Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Mason
The MediCorp offices were in a sleek glass building in the Central Business District, all modern lines and expansive views of the city. Beau and I arrived early, just like I'd planned—both of us operating on coffee and nervous energy.
We hadn't talked about yesterday. Not the flight, not Derek's phone number, not the moment I'd admitted I wanted him so badly I was losing my mind. We'd simply met in the lobby, nodded at each other like the professionals we were pretending to be, and taken a cab to the meeting.
"Ready?" Beau asked as we stood outside the conference room.
"Ready."
He straightened his tie—sky blue today, against a crisp white shirt—and I forced myself to look away before I did something stupid like tell him how sexy he looked.
We were being professional.
The conference room was impressive: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a massive table that could seat twenty, and a presentation screen that took up most of one wall. Four people were already seated, and they stood as we entered.
"Gentlemen! Welcome!" A man in his sixties with silver hair and an expensive suit came forward, hand extended. "Richard Huang, CEO. We're so glad you could make it down."
"Mason Price, and this is Beau Thatcher." I shook his hand. "Thank you for having us."
"Of course, of course. Let me introduce the team." He gestured to the others. "This is Marcus Webb, our CFO. Janet Kim, head of operations. And Beverly Castillo, VP of Business Development."
Beverly Castillo was probably in her late thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, sharp cheekbones, and a smile that suggested she knew exactly how attractive she was.
She wore a burgundy dress that was professional but definitely made a statement, and when she shook my hand, she gazed directly into my eyes.
"Mason. What a pleasure." Her voice had a slight rasp to it, like she'd spent the previous night smoking too much in a jazz club while sipping bourbon. "I've heard wonderful things about your work on the regulatory compliance side."
"Thank you. I'm looking forward to working with your team."
She turned to Beau, and I watched her assess him in about two seconds flat. "And you must be the medical technology specialist. Beau, was it?"
"That's right." Beau shook her hand, his professional smile in place.
"Excellent. Well, shall we get started? We have a lot to cover." Beverly gestured to the seats at the table. "Mason, why don't you sit here next to me? I have some specific questions about the FDA approval timelines."
I took the seat she indicated, and Beau sat across from me, his expression carefully neutral. But I saw the way his jaw tightened, just slightly, when Beverly pulled her chair closer to mine.
The meeting started, and within ten minutes, I remembered why I loved this job.
The MediCorp team was sharp, asking intelligent questions and actually listening to the answers.
Beau and I fell into an easy rhythm—he'd explain the medical technology provisions, I'd follow up with the regulatory framework, and together we painted a comprehensive picture of how the merger would work.
It was like a dance we'd been practicing without realizing it.
"So if I'm understanding correctly," Marcus said, leaning forward, "the patent consolidation would actually accelerate our FDA approval process for the cardiac device?"
"Exactly," Beau said, pulling up a slide on his laptop. "By combining the existing approvals with your development pipeline, we're looking at potentially shaving eighteen months off your timeline. Mason, you want to walk through the regulatory side?"
"Sure." I stood, moving to the presentation screen. "The key is the 510(k) pathway. Since PharmaTech and MediCorp already has clearance for similar devices, we can leverage that to streamline your application."
Beverly was watching me intently, and when I glanced her way, she smiled. "That's brilliant. You've really thought this through."
"It's what we do." I returned her smile.
The meeting continued for three hours, breaking only for coffee and pastries around ten-thirty. During the break, Beverly cornered me by the coffee station.
"You're good at this," she said, pouring herself a cup. "Explaining complex regulatory issues in a way that actually makes sense. That's a rare skill."
"Thank you. Your team makes it easy—you ask the right questions."
"Well, we have a vested interest in getting this right." She added cream to her coffee, then looked up at me through her lashes. "So, Mason. What do you do when you're not revolutionizing medical device regulations?"
"I... work, mostly."
She laughed. "That's what I figured. You have that look about you."
"What look?"
"The 'I haven't taken a vacation in five years and color-code my file folders' look."
Despite myself, I smiled. "Chronologically, actually. Within each color category."
"Oh my god, I was joking but you actually do that?" Beverly shook her head, grinning. "Okay, that settles it. You need to let loose while you're here. Have you been to New Orleans before?"
"Once, briefly."
