“Of course.” Ezra looks genuinely disappointed, which makes me feel like even more of an asshole. “I’ll walk you out.”
“No need.” I wave him off, already backing toward the door. “Stay with your guests. I know the way. Beatrice, can you please step out for a second with me? I need to discuss that email we received today.”
“Sure!” Bea jumps up suddenly, looking relieved. Her voice is steady, but I can see the panic in her eyes. “I could actually go with you to the office because I forgot my laptop there.”
Before anyone can object, she’s moving toward me, careful not to make eye contact with the others. I don’t know if she’s trying to escape the interrogation about the Chanel or if she actually wants to talk to me. Either way, I’m not going to question this gift.
We step into the hallway together, the door closing behind us with a soft click that feels impossibly loud in the sudden silence. For a moment, we just stand there, not looking at each other, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You didn’t have to leave with me,” I say finally, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her.
“Yes, I did.” She wraps her arms around herself, still not meeting my eyes. “If I’d stayed, they would have interrogated me about that stupid Chanel comment.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Clearly.” Her voice is sharp, but there’s a tremor beneath it that makes my chest ache.
I press the elevator button harder than necessary, my finger jabbing at it repeatedly like that’ll make it arrive faster.
“Stop doing that,” Bea mutters beside me. “You’re going to break it.”
“It’s already broken,” I snap back, then immediately regret my tone. She didn’t deserve that. None of this is her fault—it’s mine.
The elevator finally arrives with a mechanical ding that echoes through the hallway. We step inside, and I hit the button for the lobby. The doors slide shut, trapping us in this tiny metal box together, making the air too thin to breathe.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” I say, staring at the numbers above the door instead of looking at her. “About the bag.”
“Well, you did.” Her reflection in the polished steel doors shows her arms still wrapped around herself like armor. “Now Maeve’s going to ask a million questions I can’t answer.”
I assume the questions won’t be only about the bag.
The elevator lurches slightly as it begins its descent, and I wince as the movement jars my ribs. Bea’s eyes dart to me in the reflection, and I catch a flash of concern before she looks away.
“You shouldn’t have come tonight,” she says quietly. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I lean against the wall, grateful for the support. She’s right—I feel like shit. The painkillers I took earlier are wearing off, and every breath feels like someone’s driving a knife between my ribs. Having hot sex with the most gorgeous woman did aggravate my injuries a little, but I will deny it till my dying breath.
“You’re not fine,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me finally look at her directly instead of through the reflection. Her blue eyes are soft with worry, and for a moment, the mask she was wearing for everyone at dinner slips completely.
“I’ve had worse,” I tell her, which is true but doesn’t make this hurt any less.
“That’s not reassuring.” She shifts slightly, and I catch a whiff of her perfume again—that sweetness makes my chest tighten for reasons that have nothing to do with my injuries.
The elevator continues its descent, floor numbers ticking by slowly. I should say something about last night, about this morning, about the way we left things. But I don’t know what to say. How do you apologize for sleeping with someone when you’re not actually sorry it happened?
“About last night—” I start.
“Don’t.” She cuts me off, her voice sharp. “Just don’t.”
“We need to talk about it eventually.”
“No, we don’t.” She’s staring at the floor numbers now, watching them count down. “We need to pretend it never happened and move on.”
The elevator dings softly as we reach the lobby, and the doors slide open. Bea steps out immediately, putting distance between us, but I follow her toward the glass doors that lead to the street.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, stepping closer to her as the cool evening air hits us through the glass doors. The lobby is mostly empty except for the doorman at his station who gives us a short nod, but I lower my voice anyway. “To pretend nothing happened?”
She stops walking and turns to face me, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite read. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
