Chapter Eight
Bella
New York City
The cool night air of Manhattan should have been a relief, but I was shaking with anger. How dare he?
How dare he put me through life-risking scenarios . . . for nothing. I should have known not to trust a Burke.
What had I been thinking? That bringing him to The Beacon had proven to him how seriously I was taking this situation? How invested I was in it?
Sure, I’d also hoped that it reminded him that I was his equal and not one to be dismissed, but I hadn’t embarrassed him. And, yes, he’d walked through a maze of mirrors. Big deal.
There’d been no form-fitting costume.
He hadn’t been required to shimmy down a shaft wall with nothing more than untested technology and a prayer. Or, even better, nearly suffocate in part of some bizarre breathing test.
All of that was classic Burke. As I stood there, gulping in the cool night air, I couldn’t deny that over the years my father had tried to undermine the Burke’s reputation and business deals.
But in most cases, I’d been able to minimize and/or put a stop to each move.
Not because I liked the Burkes, but because regardless of what they’d stolen from us, the Hollistons would not sink down to their level. We had ethics.
Yet, given any opportunity, the Burkes struck back.
Which meant, not only had I wasted a significant amount of time over the years running damage control, but I’d also protected our company and our reputation against anything and everything the Burkes threw at us.
This time, though, I’d underestimated how low they were willing to go.
The car I’d requested to wait for me, pulled up and I slid into the rear seat. My skin was damp with sweat. My hands were shaking.
“Is everything okay?” my driver asked with quiet concern.
“Yes, thank you,” I lied. “Please take me to my apartment.”
As we pulled away, I saw Drew standing in the doorway of the warehouse. The impulse to flip him off was strong, but instead I turned my head away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d shaken me to the core.
Not because I’d been afraid. I could handle fear.
No, this was worse.
For a few minutes in the warehouse, I’d put aside all common sense and trusted someone I knew I shouldn’t. By the end, when breathing with the same rhythm had opened the door . . . it had felt like we were on the same side.
The craziest part? I’d gone into the warehouse fully aware that he’d created a scenario to manipulate me. Eyes wide open. Brain fully engaged. And, yet, somehow, I’d still fucking fallen for it.
All of it.
The technology was top notch.
The scenarios were adrenaline pumping challenging.
Pour any half-decent looking man into a shiny, form fitting body suit in that kind of forced intimacy situation and, of course, there were moments I’d found myself turned on. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the setup.
What had he said? The scenario was designed to help us learn something about each other? All I learned was he was as much of an asshole as his father was.
And as untrustworthy.
My gaze stayed fixed on the buildings we passed, but my body refused to follow my lead. My skin still felt the phantom pressure of the black suit, while my pulse acted as if I were still working my way through the challenges.
Nerves humming. Raw. Overstimulated.
I hate Drew Burke.
And I don’t hate anyone.
His presence clung to me. I could still hear his laugh. See his smirk.
Worse, I could still smell him. Not just his cologne, but him. And when I relived how it had felt to breathe him in, my pulse raced.
Annoyingly.
I turned my face slightly toward the vent, letting the cold air hit my cheek as if it could reset me. It didn’t.
I pressed my thumb to the inside of my wrist, grounding myself the way I always did.
Breathe. Center. Control.
Instead, memory intruded in fragments I hadn’t invited.
The way my boot had held to the wall as if gravity itself had changed its mind.
The low certainty in Drew’s voice as he told me to trust something invisible.
The brush of his shoulder against mine as we descended.
The proximity that made my breath hitch for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion.
His hand at my waist. The second too long where neither of us moved.
When he’d told me to match his breathing in the mist, it had worked.
And then the words that had cut through everything else.
Bella, listen. You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.
Oh, he hadn’t been subtle at all. My hands fisted on my lap. I wanted to punch something. Punch him. For someone who prided myself on always keeping my cool and staying in control, I was surprisingly close to lowering the window and screaming my frustration out into the night.
Great, now my eye is twitching again.
Thanks, Drew.
I needed to hear a familiar voice. Something uncomplicated that didn’t reach inside me and rearrange things.
