Flowers and Financiers by Alina Jacobs

2

Sebastian

“Why did I let her get under my skin?”

“Is that why you rode so poorly?” Hunter Svensson asked me as we stripped off our sweaty polo jerseys in the locker room at the clubhouse.

“I rode poorly because your horses are half-feral,” I complained, “and I was concerned the entire time they were going to trample people.”

“I bought these horses for two hundred fifty dollars each from the Federal Bureau of Land Management,” he bragged as we headed to the showers.

“They are barely trained.”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk, “but it feels better to win when my horse costs less than a bicycle, and other people are paying millions of dollars for an inbred animal.”

Fucking Svenssons. Insufferable lot.Still, Hunter was one of my only friends in Harrogate. Between my business and my little brother, I didn’t go out much. I had been looking forward to this tournament for months, but then that horse girl had ruined my entire weekend.

“Cheer up,” Hunter said over the roar of the showers. “We still won.”

But I felt like I had lost something—probably just my self-respect. Honestly, what had I been thinking, arguing with that girl? She was short, chunky, and had a mess of crazy hair. Between those gigantic yellow sunglasses and that thing I hesitated to call a horse, it was clear she was insane. I should have just walked away.

“Did you ever find your friend you were looking for?” Hunter asked as I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist.

“She wasn’t in her booth. She finally texted me and wanted to see me at the mixer tonight,” I said.

“They’re having barbeque, right? They’d better not start serving food at eight. I’m starving! Text your friend and tell her we want food ready when we arrive.”

“I’m not going!” I said, horrified at the idea. “I’m going home. I need to pick up my brother.”

“Relax!” Hunter said as he buttoned up his shirt. “My brother Remy is babysitting.”

“That doesn’t fill me with warm feelings of comfort,” I said with a frown as I dressed. “It’s like Lord of the Flies at your house.”

Though I had always believed my home life was crap, the Svenssons’ childhood really took the cake. There were about a hundred of them, products of a polygamist father and his many wives. Hunter was one of the oldest and had come of age in a doomsday cult in the desert. The only good thing that had come out of the tragic situation was that he knew how to ride horses and was a fantastic polo player.

He also had to take care of his multitude of younger brothers. While I only had the one I was responsible for, I did appreciate having a buddy in the trenches of sibling parenting.

“You can’t just sit at home or in your office all day,” Hunter insisted, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

I slipped on my sunglasses as we walked out of the locker room to squeals from all the horse-girl groupies.

“Where are your boots?” one woman hollered.

I peered into the crowd, half expecting to see the crazy girl with the yellow sunglasses.

She probably already left, or she’s passed out drunk somewhere.

“The mixer will be fun,” Hunter said, elbowing me. “You could meet someone.”

“I highly doubt I’m going to meet my soul mate among this lot,” I replied.

One of the staff offered to take our bags.

“I’m actually leaving,” I said.

“No.” Hunter grabbed my bag from me and handed it to the coat check. “He’s staying. You need food and socialization that doesn’t consist of your little brother, Alfie, or the small-town kooks in Harrogate.”

“To Harrogate’s credit,” I said, accepting a drink from one of the servers, “at the last town hall meeting, I had a very enlightening conversation with a member of the feral-cat committee.”

Hunter grimaced. “Every day, I thank my lucky stars that I am not the mayor.”

“I bet you’re also thankful because if you had won, Meg would have drop-kicked you to the curb.”

And maybe she would have chosen me instead.

I shook off the thought. I hadn’t even dated Meg, the mayor of Harrogate. If Hunter weren’t two steps away from batshit insane, I might have, but it had been made very clear to me when I moved to the western New York town that Meg was Hunter’s, and god help anyone who got in the way of his flailing around, trying to convince her to take him back.

But he had eventually succeeded, and now they were getting married.

You always go after unattainable women,I reminded myself as Hunter dragged me to the serving line.

