Chapter 8 I clicked on my calendar, blinked a few times, refreshed the page, and stared. I'd entered the new catering gigs myself, but I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. How could it be right? My schedule had never been this packed. It had taken me two years to build up the client base I had two weeks ago. How was it possible I'd just added five new recurring clients practically overnight? My brain refused to compute. If this was real, it could be a game changer. I wasn't about to count my chickens. Nor would I be quitting my waitressing job. Not yet, even if, technically, I would be making more than enough to survive without it. Still...I could finally afford to hire an assistant. Offering the job to Scarlet wasn't looking so ridiculous anymore. I was already halfway in anyway. Two days after I'd made the offer, she'd shown up on my doorstep, Grandpa in tow. Grandpa Tony looked like he'd stepped off a mid-century movie set. With a slim knit collared shirt tucked into high-waisted trousers that had to be custom-tailored, shiny loafers matching his brown leather belt, and a sleek silver pompadour, he was movie-star handsome. When I opened the door, he gave me a flirty smile. "Well, hello, Marilyn." "It's Bea," I replied. Scarlet rolled her eyes. "Oh, he knows your name." She elbowed her grandfather. "Don't flirt with Bea. She's my boss." Chuckling, he held up both hands. "Can you blame a guy for being bowled over when a Marilyn Monroe lookalike answers the door?" This wasn't the first-or tenth-time I'd heard that comparison, though I didn't really bear that much of a resemblance to her. It was the hair and boobs that did it. Granted, I liked to wear her iconic white dress from time to time just to cause a stir. But I had a much fuller figure than she ever did, and my features weren't nearly as dainty. Still, there were far worse things to be compared to. I held out my hand. "I'm Bea Novak. You must be Grandpa Tony." He grabbed my hand with both of his, wincing when I referred to him as Grandpa. "Just Tony, please. Only my three nuggets get to call me Grandpa." I grinned, already liking the easy affection he had for his grandkids. "Sure. Tony it is." He gave my hand a squeeze before letting it go. "I'm told you offered Scarlet a job." "I did." I leaned my shoulder against my doorjamb. "I run a catering business out of my house, and I need another set of hands once or twice a week. Scarlet told me she wants a job, and I thought we might be able to help each other out." His dark eyes narrowed. "She didn't bully you into the offer?" Scarlet stomped. "Grandpa! God, I'd never bully anyone." She gestured toward me sharply. "Besides, does Bea seem like someone who could be bullied? I don't think so." That made me laugh. "For the record, I'm absolutely not. I'm unbullyable." He palmed the top of her head. "Forgive me, bella. I had to be sure. Are you sure you want a job? You know you don't need one." "I want one," she said firmly. "Aren't I old enough to decide for myself?" He released a blustering breath. "It kills me, but I suppose you are." Then he gave me his attention. "If this is a true offer, I don't see why we can't give it a try." "It's a true offer." I still didn't know why I'd made it. I needed help, but surely there was an adult out there who could fill the role. Why I was willingly signing myself up to spend time with a snarky teenager, I could not say. Only...the ball was rolling, and I had no intention of stopping it. Scarlet would start working for me this weekend. In the meantime, I had to get through the rest of the week. First stop: Nox. Everything was normal except the staring, and even that I was getting used to. The past two weeks, Tore had been parked in the conference room when I'd arrived. He'd try to start a conversation, and I'd ignore him. The only thing I wanted to hear was an explanation, and he hadn't given me that. So, I did my job while he stared. If he wanted to watch me move around the room, that was on him. I happened to know it was a very fine view. Maybe it made my chest ache just a little to see him each week, but it wasn't that bad. Not like it had been two years ago. I could manage being in the same room once a week. Besides, he'd most likely get tired of this little game sooner rather than later and leave me be. Movement flickered in my periphery as someone entered. "Paul told me you were in here. What gives?" Tore clicked his mouse harder than necessary. "I needed a change of scenery." A dry laugh followed. "What? Are you serious? You're allergic to change." I kept my eyes on my task, my ears perked. I was pretty sure the voice belonged to Sam Patel, Tore's partner-the same Sam I'd managed to avoid until now. "That's an overstatement," Tore stated flatly. "What do you need from me?" "I CC'd you on my email with marketing, but