Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
RAFAEL
RAFAEL: What day and time are your parents arriving next week?
RAFAEL: I should be back by then.
LITTLE BEA: Going somewhere?
RAFAEL: Malaysia for work. Leaving tomorrow.
LITTLE BEA: Oh okay. Enjoy yourself.
RAFAEL: Want me to bring anything back for you?
LITTLE BEA: Don’t friends give friends fridge magnets?
RAFAEL: You’re my special friend.
LITTLE BEA: Okay well…surprise me.
RAFAEL: Challenge accepted.
RAFAEL
The jet hummed in the dark, thrumming beneath his seat. Rafael sat with files spread on the table before him, but his gaze kept slipping to the phone in his hand.
LITTLE BEA: Just thought you might want to know your godson just advised me that he doesn’t feel senior math is needed because, apparently, you and Laurent didn’t do any.
RAFAEL: Did he now?
LITTLE BEA: Yes. He says you skipped it because you were “too busy calculating real money.” Please confirm or deny.
RAFAEL: Deny. We did the math. That’s why we have the money.
LITTLE BEA: Inspiring. I’ll let him know.
Being ‘friends’ with Bea was proving more entertaining than planned. She texted like she talked, and his mind insisted on filling in the rest: the little grimaces, the startled blushes, the way she’d shove her phone away when she caught herself smiling too much.
“Looks like you’ve got more reason to win now.”
Leon’s graveled voice pulled him back. His father sat across, cognac resting against his knee, the other hand turning pages of a project brief.
Rafael locked the screen. “Call it, incentive to work faster.”
“Good. I don’t want to be in Malaysia longer than necessary, either,” Leon said, jotting a calculation. “This one smells wrong. If this trip doesn’t fix it, we cut and walk.”
Rafael noticed idly how the rows around them were blocked out, his bodyguards Cain and Voss in place, as well as his father’s security team. “How invested is GV?”
“Enough to matter,” he answered. “Not enough to sink us. But if the wrong people wedge themselves into the contract, we’ll be cleaning the mess for a decade. Better to take the early loss.”
Rafael tapped a knuckle against the file. “Got it. We want the deal, but only on our terms.”
“In Asia they still trade primarily on presence. Video calls don’t capture a room.
Men like these respond to who shows up and how.
” Leon turned another page, the rustle barely audible over the steady thrum of the jet.
“Normally I’d send Mercer. He can handle the clauses, smooth some edges.
But this time, they need to see a Griffin. ”
“Even better, two Griffins.”
His father stopped. “Arnaud told me when he first met you that you don’t bluff.”
Laurent’s father. The man who’d backed them when Griffin Constructions was already thriving, but Leon’s eyes were on a wider horizon. He’d seen the hunger in both father and son and called it a future worth funding.
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because every time you open your mouth in that room, you need to damn well mean every word. If they sense a crack, they’ll drag us both through it.”
Rafael inclined his head. “Yes, sir.”
His father tipped his glass. “Let’s go through the numbers again.”
RAFAEL
For three days he’d been in the grindstone of meetings, sharpened on every glance and pause. He’d just eaten dinner with his laptop open and manila folders beside him.
The messages with Bea had become a thread of light. He reached for them the way men reached for air after too long underwater.
RAFAEL: What are you doing?
LITTLE BEA: Just submitted my essay. Rewarding myself with ramen.
RAFAEL: Send a picture.
LITTLE BEA: Of the ramen??
RAFAEL: Of you. Eating it.
LITTLE BEA: That wouldn’t be flattering.
RAFAEL: Do it anyway.
LITTLE BEA: Do you collect pictures of people eating?
RAFAEL: Only of you.
LITTLE BEA: …you’re joking.
RAFAEL: I’m not. Send the picture.
LITTLE BEA: Fine.
After a few minutes, a photo came through. He opened it.
A picture of a bowl of instant noodles, her slim fingers holding chopsticks.
RAFAEL: That’s cheating.
LITTLE BEA: What? You didn’t say which part of me.
RAFAEL: Next time I’ll be very specific.
Her typing bubbles blinked, vanished, blinked again. And then nothing.
Rafael let the phone rest face down on the desk, his mouth tugging as he turned back to the papers.
The door clicked. Leon came back in, loosening his cufflinks, jacket slung over his arm. He caught the expression Rafael hadn’t had time to wipe from his face.
“Who’s got you grinning at a stack of contracts?” His father’s tone was amused. “That can only be a woman.”
Rafael didn’t answer immediately. He shifted the pen in his hand, but his father wasn’t a man you could deflect with silence.
Leon lounged opposite him, glass in hand. “Bea?”
He was surprised, yet not. “You know her?”
“Harvest Summit, my son wins the marksman contest then stares at a girl like she’s his next target.” Leon poured himself a glass of water, took a long drink. “Half the lawn thought you were picking a fight with Gage. The other half just thought you’d gone daft.”
Steel in his hands, fastest assembly, five bullseyes. He’d searched for only one face in the crowd. Let himself be obvious, like a flare released into the sky.
“And what did you think?” he asked his father.
“That men have started wars with less than the kind of look you gave her.”
Rafael exhaled a laugh. “I thought about it. More than once.”
“It takes a particular kind of woman to walk away from everything the King name would have given her.” His father leaned back in the chair. “Do you know why they ended?”
“She thinks it was because she wasn’t ready.”
“And you think something else?”
“I think it was who he was,” Rafael said.
Leon studied him for a long moment. “Take a lesson from your rival. It’s not the having that matters. It’s the keeping.”
The phone buzzed. Not Bea this time.
LAURENT: So are we making money in KL or did you drop the ball?
