5. Rae
5
RAE
“C ome on, baby. Give it to me,” I mutter.
“All you had to do was ask.”
I glance over my shoulder as Beck enters the kitchen in shorts and nothing else.
“Your coffee maker’s acting up.” The gleaming silver machine is the same brand Harrison bought in Ibiza.
“When sweet talk fails…” He bangs a hand on the side. “Try now.”
I do, and it runs. “Huh.”
He winks. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“I decided to go to Kian’s wedding. Maybe I can put the past behind me.”
“Need a plus one?”
“Nope. I’m not inviting anyone into that cesspool.”
“Rae, there’s a lot of ugly in this world. You can’t handle your own family, maybe you’re not ready for it.”
I fold my arms. “Nothing ever happened to you in your past that you wouldn’t want to revisit, or have dragged out, or have connected to who you are now?”
He frowns. “I’m not hiding anything. Are you?”
Steam erupts from the coffee machine, and I attend to it. My stomach knots, and I force myself to keep breathing. “I’d rather think about my future.”
“Wouldn’t we all.” Beck barks out a laugh as he grabs a mug from the cabinet.
The huge silver fridge is stocked with healthy prepped foods. Beck won’t let me contribute to the mortgage, but I hacked his grocery delivery account and switched it to my credit card.
When I first met Beck through Annie in college, I never could’ve predicted I’d be staying with him now, sharing coffee, not to mention a roof.
Beck’s good at making friends and keeping them. I’m suspicious of everyone’s motives, waiting for them to bail, but he’s the opposite—he expects the best and often finds it. He has a knack for seeing through someone’s defenses to what’s underneath. But unlike many, he doesn’t use it against people.
That’s probably why I find myself letting him in a bit at a time and why he’s often my go-to hang-out partner.
Beck’s phone buzzes, and he grabs it, reading the notification with a grin.
“Who’s making you smile like that?”
“Emily. Chick from the club the other night.”
“You can bail on our dinner plans if you want to take her out,” I offer.
He slaps a hand on the counter hard enough Ernie jumps. “No way. I’m taking you for dinner tonight. A nice one. As a thanks for sitting Ernie yesterday.”
The dog perks up from his designer doghouse across the kitchen.
I lean a hip against the counter. “He only tried to eat his stitches twice. I took him to see Harrison’s new project.”
“How is the chairman of the British Billionaire Club?” Beck asks, mischief glinting in his dark eyes as he flips his hair out of his face. “It was delightful seeing him on set. Too bad I couldn’t stick around and pick ice slivers out of my chest. You know, from all those daggers shooting from his eyes.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
He crosses to a brown paper back next to the fridge and pulls out a pre-cut bagel before popping it into the toaster. “Dude was ready to whip it out and piss a circle around you. What’d he want?”
“To give me a bonus for Ibiza,” I say as I grab the cream.
“For your legitimate, fully clothed work there,” he drawls as he presses the toaster lever down.
“What are you saying?”
He turns back to me, folding his arms. “Just that he’s pussy whipped. You left the boy wanting more.”
I set the cream on the counter harder than necessary. “I’m not the woman who leaves guys wanting more, Beck. I’m the one who flies under the radar—unless she’s on stage in a costume—and I like it that way.”
“Some people are so blinded by the sun they miss the stars. Someone gets a good look at you, they’re gonna find something to like.”
“Wow. I was going to offer you cheese with that bagel, but you brought your own.” But my chest twinges anyway.
“So, are you gonna give him another chance?”
“To what. Irritate me? I’m already playing shitty clubs from the last time I let him in.”
“Maybe he wants to make it right.” The bagel pops up, and Beck reaches for a plate.
“He’s turning a warehouse into a club. It’s bold,” I admit.
“Mmm. Bold new venture for the hotter, more insolent James Bond who wants nothing more than my girl at his exquisitely tailored side.”
I roll my eyes. The man is a business titan. He has money to burn, and he didn’t get that way by taking detours chasing skirts.
It’s possible there’s something to be learned from that.
“I’m not giving in to him. But I’m a little envious,” I realize. “I think I want a warehouse.”
“A warehouse,” he echoes.
“Not an actual warehouse. A project I can go after no matter what. Something that’s mine, that no one can say Harrison had a hand in.”
My phone buzzes with a notification from Wild Fest announcing a new DJ.
“This is it.” I hold up the phone, excitement surging through me. “Wild Fest. My warehouse.”
“How’re you going to get it? You said they’re not returning your calls.”
I square my shoulders. “I’ll figure it out.”