2. Chapter 2
two
~ Beckett ~
A fter three years of working the gala circuit, I thought I had seen everything.
Nothing, however, could have prepared me for the sheer level of absurdity on display at my first event with Jasper.
The invitation had been to a private showing for an exhibition titled A Journey of Nothing.
And from the moment we arrived on a dimly lit street of Dallas’ upper east side, I hated everything about it.
I had been envisioning a minimalistic but modern art gallery with too many white walls and maybe a dash of pretentiousness.
Instead, the limousine slowed to a stop in front of a graffitied warehouse with a sketchy-looking entrance illuminated by only a single, naked bulb.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Jasper stared out the tinted window, resignation etched into the lines of his face.
“I’m sure.”
When the driver came around to open the door, I exited first, scanning the area with a critical eye before motioning for Jasper to join me.
I didn’t expect someone to leap out of the shadows to attack us, but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility, either.
Although I hadn’t worked personal protection in years, old habits still remained.
Working security—either solo or as part of a team—had been exactly the kind of high-stakes, adrenaline-fueled career I’d craved in my twenties.
By my thirties, it had lost some of its shine.
It wasn’t until I’d been staring down the barrel of forty, however, that I realized helping others didn’t have to mean constant danger.
Sometimes, it could be as simple as just showing up.
“How do I look?” On the sidewalk, Jasper pulled his shoulders back and stretched his lips into a practiced smile.
“Let’s see,” I said as I reached out to straighten his already perfectly knotted tie.
Since I had been staring at him in the back of the limousine for the past half hour, I already knew he looked stunning in his tailored three-piece suit.
But that kind of talk wouldn’t do either of us any favors.
“Too good for this dump.”
His quiet laughter drew my gaze to his mouth, and I noticed his bottom lip appeared a little pinker and puffier than the top.
Probably because he’d been chewing on it the entire drive.
“What about me?” I prompted, taking a step back and holding my arms aloft at my sides.
Jasper studied me for a moment, the moonlight shining in his honey-brown eyes.
Then an uncharacteristic smirk curved one side of his mouth in a way that invited all sorts of sinful thoughts.
Like the fact that I was itching to pull his auburn locks free from the elastic band at his nape and run my fingers through the soft tresses.
I shut that thought down fast and mentally shook myself.
Definitely not going there.
“You’ll do,” Jasper answered dryly.
“Well, I suppose that will have to be enough.”
Damn, he had a great laugh, even if I detected a thread of self-consciousness lurking beneath the surface.
It was real, though, and the way his eyes shined with amusement had me plotting ways to earn another one of those quiet chuckles.
“Shall we?” I motioned toward the entrance where a mountain of a man in a black shirt at least two sizes too small waited with a clipboard.
Not a tablet. Not a cell phone.
A fucking clipboard.
The whole scenario couldn’t have been more cliched if it tried.
“Mr. Shaw, I feel obligated to remind you that we are thrilled to be here.” He lowered his voice as we approached the troll at the door.
“Fake it if you must.”
I blinked at the subtle reprimand.
“I haven’t said anything.”
Jasper sighed.
“Your face is saying enough.”
“And I will remind you that I am a professional.” Once we made it through the door, I would be polite, dutiful, and charm itself.
“I didn’t realize I had to fake it with you as well.”
Ten feet from the entrance, he came to an abrupt stop, and his hand landed on my elbow.
He didn’t grab or pull, but that light pressure was enough to halt me in my tracks.
“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” His eyebrows drew together, and worry lines marred his forehead.
“I’m nervous, but that’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have—”
“Jasper, relax.” I wanted to reach out, caress his cheek, maybe smooth those creases from his brow, but I didn’t.
Instead, I covered his hand where it still rested on my elbow.
“It’ll take a lot more than that to offend me.”
“Okay.” He released a shallow breath through his parted lips, but he still held a lot of tension in his shoulders.
“And for the record, you don’t have to fake anything with me.” His lips curved upward, but I wouldn’t exactly call it a smile.
“Although, I would appreciate if you could pretend to like me while we’re here.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard since I do like you.”
The pink that stained the tops of his cheeks was fucking adorable.
While not a word I ever thought I would use to describe a grown man, I couldn’t think of one more fitting.
He had this innocence about him, an innate goodness that both humbled and awed me.