RAFAEL: I’ve got Malaysia. Handle Northgate.
LAURENT: Already did. We’ve got a meeting with the transport minister when you’re back. You’re welcome.
RAFAEL: The numbers?
LAURENT: I’m a banker. I don’t lose track of zeroes.
RAFAEL: It’s one of your redeeming qualities
RAFAEL: What do you think of the Montenegro Holdings proposal?
LAURENT: I think the proposal matters less than the man
LAURENT: Cassian Montenegro likes to style himself as nemesis to Gage King. There are pros and cons to us aligning with that
RAFAEL: What are the cons?
LAURENT: The cons are you letting the personal drown out the professional
LAURENT: Don’t make me remind you which head is supposed to do the thinking
Leon tucked his phone away. “Finished?”
Rafael rolled his shoulders, flexed his knuckles. “Gym time.”
They rose together. Rafael wandered over to where his gear was neatly stacked.
“Tomorrow we find gifts for our women.”
“Mama will skin you if you forget her tea,” Rafael said.
“Yet she won’t blink if I come home without the deal.” Leon picked up his own wraps, started looping. “Remember that, son.”
Bea padded into the kitchen in socks, notebook tucked under her arm, and found Lillian crouched in front of the open freezer like it was a treasure chest. Bags of frozen dumplings, berries, and a tub of pistachio gelato were spread across the floor.
Months ago, she’d caught Lillian doing a similar stocktake—only that time she’d been bagging up all the frozen meals Gage had sent and handing them off to Adam. “We can’t eat them, but they’re perfectly edible and probably expensive,” she’d said. And really, it had been the best compromise.
“What are you doing?” Bea asked now, dropping her notebook onto the counter.
“Inventory. Also, look what was on sale.” Lillian held up a carton, green and slightly retro, the words Honeydew Melona popping out. “For Claire. Since she’s staying, I figured first impressions should involve ice cream.”
Bea hugged her. “You’re the best.”
“You’ve been smiling a lot lately.” Lillian popped the lid on the gelato and fished two spoons from the drawer. “We can finish this one. We need the freezer space.”
Bea dutifully lifted her spoon. “I’m just excited they’re going to be here in a few days.”
“You sure it’s just that?” Lillian cut a neat line into the ice cream. “Nothing to do with the way you keep lighting up every time your phone buzzes with Rafael’s name?”
Her pulse jumped, cheeks prickling in protest. She opened her mouth—then shut it. “Friends text.”
Lillian glanced sidelong at her. “Mm, I’m sure he asked Laurent for photos of him eating Nongshim noodles, too.”
Bea mock gasped, snatching the tub away. “Sugar makes you impertinent.”
Lils licked her spoon far too mirthfully. “I haven’t taken any days off next week since you said Rafael’s driving you guys around. It’s a full car already.”
Her stomach did that ridiculous swoop again, just picturing it. “Lillian…” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, and blurted it out. “He’s going to be in cars with them. Sightseeing, having meals. This has disaster written all over it.”
“How come?” she asked, mild as ever, surreptitiously tugging the gelato back toward herself.
“I don’t even know,” Bea admitted. “I haven’t calculated all the ways it could go wrong, which is saying something.”
The universe, apparently eager to provide new material, lit up her screen.
Incoming call: Jaxon
Bea’s eyebrows furrowed in warning at Lillian’s little grin. “Don’t.”
“What? I was just going to say your other ‘friend’ is calling.”
The Graduate Study Lounge still carried a peculiar thrill for Bea. As a junior, she’d slipped in here on borrowed legitimacy, when it was Gage’s territory. Two years later she’d earned her booth, and she barricaded herself into it with relish, books around her, snacks garrisoned at the center.
“Are you studying or building a fort?” Jaxon appeared, messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
“I can do both.” She pointed a finger across from her. “Sit. Help me decipher this case study. My brain can’t.”
He sat down and picked up one of her pages. Scan-read it, then drew a pen from his bag. “You’ve got the right idea, it’s just drowned under the overthinking.”
“Excuse you, overthinking is my primary academic method.”
He crossed out two sentences, replaced them with five words in tidy handwriting. “That’s your thesis.”
Bea stared, eyes narrowed. “I hate that you make it look so easy.”
They worked side by side for a couple of hours, talking now and then to clarify ideas.
When she finally leaned back, stretching her arms overhead, she felt lighter. Maybe she could hand in something that wouldn’t get her laughed out of the GEP.
“Done?”
“Yep. Useful being friends with the smartest guy in class.”
He gave a half shrug, all understatement. “I bring the brains. You bring the…”
“Careful how you finish that sentence,” she warned.
He grinned. “Dinner?”
“Sure. My treat. Anywhere free and swipeable with my campus dining card.”
He snickered. “That’ll do.”
They stepped out into the courtyard where the last streaks of daylight stretched across stone.
October light lingered longer now that daylight savings had kicked in.
The weather was suitably mild for a late-spring afternoon, in the low twenties.
Students spilled in clusters down the steps, voices rising and falling in a dozen conversations.
Two girls glanced over as they passed, whispering before one bit her lip, eyes darting from Bea to Jaxon. The second girl’s voice lowered, but not enough. “I still can’t get over it. Who in their right mind walks away from Gage King?”
Bea kept walking, but the words were pebbles in her shoe. Ten months had passed and it still clung.
Jaxon didn’t shift his expression. “They’re not still talking about it. It’s just because they saw you.”
“Can I be invisible then?” Bea muttered.
But the thing was, it had been a long time since she’d thought about Gage. What she thought more about lately was who she was without him.
And who she might be with someone else.