luxe (sebastian stan)

Four

I returned hours earlier than Vanna that night, which was a refreshing surprise. It was still dark out by the time I opened the door and flopped on the couch to process everything that was happening, but at least I wouldn't have to be interrogated for a cool couple of hours. The first thing to swim its way to the top of my mind was the fact that I was going to begin this job in less than 24 hours. I have to be "completely and utterly in love with him"?

Unfortunately, the best I would probably be able to do was be attracted to him, but these men I'd be surrounding myself probably didn't know love if it hit them in the face, so my shitty acting might be adequate after all.

I imagined what Vanna would do in my situation. Would she have gone through all these motions a lot calmer than me? Would she have agreed in an instant because she thought there might have been a chance for sex, or for my safety?

I didn't know what the reasoning was behind Vanna's choices most of the time, but I could take a guess that even I was a second thought. It didn't hurt me to know that, but it made me wonder where I would stand in her mind if Sebastian asked her instead of me.

By the time I was falling asleep on the couch, the door opened and I heard Vanna's duffel bag fall to the floor. She was usually exhausted when her shifts ended, but not tonight. "Where. The. Fuck. Have. You. Been?" She enunciated every word to display her worry for me. "At my new job?" I said lazily, "Did I forget to tell you I started today?"

"No, you didn't," she said, her voice stern and trembling, "But you did forget to tell me that some stranger with a fucking gun in his pocket would be the one to take you there! I thought he was robbing us, Lola!" I opened my eyes to see her glittery makeup slide down her cheeks.

It broke my heart, to put her in this situation. Seeing her cry gave me an urge to drive to Sebastian's manor, slap him in the face for making my friend cry, and then quit on the spot. However, my fatigued driving was not the best, so I opted for saying, "I didn't know that was going to happen either, Vanna, I'm so sorry you had to be there for that."

I sat up straight on the couch and moved over so she could sit next to me. She accepted the offer and sat down tentatively. "Lola," she began, trepidation clear in her disposition, "Are you in danger?" I have no idea. "No," I reassured her, "The job's just unorthodox." Wasn't that the fucking truth. Vanna gave a shallow laugh, "More unorthodox than being a waitress at a strip club?" She got me there.

"Apparently," I said, reciprocating the same shallow laugh. "I have to work for a very influential man," I tiptoed over my words, making sure nothing slipped, "He wants me to attend events and get well acquainted with important colleagues." Nothing I said was a lie, technically, but I was usually transparent with Vanna, so this explanation felt like the furthest thing from the truth.

Vanna tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows, her thoughts lost in a brief moment of bewilderment. "Why?" was her only question. "I have no idea," it was the first truth I told, "Apparently, Abram gave me a good word. I have untapped potential, I guess." Another lie. Sebastian said it himself, I wasn't even his first choice. I was nobody's first choice, I guess.

To Vanna, the most unbelievable thing I had uttered thus far was, "Abram put in a good word for you? He hates you." "Hey! Abram doesn't hate me," I pointed out, "He just doesn't appreciate the way I carry myself." I then was reminded of one of the only acts of "kindness" Abram showed me was the night when I agreed to work for Sebastian. He didn't exactly stop Sebastian from following through with his decision, but I guess it was nice that he was unsure about it. Abram was the epitome of a wet cat, so I considered what he did the closest thing to sainthood.

There was a moment of silence between the two of us. Vanna was getting tired and I gave her all the answers I could supply her with. She then rested her head on my shoulder and I gently peeled her eyelashes off and threw them on the eyelash ashtray we had on the table for nights like these. "I was so worried about you," she said, her words slurring, "You didn't call or answer my texts." "I know," I said softly, stroking her hair, untangling whatever knots she acquired throughout the night, "I'm sorry."