******************** February 18th, 2002 Los Angeles, CA SEBASTIAN I ran inside my front door with the widest smile on my face. I'm out of breath, sweaty, and so excited I can't seem to keep my head straight. My driver almost fell on our front lawn from how fast I ran inside the house, but after a quick apology I think he'll forgive me. "Gloria!" I scream, looking around our living room to see if she's anywhere in sight. The housekeepers are on ladders cleaning the windows, and jump when they hear my voice.

I can't remember the last time I have been this nervous. But I can think of a few reasons why. Firstly, I am not keen on the idea of making a fool out of myself as Sebastian tries to "teach" me how to dance. I don't have the rhythm to ease this task upon myself, nor do I have the experience as I have stated before. Secondly, the eyes of the band watching us as they serenade Sebastian and I with their jazz measure makes my feet shake. There's only a modest number of them—about five people. But even if the number was five or five hundred, I would still be cowering in my heels And finally, the third reason as to why I am dreading the thought of allowing Sebastian Harrison to carry me off into a dance through this vacant ballroom floor, is a simple nine letter word:

**I'm packing my things and going back to L.A. Or am I? No. I'm going to stay here, and tell Sebastian the truth instead of running away from everything. But is that the best choice? I'm in my hotel room, staring at my suitcase that lays on the ground. The room is quiet; my phone is on silent. I can't dare face the text messages from Sarah or even Sebastian asking why I immediately left the charity ball after I rushed out of the ball room Sebastian and I danced in. Unable to make a decision, I sit at the foot of my bed and sigh. Garrett's "threat" to me doesn't even seem like something that happened; it's hard to come to terms with finding out the man you practically looked up to was wearing a mask the entire time. After our encounter, I know have

**"I'm pretty sure you, out of all people, know that Sebastian can become quite...difficult at times." Ingrid chuckles—a laugh low enough for me barely to hear. I can sense that she only laughs to try and make the situation more comfortable for herself. But for me? I'm still sitting on the edge of my seat. The fact that anything deep and hidden being revealed about Sebastian is so intriguing to me makes me question a lot of things. "Yes, I'm aware of that pretty well," I answer. "So when I first took him on as a client, it was really hard for him and I to cooperate. He was very headstrong, stubborn, and unwilling to listen to any proposition that involved him changing his lifestyle. I wasn't trying to change him, per say, but rather tone down his behavior in the public eye."

** From what I'm about to say, I hope some of you, at least, can relate to the words that I'm going to express. Metaphorically speaking, have you ever dug a hole too deep to climb out of? A hole deepened from your own curiosity or ego wielding the shovel? A hole so vast in depth that the only way left to go is down? That is how I feel right now; that is the best explanation for what I feel right now. I'm not sure whether or not I became this invested due to my curiosity or my ego that claimed it knew how to fix the issue. Maybe it was both. I don't know, but what I do know for sure is that I have dug a hole too deep to climb out of. When I first met Sebastian Harrison—the self-proclaimed Playboy and the poster child for debauc