Geoffrey’s composure held. Chandler’s did not, as evidenced by his small huff of laughter. I stepped back.
“That will be all,” I said.
Geoffrey inclined his head. “Sir.”
Belle gave me a small, bright smile. “Yes, sir.”
My gaze locked onto hers. What was it about her? I didn’t seem to want to leave her orbital force. She wouldn’t last long if she continued to distract me. I turned without a word and made my way down the hallway.
I returned to my office and closed the door. That was peculiar.
Silence settled immediately as order was restored. The desk sat precisely as I had left it. Contracts still sat aligned next to the neatly stacked reports. Columbus renovation schematics waited for final approval.
I opened the file and read the first paragraph, yet didn’t absorb it. Instead, her expression replayed in my mind.
Am I being evaluated or escorted?
She was curious, not intimidated.
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
I had intended to introduce myself. That was all. It was a mere professional courtesy. Instead, I had followed them down the hall like a man uncertain of his own floor plan.
I did not do that. I did not hover. I did not insert myself into minor logistics.
And yet, the image of her shutting the van door replayed in my mind. The deliberate second push to confirm the latch. Her van looked out of place in the drive. So did she, for that matter, but she had walked in like she carried her own gravity.
I adjusted the cuff of my shirt and forced my attention back to the Columbus atrium renderings. Clean lines, glass ceiling, restored marble columns, this is where my focus should be. I belonged with predictable variables and things I could control.
That was the point. Control prevented loss. Control prevented chaos. Control ensured that nothing unexpected took root.
Yet my mind wandered to her. Her humor had not been deferential. It had been steady. She hadn’t been intimidated nor had she performed admiration.
She had simply been present.
The sound of her humming drifted faintly through the corridor. I had dismissed staff for less. In fact, Goeffrey and Chandler often joked that I fired someone for smiling. That was a stretch, but I didn’t like distractions.
Yet, for whatever reason, I didn’t seem to mind her. She wasn’t trying to be a distraction . . . she just was.
I leaned back in my chair. I knew I was being overbearing. The word surfaced without invitation. I had corrected Geoffrey mid-briefing, adjusted schedules unnecessarily, and inserted myself into a tour I did not need to oversee.
I was a Beast. The nickname had circulated in business journals first. It was simple competitor commentary and media shorthand. I had not objected. Beasts were efficient. They protected their territory. They did not hesitate. But beasts were also isolated.
I drummed my fingers once against the desk, then stilled them.
This was temporary. If I had overstepped, it could be corrected. I could reestablish distance and clarify boundaries. She was staff, nothing more.
3
BELLE
There is a specific kind of humility that comes from brushing your teeth in a gym bathroom at seven in the morning while a woman named Denise aggressively blow-dries her bangs three inches from your elbow.
I’ve made peace with it. Mostly.
I balanced my toiletry bag on the narrow counter, doing that careful dance of not letting anything touch the questionable tile. My shower had been quick. Gym mornings were about efficiency. In and out.
I changed into cut-off shorts and an oversized t-shirt, twisting my damp hair into a bun. The mirror under fluorescent lighting was not kind, but it was honest.