I'm assuming you didn't read it. Am I right?" "You're correct." Sam sighed. "I know you're not interested in the business side of Nox, but you could at least pretend." "Here I am, pretending. Why don't you tell me what was in the emails?" There was a pause, then, "Unless it needs to wait until we're alone." "Nah, it's fine. I was suggesting softening the language of our risk disclosure." I could almost hear Tore's molars grinding with how tightly he replied. "We're not in the business of softening risk. We mitigate and take ownership of it." Fingers drummed on the table, and one of them grunted. I was careful to continue setting up so they wouldn't think I was listening. Though, to be fair, I had no clue what they were discussing. Sam inhaled slowly. His tone, when he spoke, was painfully measured. "This is why you need to read the email instead of jumping to conclusions. Can you at least look over the revisions I asked for?" "Take me off the chain. Send me the revisions separately. I'll get to them before the end of the day. But I can almost promise I won't agree. It'll be a waste of both our time." Poor Sam. If this was what it was like to work with Tore, it was a wonder he'd lasted this long. If I were him, I would have taken my sack of gold and moved on to fairer pastures. "Tore, I-" "No. We both know the only reason you'd want to soften the language, and that's a nonstarter. If we're unable to be fully honest with our clients, we should not be offering them security. You know exactly where I stand here, so I'm unclear why we're even having this conversation. But, like I said, I'll read the revisions." A long silence stretched between them, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then Tore's mouse clicked, and steady taps started from his keyboard. Maybe he wasn't having trouble breathing through the soupy air. He'd already moved on. A chair scraped hard on the floor, followed by shuffling. "The email will be in your inbox in a few minutes," Sam muttered. As he passed me, he paused, doing a double take. "You're not Rachel." I turned my head, meeting his narrowed gaze. "Nope, I'm not." Recognition lit his dark eyes, and his mouth fell open. "You're-we've met." I nodded. "We have. I'm Bea, the caterer." He snapped his fingers. "You were Bea the waitress a few years ago, weren't you?" He swiveled to look at Tore tapping on his keyboard, ignoring us both. "Ah. I get it now," he mumbled to himself. "Nice to see you again, Sam." A line carved between his brows as he nodded. "Sure. You too." Then he left without another word, scratching the back of his head. From behind me, Tore said, "That was inappropriate." I whirled around. "What was?" "Having that discussion in your presence like you weren't here." He raised his brows. "Do you have questions?" I scrunched my nose. "I heard what you two were saying, but since it wasn't very interesting, it went in one ear and out the other. I won't sell your corporate secrets or anything. You don't have to worry." His mouth twitched. "That was exactly my concern. Thanks for putting me at ease." "Anytime." I wiped my hands on my pants. "Well, I'm finished, so-" "You still won't tell me the other strike?" I continued like he hadn't spoken. "-I'm going to pack up and get out of the way. Don't forget to read Sam's email. You could probably stand to be a little nicer to him. He walked out looking like a kicked puppy." I grabbed my bags from the floor and started out the door, only making it a few feet before Tore caught up, falling in step with me. "I'm nice enough to Sam. If you knew how many times we've had the same discussion, you might understand why I lost my patience." I shot him a glance, wondering why he was walking with me. This wasn't our routine. Usually, I ignored him, and he allowed it until the end when he asked me to tell him the other strike. I didn't know what to make of him changing things up. "You really don't have to explain anything to me," I said, punching the down button for the elevator. Tore stood beside me, his hands in his trouser pockets. "You already think poorly of me, and I own that. I'd just rather not make it worse if I can help it." "What I think of you doesn't matter." The elevator arrived just in time. I stepped on...and Tore followed. "What are you doing?" He hit the button for the garage. "Going for a ride so I can ask again for you to tell me the second strike." I lifted my chin. "Why don't you focus on the first one and go from there." "A starting point. Okay." He slipped his phone from his pocket and tapped on the screen a few times. The elevator came to a halt, but we weren't at a floor. It just...stopped. All the lights on the panel lit up like the Fourth of July, but we weren't moving. I was trapped in an elevator with Tore Gallo. Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!