“Sebastian!” A pretty young woman wrapped her arms around my neck, the stone on her large wedding ring grazing my cheek. “Oops!”

Speaking of—Layla was another friend of mine who I had never even pretended to make a move on, though I had sometimes imagined what it would have been like to have her as a wife. Now she was married—and not to me. I was still alone.

“I’m shocked you’re actually at the mixer,” she said happily.

“I made him,” Hunter said, handing me a plate of food.

Layla raised an eyebrow.

“Is that Hunter Svensson or one of his happier, younger, better-looking younger brothers?” she teased and fist-bumped him. “Heard you finally got the girl after she wiped the floor with you in the election!”

“Worth it,” he declared.

Layla laughed. “We’ll see what you say after the bill for the enormous wedding you two are going to be throwing comes in.”

“I don’t care. I’ll spend whatever she wants,” Hunter said loftily.

“He’s like a completely different person,” I told Layla.

She snickered.

“Play the room, Sebastian. You could find your happily ever after tonight.”

“I’m just here for the food,” I deflected.

Layla and Hunter went to talk to Evan Harrington while I snuck outside to one of the empty tables. I had never particularly liked these types of events and avoided them whenever I could.

Another server handed me a drink.

I took a sip then almost dropped the glass when a woman drawled, “Ooh, too bad he’s not in those boots. But at least he has champagne this time.”

It was that girl. Those ridiculous sunglasses were perched on top of the mountain of curls on her head. She had a drink in one hand and was balancing a plate piled high with food in the other. Her fat little horse had had an outfit change, and he was wearing a little tuxedo vest.

“Are you stalking me?” I demanded.

“I was invited,” she said, leaning over to nibble a bite of brisket off her overflowing plate. “Can’t you tell? I’m, like, totally high society!”

I glowered at her. This is the last time I allow Hunter to drag me to one of these miserable social events.

The girl slurped her drink, making me wince. “I’ll leave you alone to bask in your own sex appeal. But I just had to get something off my chest, and I’m really drunk and will probably regret this tomorrow, if I even remember it, but I just wanted to say…” She paused dramatically and then took another bite of the tower of food on her plate. “That I think it was sexist and very unfair for you to demean me as a horse girl when you parade around in those pants, which make your ass look incredibly amazing, by the way, and act all serious about your polo playing and your horses.”

“I’m into horses because it’s a sport,” I hissed at her. “There are rules and rankings. You’re into horses because it’s some sort of weird sexual fantasy.”

“I don’t want to sleep with a horse!” she yelled at me.

The few lone people outside looked in our direction.

“Keep it down,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I just want to sleep with you!” she said, blinking up at me in the dark. “Er…well, not, like, you in particular, but, like, someone like you in the outfit.”

There were titters from people walking toward the venue.

A redhead and a dark-haired woman ran up and grabbed the horse girl.

“We really should revert to male fashion in the regency period,” she insisted loudly as her friends tried to drag her off. “Those tight pants and the boots? Chef’s kiss.” Some of the champagne sloshed down her front, and a piece of brisket fell to the floor. The fat little horse gobbled it up.

“Oh my god,” I said.

“Fun fact!” the crazy girl said, fighting off another friend who was trying to cover her mouth.

“Stop talking, Amy,” her friend said, horrified.

“Fun fact, horses are opportunistic omnivores, and one at my granddad’s farm ate an entire baby chicken once.”

“Shh!”

“You shh,” Amy said, listing slightly and slipping out of her friend’s grasp then careening into me, spilling her food and drink all over my suit.

“Oops!” she slurred, pawing at my chest while I stood there, stunned. “I’ll totally lick all that barbeque sauce off you.”

Each of her friends took an arm then began to drag Amy off.

“But not in a sexual manner,” she called to me. “I just like barbeque.”

“And this is why I don’t go to parties,” I said, looking down at my ruined clothes. “At the very least, I’ll never have to see that horse girl again.”