Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
They weren’t technically allowed in the Graduate Study Lounge. Bea had only been here once before. Now, Lillian glanced around like a campus official might materialize and drag them out by the collar.
Bea didn’t flinch. Not this time.
“Bea,” Lils whispered. “I don’t think we should be here.”
Bea didn’t look up. “We’re studying. No one’s going to care.”
“They might,” she muttered.
“They won’t.”
The doors swung open. Gage and Nate entered.
Bea sighed. So much for flying under the radar. Across the lounge, a few heads turned.
Gage looked like he owned the building. Nate looked like he’d secured the perimeter. Lillian looked like she was calculating whether fleeing would be more humiliating than staying. She hadn’t spent enough time with Gage to feel comfortable with him yet.
The men reached their table. Gage set a brown paper bag and drink carrier on the table.
“Snacks,” he said simply, sliding into the seat beside her like he hadn’t just made a scene by existing.
Nate settled in across from them.
Bea peeked inside the bag. Four pieces of fruit, four macadamia and white chocolate cookies. A sparkling water, and Lillian’s favorite ginger tea.
Bea slid Lillian’s over. Lillian blinked, like the idea of a favorite tea being remembered was a kind of sorcery.
“People are staring,” Lillian murmured.
Bea smiled faintly. “You get used to it.”
“Or you won’t,” Nate added. “Either way, it keeps happening.”
Lillian watched both men like they were weapons she wasn’t sure weren’t loaded.
“You know you terrify her, right?” Nate said to Gage, deadpan.
Gage bit his apple. “I can’t imagine why.”
Bea nudged him under the table. “Be less intimidating.”
Gage raised a brow. “I’m sitting.”
Nate scoffed. “Loudly.”
“They’re fine,” Bea said to Lillian. “Just act like they’re normal.”
Lillian let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Gage flipped open Bea’s notebook. “What’s this?”
Bea swatted at his hand. “My notes.”
“I can think of better ways to spend a day,” Nate said.
“Three, at least,” Gage agreed.
“We came here to study,” Bea remarked, nodding at the book in his hands. “Which is what you two are meant to be doing, too.”
Crickets.
Nate reached into the bag, fishing out a cookie. “This is tax.”
Bea tried to snatch it from him, but he was faster, pulling it just out of reach before taking a massive bite.
Lillian sputtered delicately on her tea, eyes wide with disbelief, as if she couldn’t fathom Bea daring to scold Gage King and swipe at Nate West.
Gage leaned back and settled his hand on Bea’s knee. The sensation shot straight to where it always did, sharp and unbidden. She forced her expression to stay smooth. They had an audience.
They studied—or at least, the girls tried to.
From the corner of her eye Bea saw Gage flip through his textbook, not reading so much as scanning, like he already knew everything on the page and was just verifying it hadn’t changed.
Nate had a notebook open, pen balanced between his fingers, but he hadn’t written a single word.
Like whatever knowledge he needed would come to him when it was relevant.
Neither of them looked like students. They studied like it was a formality, a process they had to endure.
What was it like, knowing you’d already won?
“Are you guys going to…miss St. Ives once you graduate?” Lillian surprised Bea by asking the question.
They spoke almost in unison. “No.”
“Not even a little bit?” Bea asked.
“St. Ives is a training ground,” Gage replied. “But not the most important one.”
“You too?” Bea asked Nate.
“Miss what? Playing student, when I already have a job?”
“It must be…different. Having the future laid out,” Lillian said carefully, as if testing the thinness of the ice beneath her. “Do you ever wish it wasn’t?”
The question was genuine, if a little naive. Bea was almost sure they wouldn’t brush it off with a dismissive remark, but she still found herself bracing.
“No.” Nate’s answer came without a trace of mockery. “What would be the point?”
Gage followed, distilling the truth down to something they’d understand. “That’s for men who can’t handle the weight of their own name.”
Nate, like Gage, didn’t fight reality. He operated inside it. Their futures had been decided from the moment of their birth.
The real education for these men wasn’t here. It was in boardrooms, and business deals. In ruthless negotiations behind closed doors. They were already working on a deal big enough to keep them both in the UR all summer. No wonder exams felt pointless.
“It sounds like you’re trapped,” Lillian mused quietly. “Or free. I’m not sure which.”
Nate flipped a page. “Both.”
Gage, as if making up for their bleak philosophy, slid a cookie in front of her. A silent truce.
Bea’s mouth curled at the corners. For a girl who barely spoke to men, her friend had held her own. And for men who weren’t known for kindness, they’d made an effort.
The girls continued reading, jotting notes, while the men sat idly beside them.
Eventually, Bea couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you guys just going to pretend to study all afternoon?”
Nate shut his notebook. “I think we’ve done enough pretending.”
