~SEBASTIAN~

I felt restless.

It didn't help that my car had been stuck in a rush hour traffic jam for the past twenty minutes. Usually, I would be on my phone, or reading the business news on my tablet, but today I felt like a caged animal inside the large Lincoln town car.

I was on my way to a dinner. However, it was more of a business function than a social one. Unless I was dining a beautiful woman, I preferred my social interactions to have purpose, specifically one that would further my business goals. More business meant more work for more people.

Business. The well-oiled machine of commerce. That's what I thought about most days.

Today was different. Instead, I wondered when was the last time I took a walk out in the sun. Golf games didn't count — if you played with clients, technically that was still work. And I only ever played with clients, or business partners.

It was the same with all the parties I'd ever gone to. The Mattheson Bank was my family empire, so even family gatherings were business-related. At least, that's how I'd come to think of them. My relationship with my father was not the most cordial, and neither was I particularly fond of my father's siblings or their children. The only people I thought of as  family, other than Benson, were my mother and Eric, and they were both gone.

It was at that moment that I realized what the date was.

"Connor, I'm going for a walk," I told my driver.

"Sir?" If Connor Mills was surprised, he didn't show it. It was part of his job. If I had asked him to wait outside a jewelry store while I robbed it, Connor would merely ask if Mr. Chase wanted him to keep the engine running.

"Please give my regrets to the Chapmans, and charge their dinner check to me."

"Certainly, sir."

I opened the door and stepped out the car. I didn't know where I was going, not really, but that didn't matter.

I consciously walked away from where everyone seemed to be heading, walking past restaurants, flower shops and banks. I remembered Eric once told me he wanted to open up a small shop that sold nothing but socks. "Wouldn't Dad throw a fit?" he'd said, laughing.

"Probably," I had replied. "Then he'd come back after a month to check if your sales were improving."

"Sadly, it seems you're the only businessman in the family, Sebastian. I don't think I'll be good at anything. Maybe I should find me a nice hardworking wife, and I could stay home and cook for our kids."

"So long as she doesn't plan on selling socks, you should be fine."

Eric and mother passed away in a plane crash on this day five years ago. Eric had left a son, and a wife he'd been separated from a mere two years after they were married. Our mother only had Eric and me, having been divorced from our father since Eric was born. I was the only one who ever remembered she was in that plane crash too.

There would be no phone call from my father. No dinner on the anniversary of my mother and brother's deaths. No words of consolation for each other. We didn't do that sort of thing. We didn't have a personal relationship, just a business one. All George Mattheson expected from me was a healthy growth in the family corporation, and a healthy heir to that corporation to take over after I retired.

It would just be another day for my father.

The streets were both familiar and unfamiliar to me. I may have passed through the area once or a hundred times, I wouldn't know. I didn't take walks, not really. I barely glanced outside when being chauffeured from place to place. I wasn't hungry, but a sign on a coffee shop window caught my eye for some reason I couldn't put my finger on. On impulse, I went inside.

It was not a fashionable coffee shop by any means. The décor was simple and old fashioned. The first thing that hit me was the familiar smell of cinnamon and bread. I took a seat at a table farthest from the door.

"What can I get you, hon?" said the waitress who appeared almost immediately after I sat down. She was thin and pale, and looked about forty. Her brown hair was pulled up in a bun. "The doughnuts are freshly made. They're real good with coffee."

"I'll have one then," I said. "And coffee."

"I'll be right back." She looked tired, but her smile was warm.

According to her nameplate, her name was Mabel. I didn't even need to read it — customers called her by her name. She chatted up a couple of them on her way to the counter, asking how they were and if they wanted a refill on their coffee.

It didn't take long before she was back with my coffee and doughnut. I nodded my thanks. As she moved away, an elderly man from the next table called out to her.

"Hey Mabel. How's Jenni?" he said. "I heard you had to rush her to the hospital yesterday."

"She's fine, Cal. Spent two hours in the emergency room, and I was near out of my mind with worry. But the doctor changed her meds and she's been fine since then. Thanks for asking," Mabel said. "Thank goodness Victoria offered to take my shift yesterday."

It was then that I realized why the name of the place seemed so familiar. I'd seen it on a resumé recently. The Foxhole. Current employer of one Victoria Slade.

"That was right sweet of of her, Mabel," the elderly customer said.

"That girl is some kind of angel, I tell you," Mabel said. "She had an appointment that same afternoon too. A job interview I think. Now that I think about it, I hope I didn't make her miss it." She shook her head and picked up an empty dish from the elderly man's table. "More water, Cal?"