"Then you haven't really been. This city isn't meant to be experienced through hotel windows, Mason. You need to get out there. Feel it." She leaned in slightly. "Tell you what—after we wrap up today, let me take you out. Show you the real New Orleans."
I felt rather than saw Beau approach from behind me.
"Everything okay over here?" His voice was carefully controlled, but I knew him well enough now to hear the edge underneath.
"Perfect," Beverly said, turning her smile on him. "I was just telling Mason that I'm taking you both out tonight. To celebrate a productive day of meetings."
"Both of us?" Beau repeated.
"Of course! You're a team, right?" She glanced between us. "Unless you have other plans?"
"No plans," I said.
"None," Beau added, his eyes on me.
"Wonderful! There's this place in the Marigny—incredible music, great drinks, locals only. We'll go after the meetings wrap up. Say, seven o'clock?" Beverly checked her phone. "Oh, looks like it’s time to get back to work. Shall we?"
She walked back to the conference room, leaving Beau and me standing by the coffee station.
"She's friendly," Beau said flatly.
"She's being professional."
"She's flirting with you."
"She's not—" I stopped. "And even if she was, why would it matter? We're colleagues, remember?"
Beau's jaw worked. "Right. Colleagues."
"Beau—"
"We should get back to the meeting." He walked away before I could say anything else.
The afternoon session went even better than the morning. By four o'clock, we'd covered everything on the agenda and then some. Richard was beaming, Marcus was already drafting follow-up emails, and Janet was talking about implementation timelines.
"Gentlemen," Richard said, standing and offering his hand to both of us, "this has been incredibly productive. You've addressed every concern, answered every question, and quite frankly, made us very excited about this merger."
"We're glad we could help," I said.
"You did more than help. You made us believers." He smiled. "We'll see you tomorrow morning for the final signature session?"
"We'll be here," Beau confirmed.
As we packed up our materials, Beverly appeared at my elbow. "So, seven o'clock? I'll meet you both in your hotel lobby. Windsor Court, right?"
"You don't have to—" I started.
"Mason. You just spent nine hours in meetings. You deserve a night out. Both of you do." She glanced at Beau. "Besides, I don't take no for an answer. It's kind of my thing."
Beau shouldered his bag. "Seven o'clock. We'll be there."
Beverly's smile widened. "Excellent. Wear something comfortable. Where we're going, a suit would just make you stand out."
She left, and Beau turned to me. "Well, this should be fun."
"You don't have to come if you don't want to."
"Oh, I'm coming." His eyes locked on mine. "Seven o'clock, Mason. Don't be late."
* * *
I was standing in the hotel lobby at 6:58 PM, wearing dark jeans and a grey button-down with the sleeves rolled up—the most "comfortable" my wardrobe got.
I'd debated the outfit for twenty minutes, which was ridiculous.
This wasn't a date. This was a business dinner.
Or drinks. Or whatever Beverly had planned.
The elevator dinged, and Beau stepped out.
He'd changed into black jeans and a forest green t-shirt that hugged his chest and arms in ways that made my mouth go dry. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and he'd shaved, leaving his jaw smooth and—
"You're staring," Beau said, stopping in front of me.
"I wasn't,” I mumbled.
"You were." But he was looking at me too, his eyes traveling from my face down to my feet and back up again. "You look... different. Good. You look good."
"Thanks. So do you."
We stood there for a moment, the lobby buzzing with activity around us, just looking at each other.
"This is weird, right?" Beau said finally. "Going out with her?"
"A little."
"We can bail. Say we're tired. Reschedule for never."
I almost agreed. Almost suggested we go back upstairs, order room service, spend the evening reviewing documents for tomorrow's signatures.
But then I thought about Caroline's words. Sometimes the scariest choice is the right one. And about my father, who'd decided to stop being careful and had found happiness.
"No," I said. "Let's go. It might be fun."
"Mason Price, admitting something might be fun? Are you feeling okay?" Beau winked at me, and I felt heat racing up my neck.
"Don't push it, Thatcher."
A car pulled up outside—not a taxi, but a sleek black sedan. Beverly stepped out, and I did a double-take.
Gone was the professional dress and ponytail. She wore ripped jeans, a leather jacket over a silk camisole, and boots with heels that probably violated some kind of safety regulation. Her hair was down, falling in dark waves past her shoulders, and her makeup was darker, smokier.