Chapter 18 #2
Bea returned the smile, calm and detached, but didn’t say anything. Let Georgina steer.
Georgina was just as noncommittal. “Oh, I don’t know.” She stirred her blood-orange basil tonic with a kind of lazy elegance. “I’ve been so busy.”
“Busy?” The girl’s gaze darted briefly toward Bea before snapping back. “With what?”
Georgina poked at the basil leaf in her drink like it was the most interesting thing in the room. The silence stretched. Long. Intentional. The kind of gap that made people rethink their question.
Finally, gently, she said, “You’re so curious today, aren’t you?”
The girl issued a quick laugh, an awkward backpedal. “Just making conversation.”
Game, clocked. Georgina hadn’t even had to raise her voice. It was the verbal equivalent of being escorted out of the group chat.
The girls recovered quickly. They mentioned catching up soon and hurried on, curiosity unresolved.
“You’re good at that,” Bea murmured.
“Practice.” Georgina took a drag from her drink like it was part of the performance. “You’ll get good at it, too.”
She hoped so. If she was going to survive this world, she would need to develop the reflexes of a sniper and the smile of a debutante.
Georgina adjusted her rings. “No one will ask you directly. Not yet.”
Bea lifted her chin, picking up her cutlery with resolve. “Let them.”
Georgie’s nod was crisp. “That’s the spirit.”
Bea caught sight of Lillian arriving and waved her over.
Georgina leaned in slightly, as if offering the last line of a play only Bea was meant to hear. “Smart of him, though. Leaving you with me. Means even when he’s gone…he’s still in the room.” She didn’t bother hiding the admiration in her tone. “It’s what I’d do, if I were a man.”
Bea stepped out of the boutique grocery store, blinking against the late-afternoon sun.
It was the first time she’d ventured this deep into the streets of Northgate.
The store specialized in imported products from Europe—jam in handblown glass; Belgian truffles priced like they’d been flown in seat-belted.
Her hands cradled a jar of French pistachio spread. Ridiculous, expensive, and apparently worth the hype. She’d heard her peers rave about it in three separate classes. Curiosity had won. Plus, she had a soft spot for pistachio.
She barely made it three steps before a familiar voice cut through the cool evening air.
“Didn’t take you for the type to chase trends.”
Her pulse skipped.
She turned, already knowing who it was.
Gage stood a few feet away, watching her with that familiar mix of calculation and quiet intent. The kind that suggested history, and something just out of reach.
He was dressed in another three-piece suit, this one a deep, warm brown, cut so sharply it could probably wound. He looked every inch the heir to an empire.
She became acutely aware of several things all at once.
How casual she looked in comparison: black denim, rust-colored tee.
How long it had been since she’d seen him.
Seven days since his last message. And how distant that last walk together felt now.
Like maybe she’d imagined the unshakable calm in his voice, the way he’d let them assume.
Bea straightened, gripping the jar a little too tightly. “Some trends sound more delicious than others.”
She felt the full weight of his stare, restrained but unmistakably thorough, from the soft cotton of her top to the fitted curve of her jeans, then back to her face. Like he was cataloguing how he’d found her on his return.
Heat crawled up the back of her neck.
“Did you come all the way here…for that?”
Bea shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Are you normally interested in people’s grocery lists?”
“Not normally.” Then, with something unreadable in his tone, he added, “Only when they show up in my part of town.”
Bea frowned, about to ask, until she caught the lift of his brow. A deliberate cue. A silent nudge.
And then, belatedly, she looked up.
Up.
Up.
And there it was.
Sleek, towering, unmistakable. A glass-fronted skyscraper across the street, its facade glowing in the fading light. At the very top, in bold, backlit letters, was a name that sent a ripple through her veins.
King Global Capital.
Mortification surged hot and sharp under her skin.
That he might think she’d come here on purpose. To see him. To find him.
To—she didn’t even want to finish the thought.
“I didn’t know your office was here.” The words rushed out, too fast.
Gage looked at her. Then, almost absently, as if throwing her a rope before she could drown, he said, “I touched down this morning.”
The words were matter-of-fact enough to level the moment without fully acknowledging her panic.
“No issues?” he asked, watching her closely.
She knew what he meant.
The whispers had lingered, but they hadn’t grown. They’d loitered between fact and fiction, right where Gage had left them.
She gave the smallest shake of her head.
He stepped forward. Not by much. Just enough for her body to remember him. His shape. The pressure of his presence. Every nerve came alive, like they’d been waiting.
“I’m back,” he said, like he was fulfilling a promise. “It’s time.”
You don’t have to deal with it. Not yet.
Apparently, not yet had just run out.
He held her gaze until she looked away, then checked his watch. “I have a meeting. You okay to get back?”
“I’ll get an Uber.”
He nodded.
Still gripping the ridiculous jar, Bea started walking.
“Bea.”
Her feet stopped before she could think. Slowly, she turned.
Gage was watching her, his eyes keen, impossibly blue in the fading light. “Be ready at six tomorrow. Wear a dress under your coat. I’ll pick you up.”