Chapter 12 #2
I stay at our table while I watch him tell the pixie-cut bartender his order, handing over his card to open a tab for the night.
A minute later, she hands him one of the bottles of signature dark beers and another tall glass filled with a soft yellow drink.
He sets the frosty glass in front of me.
“I know you said you don’t drink, but is lemonade okay? ”
I smile, caught off guard. Something tells me he isn’t nearly as standoffish as many believe. Quiet, maybe, but not hostile. “It’s perfect. My favorite, actually. Thank you.”
He takes a swig of his beer, the corner of his mouth tipping up around the spout of the bottle. Those half smiles feel like secret hidden pieces he reserves for special moments. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you,” he says.
“You’re going to regret ever asking me. I have a tendency to over talk, especially when I’m nervous.”
His eyebrows furrow. “You’re nervous?”
“Of course, I am. This is the first time I’ve hung out with you outside of work. You’re—” I cut myself off, not wanting to make him self-conscious.
“I’m what?”
“Intimidating?” I reply, slowly releasing the word to test the waters of his reaction.
“I tend to get that a lot.” He takes another sip of beer, shrugging in agreement. “I have no idea why, but I do.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” I rush out. “I think you might just be misunderstood. That’s my suspicion at least.”
“Misunderstood,” he echoes, his voice amused. “Isn’t that code for being an asshole?”
I attempt not to laugh. It doesn’t work so well.
“Okay, okay. At times, you can be a little standoffish,” I explain. “You also expect people to do their jobs and do it well. Is that someone who’s an asshole? Or is it simply a CEO doing their job?”
“And what do you think? Am I as scary as they all say I am?”
Taking a moment to observe him, I stare at his face. His expression open, ready for anything I say, his posture confident but tense with the anxiety of an impending crowd. This man looks like he’s all business, but I’ve slowly begun to peel back the layers and see beyond his gruff exterior.
I hesitate, fingers tracing the condensation on my glass. “No,” I finally say. “I don’t think you’re scary. I think you’re pretty awesome, actually.”
His expression falters, like I just said something he’s not used to hearing. Something he didn’t realize he needed. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but he shuts it again, weighing what he wants so badly to say out loud.
“I need to admit something to you.” He makes eye contact briefly before glancing away again, taking a swig of his beer for courage. “I was at your show last night.”
I’m shocked. First, that he was there. Secondly, that he’s actually circling back around to my question from earlier today, putting the truth into broad light between us.
I regret the question the second it’s out. It sounds needier than I meant, and his reaction doesn’t help, as his cheekbones turn pink like the thought is mortifying.
He fumbles with the bottle in his hand, not looking at me. “I thought it made sense to see the theater in action before we move forward.”
It’s a broad statement. One I want to ask a thousand different questions about, but I get distracted when a loud crash of glass comes from behind the bar. We both turn to look, just in time to see a bartender flash an embarrassed smile and wave it off before crouching down to clean up the mess.
“I don’t know why I didn’t say something earlier today. It was stupid of me, and it’s been bothering me since.”
I loop my fingers into his hand and give it a squeeze. He looks entirely too stressed over something that’s trivial. I want to soothe that worry prickling his brow, any way I know how. “It’s okay, Theo. I’m glad you were there.”
He studies my face before sliding his hand out from under mine. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“What do you want to know? I’m an open book.”
His eyes do a once-over, contemplating what to ask.
“You mentioned you moved around a lot growing up?”
“Yep. Basically every city around here within a thirty-mile radius. My mom tried to make it seem like a fun adventure each time. As if we got the opportunity to go live in some new, magical home, even though it was only another moldy, infested apartment each time. For a while, I believed her, wanting so hard to believe that this was the norm—a good, adventurous life. As I grew older, I realized we were just getting evicted time and time again.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know words don’t make it better, but still.” Shaking his head, he looks away, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
That tidbit of information seemed hard for him to hear for whatever reason.
This is my life though. I’m not going to hide who I am.
Whether I like it or not, my childhood molded me.
Every broken bit, every accomplishment and failure.
It’s all part of the same mosaic. Each piece tells a story, and together, they make me whole.
Maybe not polished, maybe not perfect, but mine nonetheless.
“On a less depressing note,” I continue, attempting to phase out any lingering awkwardness.
“When I was six, I leapt off a jungle gym convinced I had wings. Obviously, I didn’t.
I broke my arm, got stuck in a cast, and spent the next week trying to hack it off with a butter knife so I wouldn’t miss ballet.
Also once, I cut my own bangs at two in the morning because I saw a girl on social media pull it off. Spoiler alert: I did not pull it off.”
I glance up at him. He’s watching me, expression indecipherable but completely focused. It’s unnerving, like he’s dissecting every word, turning them over in his mind.
“That’s probably not what you were wanting to exactly know,” I say, suddenly worrying that I’ve said too much. “But that basically covers it.”
Childhood trauma and being an idiot. Definitely sums up my entire life.
He takes a slow sip of his beer. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you tried to saw off your own cast or the bangs incident.”
“They were equally traumatic,” I agree.
His mouth twitches. “Reckless seems to be a theme with you.”
“I prefer the term daring, thank you very much.”
A smile, wide and effortless, breaks across his face. It’s so damn beautiful, like sunlight piercing through a cloudy day, that I can’t help but smile with him. It’s rare, unexpected, and for a split second, I forget everything else.
The second a group of our Prescott Investment Corporation coworkers step through the doors, his smile fades into something more guarded. Everyone here is clearly trying their hardest, lured by the promise of free drinks and food, others hoping to get in their boss’s good graces.
They even coordinated their arrival, carpooling like it was some show of workplace solidarity. Their expressions hovering somewhere between determination and dread.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were gearing up for a union strike, not celebrating a birthday.
Every single one of them flickers with surprise when Theo approaches first, shaking hands and offering polite greetings. It’s clear this isn’t the unapproachable boss they’re used to. A few of them exchange wide-eyed glances, silent but obvious in their confusion.
Over half an hour late, Holden and his date Angelica arrive.
She’s gorgeous in that Bratz doll sort of way, with short bangs I had only dreamt of pulling off that one time and a faux-fur coat that is the epitome of mob wife chic.
She hangs off his arm, with a mischievous smirk to her overfilled lips.
She and Holden head straight for the bar, yelling out to everyone that the next two rounds and appetizers are on him, as promised.
A round of cheering sounds out, and I finally feel like I can breathe now that tonight is surprisingly going well.
Throughout the next two hours, I watch Theo make an effort to interact with each person who showed up.
He’s smart enough to know they probably didn’t want to come, but aware enough to at least make it worth their while.
He asks the right questions, nods at the right moments, even manages a few dry remarks that earn hesitant laughs.
It’s not effortless, far from it. He’s tense and out of his element.
Still, for a man who seems to prefer solitude over socializing, he’s trying.
And that, somehow, is more surprising than anything.
I expected him to disappear early, to find a reason to leave. But somehow, Theo Prescott is still here, and I can’t quite figure out why.