Chapter 7 I threw off my tie and yanked the buttons of my shirt, uncaring if they popped off. Time was running short, and I still hadn't settled on what to wear tonight. It didn't help that Sam was watching my internal and external mayhem with a smirk. He'd been encouraging me to get my head out of my codes for years, and now that I had, he was finding amusement in it. "It would help if you'd just tell me what to wear instead of laughing at me," I groused, rummaging through my shirts. When I'd packed before leaving LA., it had not been with the intention of trying to look good for a woman like Bea-or any woman, for that matter. My clothing was finely tailored, but utilitarian for the most part. My present choices were workwear, gym clothes, or anime T-shirts. "Sorry, sorry." Sam waved his hand in front of his laughing face. "I've just never seen you like this. Let me enjoy it." I tossed my shirt at him. "Enjoy it after you tell me what to wear." Hands on my hips, I scanned my discarded clothing. Nothing was right. Trousers, button-downs, sweatpants-no, no, no. The mess I'd made wasn't helping my disordered thoughts. Sam strode out of the room and returned a minute later with a T-shirt and jacket. "Here. Wear this with your black jeans." I took the clothes from him. "Are you sure I shouldn't be more formal?" He chuffed, shaking his head. "You're not taking her to a fine dining restaurant. Besides, I didn't catch the formal vibe from her. She has blue hair." She did. A shade between sky and navy. Royal blue? I'd have to ask her if it had an official name. I'd been distracted in the moment, but it had been on my mind since I'd first noticed the color. The clothes Sam had suggested were right. I knew it looking in the mirror. Not my typical style, but I wasn't going to be tugging at them all night. No tags digging into my skin. The fabric was neither itchy nor confining. I looked and felt normal. Good. Sam nodded his approval when I came out of the bathroom. "She'll like it," he declared. How he was so certain, I didn't know. Bea was as much a mystery to him as she was to me. Then again, Sam was a lot better at catching people's vibes-one of the reasons I went to him for advice. I slipped my wallet and phone into my pockets, checked the time on my watch, and blew out a heavy breath. "Why am I doing this?" I asked. "What's the point of getting this nervous over a woman who lives in an entirely different state?" Sam rose from the chair he'd been sitting in by the window and strode over to me. He patted my jacket and stepped back, assessing me. "She doesn't have to live in another state, you know. She could be one more reason to take the DoD contract." I narrowed my eyes. "Is that why you're encouraging me to pursue her?" Sam wanted the contract, and he hadn't been subtle about it. Taking it would result in a top-to-bottom transformation. We would move into a whole new league, far beyond the goals I'd set for Nox. On top of that, it meant relocating to Denver. It wasn't a completely foreign city-I had family here-but I was comfortable in LA. In fact, I was comfortable with the incremental progression of Nox. I had time to work on outside projects. The concierge app I was developing was close to the beta testing stage. But if we took on this contract, all that would fall by the wayside. Sam interrupted my contemplation. "No, of course not." He held up his hands. "You need a life outside work. I've told you that for years. I don't know if things will go anywhere with this woman. All I'm saying is keep an open mind about everything." Easier said than done, but I'd give it a try. My father was a man stuck in a bygone era. He wore a fedora on a regular basis, said things like "the bee's knees," and called me "champ" unironically. When my sister and I were growing up, we'd watched more black-and-white movies than new releases. "Classics," he'd called them, when men were real men and the women were true beauties. While I'd never subscribed to his notions of masculinity or gender roles, some of it must have sunk in, because the first thing I thought when Beatrice Novak walked into the restaurant was Marilyn Monroe. Her blue hair curled at her shoulders, the strands bouncing with each step. The straps of her cream dress tied at the nape of her neck, and the pale fabric dipped low in the front before trailing over her abundant curves like a love letter. Her skin looked softer than velvet, and the heels she wore were tall enough to qualify as stilts, but she sauntered up to me with confidence. I could almost hear my father's voice calling her a bombshell. That was what she was. So astonishingly beautiful, my tongue became sandpaper in my mouth. Stopping in front of me, she smirked. "Fancy seeing you here." "Bea," I growled-not on purpose. I wasn't a man who growled, but my throat was raw and desert dry. She leaned into me, lashes brushing