I just wished he’d allow more people to see it.
“You don’t even know me.”
I held his gaze and shook my head.
“You’re wrong.”
Maybe I didn’t know all the little details, but I knew enough.
After all, I had been watching the guy for years.
Not in a creepy, obsessive way, but I definitely noticed when he entered a room.
I could count the number of times we’d spoken directly on one hand, but I had stood witness to plenty of group discussions.
I’d seen him smile and nod, though the light never quite reached his eyes.
While his contemporaries merely waited for their turn to talk, I’d heard him speak with compassion and poise about Project SafeHouse.
More importantly, I’d heard the things he hadn’t said.
Like the fact that he hated the charade of these events.
He played the game out of necessity, not because it brought him any real joy.
Rather than elaborate, however, I moved his hand so that it looped around my arm and started walking again.
“Tell me,” I said, hoping to distract him.
“On a scale from one to ten, how much am I going to regret agreeing to this?”
“Life is what you make of it.” Then he pasted on a bright smile before addressing the doorman.
“Jasper Ryan.”
The guy scanned his clipboard, grunted, and pressed a button on the wall.
“Go in.”
Dim blue light filled the frame when the door swung open, and melancholic music with dulcet cello chords spilled out into the night.
“Very diplomatic,” I said, picking up our conversation again as we moved toward the entrance.
“The real answer?”
Jasper’s hand tightened around my elbow, but his smile never slipped.
“You’ll probably regret it as much as I do.”
I chuckled under my breath.
“Give me a number.”
“On a scale from one to ten? Eleven.”
Since I hadn’t known him to oversell anything , I took him at his word and steeled myself for the evening.
At the same time, I imagined it would be the typical gala scene, only on a smaller scale.
The size of the guestlist turned out to be the only thing I’d gotten right.
Located inside a literal warehouse, no amount of patchouli or sandalwood could mask the unmistakable smell of damp cinderblocks.
Apart from a single pendant light over the bar and the display lights below the artwork, the only illumination came from a few clusters of fairy lights.
Rather than atmospheric or edgy, it just added to the dankness and made the whole place feel depressing.
Servers dressed in blood-red tuxedos with black lapels milled about, carrying trays laden with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Instead of sofas or even folding chairs, seating areas consisted of rattan ottomans and leather beanbags.
I recognized most of those in attendance from other events around the city, both from my days in security and my time at +One.
Wearing bold gowns with plunging necklines or dark tailored suits, they sported reserved expressions and spoke in hushed tones.
Once I glimpsed the paintings on display, I understood why everyone seemed so sedated.
This wasn’t a gallery showing.
It was a funeral, and we had all come to mourn the death of art.
After securing two glasses of champagne from a passing server, I followed Jasper to the first of twelve displays.
A placard to the side gave no information about the artist or the piece itself.
Only the title with a QR code.
For Never After.
I took a step back and tilted my head, trying and failing to see the vision.
It just looked like a smear of lavender paint on an empty canvas, vaguely formed into something resembling half a heart.
“Interesting.” Both my date’s tone and expression said otherwise.
“I should bid on it.”
It took me a moment to realize he was serious.
“Why would you do that?”
One shoulder lifted toward his ear, a subtle movement of nonchalance.
“I already own the matching piece.”
“You do not.”
“I do. It’s at the center.”
“In one of the bathrooms?”
His lips twitched, but he stopped short of an actual smile.
“A storage closet, actually. We bring it out for special occasions.”
I had so many questions, but I started with the least pressing.
“The piece you have. What is it called?”
This time, he did smile, a crooked ironic grin that made his eyes sparkle in the reflection of the display lights.
“ Lavender. ”
It was even better—and more ridiculous—than I’d hoped.
“Of course it is. And why do you have it?”
“Quid pro quo.” He tipped his champagne flute toward me.
“Rizza Carmichael sponsors a reading program at the center. In exchange, I sponsor her son’s dreams of—”
“Mediocrity?”
Jasper snorted, somehow making it sound elegant, and shook his head.
Without a word, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved his cell phone so he could scan the QR code.
“How much did you bid?” I asked when he finished.
“Twelve.”
“You overpaid by about ten dollars, but fair, I guess.”
He turned his head and arched one manicured eyebrow.