“Call Evan,” I said, my voice flat.
A soft chime answered, and the call connected to a wall of thumping bass that poured through the speakers so loudly I flinched.
“Bel?” Evan’s voice was slurred and far away. “Is that you?”
“Evan,” I said, watching the city blur past. “Where are you?”
“Ibiza! Or . . . wait, no.” He laughed, careless and loud. “We moved to the coast of Italy this morning.”
I could hear the clink of glasses, high-pitched laughter, and the chaos of music. “Have you heard from Brady? Has he called you?”
“Brady?” Evan echoed loudly. “No, the kid is probably buried in books. You worry too much. Take a vacation. Come join me.” He paused, then added as if it were hilarious, “I think we’re heading to .
. . hell, I forget. Remind me to either drink less so I remember where I’m going next, or drink more so I forget we had this conversation. ”
Irritation rose in me, but it had nowhere to go. Nowhere that wouldn’t make the situation worse, anyway. “Never mind, Evan. Go back to your party.”
“Bel—”
“End call.”
The music cut off instantly, leaving the cabin silent except for the hum of the engine and the soft tick of a turn signal. The silence was worse than the noise.
I thought of Sloane and Jax, my Wednesday lifeline, but the idea of waiting days to tell them about the warehouse felt like an eternity. For a fleeting, terrifying second, I considered calling my mother.
Her name sat at the top of my favorites list, one touch away.
She would answer. She always did. But I didn’t want to lay this on her. While we had never stopped speaking, she was also the one who had walked away. She had chosen peace.
I didn’t blame her.
But a small part of me resented it anyway.
Because she had escaped the very weight that was now crushing me.
By the time we reached my building in Midtown, the fixer was back. I hadn’t chosen this apartment for its luxury, but for its utilitarian proximity to corporate headquarters. The same three-block radius my father always maintained. It wasn’t a home. It was a base of operations.
After thanking my driver, I rode the elevator up, my posture composed and my face neutral.
Once inside, the armor finally came off.
I stripped out of the remnants of my business attire and stepped into a quick, scalding shower, scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away the phantom sensation of the warehouse suit.
When I stepped out, I dressed in a loose cotton top and a short sleep set, leaving my hair wrapped in a heavy towel.
I didn’t head for the bedroom. I went straight to the small minimalist desk near the window and pulled my laptop out like a weapon. I spent the next hour meticulously softening a deal my father had nearly derailed earlier that day.
Every year, my father said he was almost ready to retire. I loved him, in the complicated way daughters of powerful, broken men do. I also looked forward to my work not including his erratic agendas.
I missed the childhood summers in Firebrook when he wasn’t a responsibility, just a father taking me for walks by the river, cheering me on as I learned to ride the monstrous yet beautiful Frisians he was adamant were our standard.
No learner ponies for us. Only the biggest, most beautiful horses with the best pedigrees would do.
He never could understand why I quit taking riding lessons as soon as I was allowed the option. The horses had never been what I’d enjoyed about that time. Looking back, it had been the praise he’d given out so freely at the barn.
Praise he didn’t hand out anywhere else. Was that why my mother had divorced him? He’d never been cruel to her, but I also couldn’t remember him complimenting her. My father tended to be critical, especially when it came to maintaining a social standard.
Exactly like his parents always seemed to be with him. He resented them and described them as obligations to be managed. A cold realization slid into place.
Oh my God.
I really am becoming my father.
I was managing my brothers and my father, looking at the people I loved as variables to be controlled so the engine wouldn’t stop.
I closed the laptop with a snap and stood, suddenly restless.
Walking to the windows, I stared out at the skyline. The city lights turned the glass into a mirror, and in that reflection, I saw Drew Burke.
More than once in the warehouse I’d caught him smiling as he watched me solve a challenge. Had that been a deliberate manipulation as well?
Was I that transparent?
I turned away from the window and the haunting reflection of him. If I told my father about what Drew had done, he would start planning how to retaliate. But, now that my head was clear again and my heart rate back to normal, all I wanted was to never see Drew Burke again.