the top of her rounded cheeks as she blinked. Her heels put us almost eye to eye, leaving me little choice but to study the color of her irises. The darkest blue before becoming black. Midnight. Dangerous and mysterious. The only relief was the amber ring around her pupils. "I like your eyes," I said before I could stop myself. "Thank you." Her lashes fluttered. "You look really handsome tonight." "Not nervous?" Her cheeks lifted as she smiled. "Oh no. You look nervous too." I huffed a laugh. "I thought I was hiding it." She reached up, tracing the tip of her finger along my ear. "These turn bright pink when you look at me. I like it." "I suppose there's no hiding anything from you." Her hair brushed her shoulder as she tilted her head. "No. But why would you want to?" "I wouldn't." "I like that answer." She took my hand and guided it to the curve of her back. "Shall we?" From that moment on, we remained connected. My hand stayed at her waist as we walked. When we slid into the horseshoe-shaped booth, we sat pressed together, thigh to thigh. As we talked, her fingers drifted over my knuckles, arm, and leg. I brushed her hair from her face, let my hand rest on her knee, and when a crumb clung to her lip, I wiped it away with my thumb. For me, being with Bea was a singular experience. I'd had casual encounters, a small number of short-lived relationships, but there had never been a time I'd become so comfortable with someone in such a short period. Once the conversational dam burst, the words came easy. "My sister, her kids, and my father are here," I explained. "Are you close with your sister?" she asked. "As close as very different, extremely busy people can be. Tia is somewhat of a free spirit. Pretty much the exact opposite of me. She's allergic to schedules and rules." "But you get along?" "Like yin and yang. We balance one another." I trailed my finger down the length of Bea's, rubbing the smooth burgundy polish on her nail. "She's five years older, and she's always looked out for me. When I was seven, while I was out riding my bike, a kid in our neighborhood stole it from me. Tia hunted him down, broke his nose, and brought it back to me." Bea's brows popped. "I love her already. Tell me she didn't get in trouble for avenging you." "A slap on the wrist." I shifted in my seat. "He broke my elbow when he knocked me off the bike, so Tia's retaliation was pretty understandable, even to the kid's parents." "Hell yes. I'd like to punch him in the nose." Her reaction was a shot to the gut. I liked that she hated the kid who'd made my life hell for a few of my formative years as much as Tia did. My sister and Bea would get along famously, as my father would have said. "Tia teaches yoga. Very zen now-no more getting in fights." Bea smirked. "I bet she would if someone was mistreating her little brother." My mouth quirked. "I'm capable of fighting my own battles these days, but you're right. Tia wouldn't hesitate to throw down for me, our dad, and her kids." "You have a good relationship with your father too?" she asked. "I do. He's the kind of man who can walk into any room and make friends. I'm not anything like him, but he's always tried to get me." She perched her chin on her fist, thoughtful as she watched me. "You have good people. That's rare." "The best people," I agreed. "My family has always been patient and supportive, even when I was younger and didn't speak much. Especially Tia. She understands me most. She's like that with everyone, though. I think it's what makes her such an incredible mother." "Do you see your nieces and nephew often?" "Not as often as I would like." I smiled. "My oldest niece has spent two weeks with me every summer since she was eight. In a couple years, her brother will start the same tradition. And when the little one's old enough, she'll come too." "So you're a kid guy." A line formed between her brows. "That surprises me." "Not particularly. I don't spend much time thinking about children other than the ones I'm related to. They're pretty spectacular, but my sister is a wonderful mother, so it makes sense she produced these small people." "You should see how soft you get right here when you're talking about them." She lifted a hand and traced lines around my mouth. "Do you want kids of your own?" "I haven't given it any thought. Do you?" She shook her head. "Absolutely not." "Vehement," I observed. She let out a breathy laugh. "I know what I know. My mom left me to raise my brother and sister when I was still a kid myself. That cured me of wanting to do it again." My brow dropped, and a ball knotted in my stomach. "She left you?" Her gaze searched mine. "Do you really want to know this?" "I want to know everything." Her nose was pointed at the end. Delicate and cute, a ski slope from the side. It was anachronistic in comparison to her other features, which were almost erotic in their