“Like someone who took whatever he wanted without caring about the consequences,” she says quietly, meeting my eyes. “Like someone who’d never had to think about what it means to need something you can’t have.”
The honesty in her voice catches me off guard. It’s not cruel, just matter-of-fact, and probably accurate based on how I acted on the island.
“And now?” I ask, taking a step closer.
When she looks at me, I recognize something vulnerable flickering across her features. “Now I think maybe I was wrong about you. I hope I was.”
When her words settle in my head, something tremendous shifts in my chest. She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time, and it makes me want to close the distance between us, to see what happens if I stop fighting whatever this is. And if she does too.
“Were you?” I whisper.
I’m close enough to catch the light playing on her skin and to take in the sweet scent that’s been driving me crazy for weeks. Close enough to see the way her pulse flutters at the base of her throat.
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment I think she might actually answer. But then her phone buzzes on the table, shattering whatever spell we were under. She jumps back like I’ve burned her, a professional mask slamming back into place even though her cheeks remain deliciously blushed.
“I should get back to work,” she says, gathering her things with movements that are too fast and clumsy. Something that Bea is not. “The Peterson contracts need reviewing before five.”
Total BS because this is not an urgent project at this point. The meeting was a total success, and a couple extra hours won’t change a thing.
I watch her retreat, trying to suppress the frustration warring in my chest. Every time we get close to something real, she runs. And maybe that’s smart. Maybe she’s the only one of us thinking clearly.
But as she reaches the conference room door, I can’t help myself. “Bea.”
She stops with her hand on the doorframe but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth,” I say, echoing her words from last night, “I was wrong about you too.”
Her shoulders tense, and she doesn’t turn around, but I see her grip tighten on the doorframe.
“Were you?” she asks, her voice barely audible.
I want to tell her that I thought she was just another spoiled princess playing at independence. That I expected her to crumble under pressure, to run crying to daddy when things got difficult. That I never imagined she’d sacrifice a Chanel bag for a zoning permit or stay until midnight helping me rebuild something I destroyed in a fit of rage. I also never knew she hated her parents so much that she would choose to live a simple life rather than taking their money.
Instead, I say, “Yeah. I was.”
She nods once, still not looking at me, and then she’s gone, leaving me alone in the conference room.
I sink into one of the leather chairs, running my hands through my hair. This is exactly what I was afraid of: the careful, professional distance we resort to crumbling the moment we’re alone together.
But fuck if I can stop myself from wanting more.
My phone buzzes with a text from Ezra.
“The dinner we spoke about is this Thursday. 7 PM. Don’t be late.”
Right. The family dinner Bea declined. Part of me is relieved she won’t be there—it’ll be easier to pretend whatever this is between us doesn’t exist if I don’t have to watch her laugh at Martin across the table or try not to stare at the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating.
The pressure of being in her presence is strong. The familiar intensity ofwantstarts brewing in my chest, and I know there’re only two ways to get rid of it—it will not go away on its own.
I grab my jacket and stride out of my office, stopping at Bea’s desk. She’s typing furiously with her brows furrowed in concentration, and for a moment I just watch her work. There’ssomething almost hypnotic about her focus, the way she attacks her keyboard, waging war against inefficiency. If I had her a year ago, we would have conquered the world by now.
“I’m heading out early,” I announce, and she looks up with surprise.
“Everything okay?” Her concern makes me falter slightly in a daze.
“Fine,” I lie, shrugging on my jacket. “Just need some air. You can finish up and head home whenever you’re ready.”
She nods, but I catch the way her eyes linger on my face, trying to read it. “See you tomorrow, then.”