“Wait. Twelve hundred?” When he continued to stare at me, I nearly choked.
“Twelve thousand? ”
“Keep your voice down,” he warned, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.
“Let’s look at some other pieces.”
Although I didn’t harbor much hope that things would get better, I hadn’t expected them to get worse.
Yet, I spent a solid ten minutes trying to make sense of a black dot the size of a pencil eraser set against a puke-green background.
The title didn’t help either, since Crush could have been referring to romantic entanglements or a garbage compactor.
For some reason I couldn’t put my finger on, I leaned toward the latter.
One positive thing did come out of the evening, however.
The setting didn’t lend itself to casual conversation, which meant we made it through half the exhibit before anyone approached us.
“Jasper, I haven’t seen you in ages.” Draped in emerald satin that hugged her curves, Ms. Elisa Doherty sashayed right into his personal space to deliver air kisses to both cheeks.
“We missed you at the fashion show last week, but honestly, you were right not to attend.”
She continued babbling, so obsessed with the sound of her own voice that she didn’t notice the way Jasper’s smile tightened, or how his spine stiffened.
Every time he stepped away to put some space between them, she followed to close the gap.
The third time it happened, I had seen enough.
Sliding in beside Jasper, I placed a hand on his lower back and angled myself slightly in front of him.
“Ms. Doherty, you look lovely this evening.”
She seemed taken aback at first, surprised that someone would have the audacity to interrupt her.
Then her eyes brightened with recognition, and she responded with a girlish giggle.
“Beckett, you are such a flirt, but thank you. As you know, I recently dropped some dead weight.”
I assumed she was referring to her divorce, and while she might be down another husband, her net worth had nearly doubled.
“That must be a relief.” I inched forward a little more, forcing her to retreat another step.
“Are you enjoying the exhibit? Anything speaking to you?”
“I have my eye on a couple of pieces. The series is quite tasteful, don’t you think?”
I made a noncommittal noise in the back of my throat as I pointed to the painting behind her.
“What about this one? What do you think of it?”
“Oh, this one?” She adopted a pensive expression as she studied the artwork.
“You can really feel the emotion in this one.”
Her tone was as dry as the stuffed mushrooms being passed around the room.
And that feeling she had?
Probably indigestion.
“Yes, it really hits you right here.” I fisted one hand over my stomach while indicating the single swath of beige paint on the white canvas aptly titled Undone .
“I especially appreciate the use of negative space. It really lets the whole thing breathe.”
“You are so right,” she agreed.
“I see you have an eye for art.”
“I just know what I like.” And this definitely wasn’t it.
“Will you be bidding on it?”
Not even if I could afford it.
“Try and stop me.”
She brushed a chestnut curl over her shoulder, and a high-pitched laugh bubbled from her painted lips.
“Yes, well, I need to make the rounds. You know how it is.” Her smile stretched a little wider, but her eyes gleamed with predation when they landed on Jasper.
“We should catch up soon.”
“Yes, of course.” He pressed heavily against my side now, but outwardly, he appeared calm and composed.
“Soon.”
Crisis averted, I watched her leave with a sense of relief and accomplishment.
So, I was surprised when Jasper rounded on me the moment she walked away, his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared.
“What was that?”
“I don’t—”
“ Beckett, you’re such a flirt ,” he mimicked in a breathy, deeply unflattering voice.
“Mr. Ryan.” I turned to face him then, a smirk pulling at one side of my mouth.
“Are you jealous?”
He responded with a sardonic sigh, but I didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.
I also noticed that he hadn’t backed away.
“Don’t be absurd.”
“You said you needed a buffer,” I reminded him.
“I’m just doing my job.”
Our gazes met, and he hesitated briefly before shaking his head.
“Do less.” Then he turned and strode away.
Well, he tried, only to have his dramatic exit interrupted by another round of small talk.
I didn’t recognize the couple who stopped him, and I couldn’t tell if he did, either.
From the moment the gentleman said his name, Jasper’s shoulders drew back, his chin lifted, and his pursed lips relaxed into a welcoming smile.
The transition from irritated to charming happened so smoothly it appeared effortless, but I knew how much it cost him.
I saw the hollow look in his eyes.
The tension in his neck.
The slight tremor in his hands.
With each interaction, his social battery drained a little more, the effort to feign enthusiasm about petty gossip clearly taking its toll.