Gage checked his watch. “Let’s have lunch.”
The place was so discreet it barely existed. No flashy signage. No menu out front.
Lillian dithered at the entrance. “Are we even allowed in here?”
“We’re with them,” Bea said. “We’re allowed.”
The hostess led them into a private dining room, all warm wood, soft shoji screens, and cushions on a sunken tatami floor. The table was set with delicate ceramics, lacquered chopsticks, and silent precision.
Bea lowered herself onto a cushion, Gage beside her. Lillian followed, her movements slower, unsure if she was doing it wrong. Nate sat like he owned the building. Which could have been true.
Tea and small lacquered bowls of miso soup were set down.
They all read the menu.
“What are you getting?” Bea asked.
Lillian was deciding. “Maybe the salmon.”
Nate, still drinking his tea, spoke without looking up. “Go with that.”
Lillian frowned. “Why?”
Nate shrugged. “You were looking at it the longest.”
“Do you analyze everything?”
“It’s not complicated.” He set his cup down. “You remind me of my sister.”
It was dumb, but that caught Bea off guard. The fact that Nate West had a family. She’d half imagined he’d sprung fully formed from some steel-walled office, a pen in one hand and a nondisclosure agreement in the other.
“You have a sister?” Lillian echoed her thoughts more delicately.
“Teenager,” he said with a hint of wryness in his tone. “She’s got the same expression you do.”
Lillian’s fingers tightened around her teacup. “Expression?”
His lips kicked up on one side. “Like she’s bracing for impact.”
Lillian flushed. “You remind me of my uncle.”
Nate’s brows lifted slightly. “Is that an insult?”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
Bea hid a grin behind her teacup.
The food arrived not long after. Vibrant, glistening pieces of sashimi. Rich unagi. Warm bowls of rice, steam curling into the air.
Bea picked up a piece, placing it in Gage’s bowl before meeting his eyes with a smile. He didn’t say anything, just nodded. And then they started eating.
Three out of four people seated weren’t inclined to speak much unless the company was close. But the conversation moved easily enough, steady and unforced, wrapped in a kind of quiet comfort.
At some point, Nate revealed, “I hate study week.”
“Didn’t know you’d ever participated in it,” Gage taunted.
Bea almost snorted into her tea.
“I haven’t,” Nate said, picking up his bowl. “But I have to pretend to. And then do the exams like I did.”
Bea’s phone buzzed once. Then again. She already knew who it was.
CLAIRE BEAR: Did you tell him you’re coming home?
Claire had sent that yesterday. She hadn’t answered.
Another buzz.
CLAIRE BEAR: BEY.
CLAIRE BEAR: I know you saw this.
CLAIRE BEAR: Did you survive or did he bury your body at sea?
Bea couldn’t help a crooked smile tugging at her lips.
BEYA SLAYA: Still breathing. Still coming home.
Beside her, Gage’s gaze flicked to the screen. “Claire?”
“I ignored her yesterday. If I don’t reply, she’ll send search and rescue.”
Gage poured her more tea, and topped up the soy sauce and wasabi in her dish.
CLAIRE BEAR: So he’s okay with your plan?
Bea sighed, fingers moving quickly over the keyboard.
BEYA SLAYA: Not exactly okay with it…
BEYA SLAYA: May have had consequences
CLAIRE BEAR: What kind of consequences?
BEYA SLAYA: It’s not the type of thing you text
CLAIRE BEAR: Dirty
CLAIRE BEAR: Has he said it yet?
Bea froze, fingers tightening around her phone. She knew what Claire meant. But it felt strange acknowledging it with him sitting right there.
Beside her, Gage was chatting with Lillian.
Quickly, she typed back.
BEYA SLAYA: Not yet.
CLAIRE BEAR: Weird. Thought maybe this would be it.
BEYA SLAYA: Why?
CLAIRE BEAR: Because you’re leaving. And he doesn’t like losing things he owns. Even temporarily.
Bea’s throat squeezed. This wasn’t something she wanted to think about now. She put the phone face down on the table.
“Problem?” Gage asked.
She shook her head. “All good.”
She glanced at the last piece of tempura, considering. Before she could reach for it, Gage slid it onto her plate.
When she glanced up, she realized Lillian was watching. Like she couldn’t quite reconcile something.
And then Lils caught Bea’s eye, and smiled encouragingly.
There was that emblem—a lion’s body, rippling with muscle, its eagle’s wings outstretched midflight—carved into a towering panel of black acrylic behind the check-in desk. There was no other sign or explanation that outlined the purpose of the evening.
Griffin Ventures didn’t explain itself. If you were at IGNITE, you already knew why.
Bea adjusted her jacket. Stepped into the main atrium. Steadied herself. The room was full, but quiet. Polished shoes on stone. Low voices and grim determination.