinned and stood up. “Morgan, there’s something I’d like to do with you. Something I’ve wanted to do with all my girlfriends, but I never—”
Oh shit. This was the type of thing Dashawna talked about all the time. These guys had these whole scenarios built around being able to do things with Black women that white women were too good for. Was he gonna spring some fetish on her?
“Something in bed?” she asked.
Sebastian laughed. “No,” he said. “Nothing like that. I—I like to watch . . .”
Morgan bit her lip and her brow furrowed.
“You should see your face,” Sebastian said, laughing harder. “You look like: What kind of kinky stuff is this rich guy into?” Sebastian wiped his eyes. “Nothing like that. It’s . . .” He trailed off and his voice got kind of shy. He couldn’t meet her eyes. “I like soap operas,” he said.
As he spoke, there was this whole new expression she’d never seen.
“It’s just . . . there was this soap opera one of my nannies used to watch. I still watch it sometimes. Alone in my study. That’s the real reason there’s that flat screen in there. I put on headphones and watch this Argentinian show. And sometimes I cry a little. Just at the part where the boy’s parents die in a car crash.” He looked up at her then, his eyes wet. As many times as they’d been naked together, it was the most exposed he’d ever been.
Morgan threw her arms around him, and he began to cry. Really cry this time. Sobbing, crumpled face. The whole bit.
“God,” he said. “Men are not supposed to cry. I feel like such a wimp.”
“No,” she said, wiping his eyes with the corner of a bedsheet. “It makes you human.”
“Well,” he said. “Now you know all my secrets. I’m a sap who watches telenovelas. I’m a failure at business. You still want to marry me?”
“Before I answer that,” Morgan said, “I need to tell you my big secret.”
She scooted up so that her back was against the bed’s headboard and reached for his hand.
She turned to face him and his eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline.
Now it was her turn to look down. “I’m poor,” she said. “Barely scraped my way through college. I was basically homeless when we met. Sleeping on a friend’s couch. My designer clothes are from another friend I met in fashion school. The friend I was staying with taught me how to reel you in. Your class doesn’t like outsiders, but more than that, doesn’t want gold diggers. I had to pretend to have money. I think I have about two hundred dollars in my bank account right now. No assets. A bunch of student loan debt. Which I’m defaulting on, by the way. I pretended to have money, and I was sort of using you to be a patron of my art. I was gonna get my career off the ground and leave.”
His eyes were wider than usual, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“I have to say that underneath it all, I just didn’t think I was good enough for a rich guy,” she said, her eyes dropping to the cotton sheets, following the intricate wave patterns in the design. “People called my family trash sometimes. I figured, even if you liked me, you’d be ashamed of me with other people. You’d never take me seriously as a wife, or even a girlfriend. You know that song from the sixties, about how if a woman’s father is rich you take her out for dinner, but if he’s poor you just do whatever you feel like doing?” Morgan asked.
Sebastian shook his head.
“But I’m sure you’re familiar with the sentiment,” she said.
Sebastian nodded.
“I didn’t want you to look at me that way,” she said. “Like some trash you could use and throw away. I faked a lot of things with you. Money. Orgasms.”
Sebastian’s eyes flew open.
“Not recently,” she said. “But . . . before. A lot of it was a big performance.”
Sebastian nodded slowly. “It feels different, you know. When you fake, there’s a lot of noise and movement, but down below, there’s nothing happening.”
“Welp,” Morgan said. “Now you know all the secrets.”
“Morgan Faraday,” Sebastian said. “I plan to make up for your childhood. I’m gonna spoil you rotten.”
Morgan shook her head. “I don’t need all that,” she said. “I just want to have a good life with you. And watch an Argentinian soap opera.”
“Seriously?” Sebastian said. “You’d watch it with me?”
“Of course,” Morgan said. “My grandmother used to be addicted to All My Children. I watched it with her every day when I was like three and four. I didn’t understand any of it.”
“Right?” Sebastian said. “That’s why it’s so satisfying to watch it now, as an adult. I finally understand what the hell’s going on. As a kid, the only part I really understood was the car crash.”
“Let’s watch,” Morgan said.
For the rest of the trip they cuddled up on the bed and watched the telenovela on his laptop, dubbed in English. It took Morgan a while to get accustomed to the words not matching the actors’ mouths.
The show had run for several years, five days a week, so even though they binge-watched, they hadn’t even gotten past the first two seasons when it was time to go home.
Morgan came back from the Caribbean with a tan, a new sense of optimism, and an IUD. A concierge doctor had come and implanted it right then and there at their beach villa.
Her contraceptive pills had run out and Sebastian suggested it. In her mind, she could picture Dashawna celebrating. “Girrrrl! That’s some straight up wife birth control.”