femininity. Tilted, almond-shaped eyes. Puffy pink lips. Strong, dark brows. High cheekbones. A soft jawline. All of it creating the most exquisite face I'd ever laid eyes on. But her nose told her story. It twitched and crinkled. Scrunched and flared. Now, it wrinkled along the narrow ridge, and it was all I could do not to smooth the skin with my thumb. "My mom had me when she was fifteen. We grew up together, basically. She treated me more like a sister than a daughter, even when I was little. I started cooking breakfast for us when I was five. I had to wake her up for school. By ten, I was doing laundry, vacuuming-all of it. Then she met Phil." Our waiter approached, and I waved him away. I needed to know what Bea was telling me more than anything else. She went on. "Phil was twenty years older and had grown kids, but he was rich. So rich. My mom was pregnant within a month or two of their wedding, and when she told me, she said, 'We're having a baby, bumblebee!' As in, she and I. And I knew what would happen-this baby would be mine more than hers." "Christ," I grunted, already angry and bracing for more. Her eyes went almost dreamy. "Don't get me wrong, I loved my siblings with all my heart, but I was never given a choice. I was made into the third parent, and there were a lot of times I was the primary caretaker." She tugged on one of her curls, lost in a memory. "Actually, when the second one came, I was the primary caretaker. They put his crib in my bedroom. I was late for school so often, I almost had to repeat the year. That was eighth grade, by the way." My fists clenched under the table as helpless anger thrummed in my veins. I barely knew this woman, but I'd rewrite her entire childhood if I could. If it meant we'd still end up here, side by side in this booth, I'd dismantle every law of physics to make it happen. But I knew that was fruitless. All I could do was ensure her life from here on out was her own to guide in the direction she desired. She went on, and it got worse. "My stepsister, Caroline, is sixteen years older than me. She's...well, we're night and day, but she saw what was going on and spoke to her father about it. When Phil came to me with Caroline's concerns, my mother forced me to tell him I was happy with my circumstances. In the end, nothing changed." My hands clenched even tighter. She drew in a deep breath. "She got pregnant again and I panicked. I just couldn't do it another time. I'd applied to out-of-state colleges, and she flipped, said if I left, Phil would divorce her, and she and the kids would be homeless. She laid it all on me. And like always, I would've stayed, but Caroline found out." "She helped you?" "She's not a big fan of her dad. Helping me doubled as making his life difficult. At least, that's what I think." The corner of her mouth hitched. "So yeah, she helped, but she's a 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' type, you know? She gave me the bootstraps, but that was it." "What does that mean, specifically?" "She cosigned for my first apartment, helped me with forms and loans, that kind of thing. After that, I was on my own." She propped her fist beneath her chin. "It was a lot more than my own mother had done for me. And she's given a lot of business to the catering company lately, so..." She spoke as if this Caroline woman had done her a favor. She may have done more than everyone else in Bea's life, but that wasn't saying much. In actuality, she'd done the bare minimum. She'd lifted one solitary finger to help. That was it. Not enough. Not even close. I made a mental note of these people's names to look into later, keeping my focus on the woman beside me. "So, everyone has let you down?" She shrugged. "I've learned to count on myself. I won't ever let me down." "No one takes care of you." It wasn't a question. It was obvious no one ever had, and that was wrong on every level. Beatrice Novak deserved to be treasured and pampered. "If I had a say, that would change." "Who says I want someone to take care of me, Tore?" "In this case, it isn't about what you want. It would be what I want to do for you." A low breath passed from the O of her parted lips. "And if that freaks me out?" "I would chase you until you're not afraid." With flushed cheeks, she brushed her hands over her plush hips. "I'm not really built to be a runner, you know." I leaned closer, drawn in by the pink caused by vasodilation beneath the surface of her smooth skin. "But you like the idea of being chased?" Her teeth peeked out to clamp down on her bottom lip. "Maybe. If it was you who caught me." Heat flooded my groin, my chest, my gut. The idea of prowling through the dark to hunt her down struck me hard and fast. And suddenly, I needed it to happen-find her, win her, capture her, keep her. This wasn't me. But maybe it was...with Bea. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!