“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
I shake my head, looking away. “Nothing. Just reassessing.”
“Careful,” she warns, but there’s a softness in her eyes I haven’t seen before. “People might think you’re capable of human emotion.”
“Let’s not spread rumors,” I reply, feeling the corner of my mouth lifting despite myself. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
She laughs—actually laughs—and the sound echoes through the empty building, bouncing off the exposed beams and concrete floors and landing straight in my chest. It’s like hearing music in a place that’s been silent too long.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing toward the stairs. “There’s more to see.”
I lead her up to what will eventually be the rooftop garden, a space where residents can grow their own food and kids can learn about sustainability. Right now, it’s just a flat expanse of weathered tar paper, but in my mind, I can see the raised beds, the greenhouse, the gathering spaces where a community will form. Mom will love that.
“This will be incredible,” Bea says, turning slowly to take in the 360-degree view of the city skyline. “I can see why you care about this one. It’s not just another luxury building.”
I nod, watching her face as she takes it all in.
“This is what architecture should be about—creating spaces that actually improve lives.”
“Not just making money?” she asks, but there’s no judgment in her voice now.
“Money’s not everything,” I note with a half smile.
“Says the man who’s never struggled with the choice of taking the subway or buying ramen,” she adds with a sad smile. “Trust me, after I’ve seen both sides, I appreciate having money much more.”
I watch her face, and for the first time notice that she might have lost weight since last year. Her cheeks are hollower, and her whole body is more frail. I’ve been too blinded by the brightness of her defiance to notice anything other than her pride. The thought of Bea struggling to eat right under my nose makes my skin crawl.
In the meantime, unaware of my internal turmoil, she studies me for a long moment. The wind tugs at loose strandsof her hair, making her appear more relaxed. “You’re full of surprises, Noah King.”
The way she says my name—soft, almost like she’s testing how it feels on her tongue—makes a stone shift in my chest. For a moment, we’re just two people standing on a rooftop, watching the city wake up around us. No history, no tension, no battle lines drawn.
“We should head back,” I say finally, checking my watch. “I’ve got a meeting at one.”
She nods, following me toward the stairs. As we make our way down, I notice her navigating the construction debris with surprising agility despite her inexperience on job sites.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” I comment as we reach the main floor.
“With the boots?” She lifts one foot, showing off the steel-toe boot that looks monstrous on her petite frame. “They’re actually comfortable. Who knew?”
We walk back to the car in peaceful silence, the morning sun warming our backs. She stops to return the hard hat to Hank, chatting easily with him about the neighborhood while I wait by the Range Rover. Watching her laugh at something Hank says, I feel an unfamiliar tightness in my chest. Here, at the construction site, I feel more like myself than I ever do in the office, and seeing Bea fitting in so easily makes me swallow a lump in my throat.
When she reaches the car, she’s still smiling. “Your site manager thinks you’re secretly a good guy,” she informs me as she slides into the passenger seat. “I told him not to spread such vicious rumors.”
I snort, starting the engine. “My reputation would never recover.”
As we pull away from the site, I catch her looking back at the old factory building with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“What?” I ask, merging into traffic.
“Just trying to picture it,” she explains, settling back in her seat. “What it’ll look like when it’s done. The families who’ll live there.” She pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a good thing you’re doing, Noah.”
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. “Thanks,” I mumble, focusing on the road ahead.
The drive back is different—lighter somehow. The silence between us lacks the usual tension, and when we arrive back at the office, I know our war will never be the same.
18
Noah
