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

Chapter Twenty-One: Plomo

**

SEBASTIAN

I'm painfully reminded of how annoying it is to have a girlfriend.

Sadly, I don't remember a time where any of my girlfriends didn't annoy me. Every last one of them were nothing but a fucking nuisance.

"Sebastian, can I use your credit card?" "Sebastian, you said that this would be Prada, but this is Michael Kors!" "Oh, my God, Sebastian let's take a picture for Instagram! This will definitely get me over a hundred thousand likes."

I guess the sex is my favorite part. That's sad, isn't it? A relationship should be more than sex, I know. But if you've been in the type of relationships I've been in, sex is the only thing to look forward to.

At the moment, I'm trying to leave my house to make the trip up to Quintanilla. Salvador insisted on inviting his partners up to his mansion for a little "demonstration" and meeting about the direction of his 'empire' and where we fit in. You'd think that his partners would consist of some Colombian businessmen or even just some filthy rich men caught up in the blow business. But that's far from the truth—many of Salvador's partners are old white American CEOs who want a cut of the profit, too.

Don't tell them I told you, though. Those fuckers would have my head if anyone found out.

"I just don't understand why you have to leave me here all by myself?" Claire says to me, rolling her eyes and smacking her gum like a temperamental teenager.

"I never asked you to stay," I say to her. My phone is ringing like crazy. I was supposed to be out in my courtyard five minutes ago. "I already told you that I'm going to be out late."

"Doing what?"

"Work." Jumping off a cliff sounds better than dealing with this shit. Why are the nineties girls so fucking complicated?

"You don't have to lie. I know you're sneaking out behind my back to go sleep with some other girl. I know the type of man you are. I do my research."

I laugh. And it isn't a fake, uncomfortable laugh, but genuine laughter. Laughter I needed, if I'm being truthful. Claire really wants to argue? With me? Fuck, it's like dealing with a child. And briefly, I remember Leslie's joke about taking Claire to Chuck E. Cheese's as a date and laugh even harder.

"What's so funny? Are you laughing because it's true?"

"Yes," I tell her. "I'm fucking someone else. Hard. Better than I'm fucking you. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She doesn't get my sarcasm and starts going off on a tangent. Claude has sent me over ten text messages by now, and needing to save my energy to deal with Salvador and Alejandro, I get up and start for the door.

"Where are you going? I'm still talking to you!" She yells. I stop, dig in my pocket until I touch my wallet and toss one of my credit cards towards her. Immediately, a smile stretches across her face.

"Thanks!" Claire beams before running to get her purse. Horrible analogy, but Claire's like a dog—all bark until you throw them a bone. Fiery in personality and looks, her hair hotter than a raging fire, but once you dangle a compromise in front of her, that personality dwindles down close to nothing.

I jog outside to my courtyard. Claude is waiting for me in the car, more impatient than a raging bee. Penny is in the back seat, quiet and aware of Claude's wrath.

"I'd like a heads up when you decide to take ten extra minutes on your luxurious hair," is the first thing that Claude says to me.

Penny laughs while I buckle my seatbelt. "Sorry, Mom. I got held up."