Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
GAGE
Gage knew exactly how this night would end.
He had known it from the moment he woke up, as he sat through meetings, as he worked through figures and finalized negotiations. He’d known when he picked Bea up in his car, her world already tilting away from him.
The UR’s financial calendar was relentless. Summer was when companies either slowed down or took advantage of those who did. It was the perfect window for a deal of this scale—one that would cement his position, expand his reach, secure what was his.
He had never resented work before. But tonight, for the first time, a small part of him did.
Bea sat beside him, curled into the passenger seat. Her long, straight hair was over one shoulder, and she stroked the ends idly. She didn’t wear perfume but the familiar fragrance of her conditioner filled his senses.
Her mind was already somewhere else. Toronto. Her parents. Claire.
She had spent months adapting to him—to the UR, to his world. And now she was returning to hers. She turned to him. “Will you miss me?”
He glanced at her, his gaze steady, unreadable to anyone else. But she wasn’t anyone else.
Bea’s lips curved.
It had taken years of preparation to get here. His father had expected him to leave right after graduation. Had been prepared for him to take over the entire European division of their firm.
But Gage had adjusted the timeline.
It couldn’t be pushed back forever. Just enough. He had calculated the precise amount of time he needed before making that move.
Bea leaving, choosing to be apart from him for a whole summer, made him realize she was still learning what it meant to belong to him.
She turned the music on.
Instrumental jazz, instead of the bangers he knew she preferred. It was her way of looking after him. Making him comfortable. She was good at that.
She was sharp enough to follow his world, stubborn enough to challenge it, and bold enough to make him bend even when he hadn’t planned to.
In her untrained, unguarded way, she even seemed to understand that his obligations weren’t things he could set aside. She hadn’t complained that King Global Capital was his priority for the summer. She accepted it with the same readiness she accepted everything about him.
Just as he hadn’t stopped her from going, even though he wanted to, she hadn’t expected him to follow, even though she wanted him to.
Bea was talking, voice light, drifting between topics: her parents, Claire, the food she was looking forward to eating.
Gage listened. He always listened. But tonight, every word was a reminder. A list of things she would be doing without him.
Gage turned the car. Not toward the restaurant.
Bea’s brow furrowed. “Are we going to your office first?”
They were meant to be going to dinner.
“Yes.”
“Did you forget something?”
“No.”
A pause. “Work, then?”
“Sort of.”
He could tell her that Nate had sent him numbers he needed to review, that Victoria was waiting on an update. All of that was true.
But so was this: Bea was his. And from tomorrow, he wouldn’t be there to remind her.
So tonight, he would make sure she didn’t forget.
GAGE
When they reached his office, Bea walked in ahead of him, more comfortable now, claiming her favorite spot on the leather couch. “Are you actually working?”
Gage closed the door behind them. Locked it. “Briefly.”
She nodded from her perch on the couch. Began scrolling mindlessly on her phone.
Gage sat at his desk, powering up his laptop. Numbers filled the screen in neat rows and columns. He worked in silence, eyes skimming.
Bea shifted, adjusting her position, oblivious to how naturally she took up space here. How seamlessly she fit into an environment that had never had room for anyone but him.
Half an hour later, Gage closed the last file and shut his laptop.
He stood.
Bea looked up.
She’d probably picked the floral dress without a second thought. He’d thought about it. He knew exactly what he was going to do to her in it.
He reached her. Didn’t say anything. Just held out his hand.
Her fingers hovered. Then curled into his.
The city glowed behind the glass, distant and indifferent. Below, traffic moved in silent rhythm, headlights sweeping the dark. The world kept shifting—but in here, time obeyed him.
Gage guided her to the desk and, slowly, spun her around to face him. The wood pressed against the backs of her thighs, and her breath stalled.
He placed his hands just above her waist, his thumbs tracing her ribs. She shivered. “Seventeen hours,” he grumbled.
Bea blinked. “What?”
His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “That’s how long it takes to get to Toronto.”
His hands slid beneath her dress, palms skating up her thighs, pushing the fabric higher, unhurried.
Bea’s breath hitched. Her hands gripped his arms, body going taut.
Gage let her sift through it. Let her realize. He wasn’t asking.
He applied just enough pressure to make her rise onto her toes and slide back so she was perched at the edge of his desk. Her arms braced behind her.
He pressed his mouth to her collarbone. Just once. A single mark before he dragged his lips lower, hands following, parting her thighs and watching her tremble.
Then his teeth. The faintest graze against her skin. Just enough to feel it.
Her body jolted forward.
Gage lifted his head. “You understand now.”
Not in his bed. Not in his penthouse. Here. In his office. Where he ruled.
His palm flattened against her stomach, guiding her back a little farther. Perfectly angled.
His belt slid free. A slow drag of the zipper.
He didn’t undress. And he didn’t undress her.
Just enough.
He pushed forward. Slow, controlled. A sharp stretch. A single sound of surprise—then a soft, broken moan.
Her nails dug into his suit at the shoulders. Holding on.
He wasn’t gentle. There was no letting her retreat. No letting her adjust.
Her thighs locked around him. Her body strained to take it. He let her fight it for a moment. Then he took it from her.
Bea whimpered, her muscles clenching around him.
His fingers traced up her spine. She arched into him. She trembled, gasping his name. He gave her more.
The office smelled like her now. Like them. Power and heat and her skin on his furniture.
Her body quaked.
Her release pummeled through her, and it pulled him deeper. Gage followed her over the edge, fingers threading in the silk of her hair, gripping lightly.
He held her. Kept himself inside her. Let her feel him for long moments after.
She peered up at him. Her eyes were soft. Sated. Yielding in a way that told him she understood—that he hadn’t agreed, but she was still leaving.
Gage cupped her cheek with his hand. “Don’t think for a second I won’t come for you.”
Bea pressed a kiss to his mouth, soft and lingering. Then nodded.
“I won’t…I know.”