Nearing the second to last piece of art—a hastily painted black square on a chartreuse background, confusingly titled Circle —I had already started planning our exit.
Before I could discuss it with my date, however, the hostess herself, Rizza Carmichael, appeared like a specter from the other side of the display pillar.
“Jasper, I’m so glad you could make it.” She wore an ingratiating smile, but she didn’t encroach on his personal space.
“How are things at the center?”
Quiet and unobtrusive, I stood off to the side in the shadows, nodding in silent approval.
Widowed for nearly a decade and still unattached, I knew Rizza to be intelligent, capable, and fiercely independent.
Unlike many of her peers, she hadn’t been born into money, nor had she married for it.
Instead, she had fought for every rung up the social ladder of Dallas’ elite.
“Things are well,” Jasper answered with a small bow of his head.
“Thank you for asking.”
“And Caleb?”
“We were able to place him with the Shermans last week.” A warm, gentle smile curved his lips.
“He’s transitioning well.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Her small hand fluttered delicately around the neckline of her scarlet gown.
“The Shermans are wonderful people.”
From context clues, I gathered the Shermans were fosters who worked closely with Project SafeHouse.
Like Rizza, I also felt a measure of relief that the young boy had been entrusted to a good family.
Since she sponsored a program at the center, her interest in the place made sense, but her sincerity intrigued me.
I hadn’t expected her to be so invested, and I sure as hell hadn’t thought she would know any of the children by name.
They spoke for another couple of minutes, mostly about current news and upcoming events.
Then she thanked Jasper for his earlier bid and his ongoing support, though she never mentioned her son specifically.
I didn’t know what it meant, if anything, but I found it interesting and filed it away to examine later.
Once she left to mingle with the other guests, I stepped up to Jasper’s side and placed a hand lightly against his back.
“Are you ready to leave?”
Jasper sighed, and his entire being deflated.
He started to sway toward me, but caught himself and pulled back at the last second.
Straightening, he rolled his shoulders and manufactured a polite expression.
“We haven’t congratulated the artist yet.”
Edwin Carmichael hadn’t moved from the bar the entire evening, sipping red wine while trying to appear broody and disinterested.
I doubted he would notice our departure, but if Jasper needed to fulfill this last obligation, it was a problem easily rectified.
With my hand still on his back, I ushered him across the cavernous room to the bar area.
The man of the evening cast a bored glance in our direction, but he didn’t turn, and he didn’t offer a greeting.
“Congratulations, Edwin. You must be excited.”
The little shit shrugged, but he still didn’t give him the courtesy of eye contact.
“I guess.”
I wondered if Jasper had expected the reaction because he didn’t hesitate or falter.
“I appreciate the opportunity to share in such an important night.”
“Right.” Edwin tilted his wine glass to his lips and drained the contents.
“My mom invited you.”
His attitude grated, and I tensed, which didn’t go unnoticed.
Before I could say anything, Jasper met my gaze and shook his head, but not in reprimand.
If I had to put a name to his expression, I would say he looked…
sad.
Since I neither understood nor shared his sympathy, I started leading him toward the exit.
When we passed behind Edwin, however, Jasper paused and briefly touched the kid on the shoulder.
“Enjoy your evening, Edwin. You deserve it.”
Outside, the night had cooled considerably since our arrival, and the chilled breeze soothed the heat of irritation in my cheeks.
I admired that Jasper always tried to see the best in people, but at the same time, it pissed me off that he wasted energy on people who didn’t deserve it.
“What was that about?” I asked once I felt calmer.
“He’s hurting.”
Jasper didn’t say anything more on the subject, and I got the impression that he wouldn’t, even if I asked.
So, instead of pressing him, I bit my tongue and reflected on the interaction through his eyes.
Through a different lens.
I prided myself on noticing the details, the nuances, that others often missed.
Yet, a couple of hours in the presence of Jasper Ryan, and I realized that despite all my keen observations, I had willfully ignored an important piece of the puzzle.
Empathy.
I had seen Edwin’s behavior as rude and disrespectful.
Jasper, however, had searched deeper and found something more.
Something hidden. Something painful.
I still didn’t know if I agreed with his assessment, but it forced me to confront an ugly truth about myself.
Maybe I didn’t see as much as I thought I did.