Chapter 17
Noah
I grip the wheel tighter as Beatrice sinks into my passenger seat, her scent—something sweet and something uniquely her—filling the car and completely erasing the heavy leather smell I usually enjoy.
My stomach suddenly feels funny, and I wonder if I’m having food poisoning or some stomach bug because it feels like a giant worm starts moving inside my guts.
She’s dressed professionally, as usual, navy pants that hug her curves and a beige blouse that makes her skin glow. And heels. She wore heels even though I warned her where we would be going.
“You might want to lose the shoes before we get there,” I say, nodding at her impractical footwear as I pull out of the garage. “I brought boots for you in the back.”
She raises an eyebrow, surprised. “You thought of boots for me?”
I keep my eyes on the road, not trusting myself to look at her directly. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle on my site. The paperwork would be a nightmare.”
“Heaven forbid there be paperwork,” she mutters, but I catch the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “How did you know I wouldn’t bring my own?”
I grunt something incomprehensible and look ahead, refusing to acknowledge her intense stare on the side of my face.
When she gives up, her chest rises heavily, and she turns to look out the window.
And only then can I breathe, because how am I supposed to say that I brought shoes—knowing they’d fit because I know a lot about her that she hasn’t shared with me?
The morning traffic flows surprisingly well, and we cross the bridge in silence. I steal glances at her when she’s looking out the window, studying the soft curve of her jaw and wondering how the skin there would taste.
She looks different outside the office—less guarded, more real. More dangerous.
“So,” she says finally, turning to face me. “Why am I really here?”
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, debating how much to reveal. “You’ve been handling my shit for over a week now without running away screaming. That’s a record.”
“Lucky me,” she replies dryly, but there’s less bite in her voice than usual. “Is this my reward? A field trip with the boss from hell?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Something like that.”
The truth is more complicated. I need her to understand this project—really understand it—because it’s the most important thing I’ve worked on.
It’s the one thing that might actually matter when all this is over.
Mom married into a family with big money, and she thought we should do something good with it.
My grandfather thought that the world could use more good people like her.
He started this project because of her, and I have to finish it.
But I can’t tell her any of that without revealing the parts of myself I prefer to keep hidden.
“This project is different,” I say instead, keeping my eyes on the road. “It’s not just another building.”
“Different how?”
“You’ll see.”
The construction site comes into view—a sprawling brick factory from the 1920s, its windows boarded up, surrounded by chain-link fence and construction equipment. It doesn’t look like much now, but in my mind, I can already see what it will become.
I park near the trailer serving as our temporary office and pop the trunk. “Boots,” I remind her, nodding toward the back.
She climbs out and peers into the trunk, then looks at me with suspicion. “How did you know my size?”
Shit. I really didn’t think this through.
“Maeve mentioned it.” She did. A year ago, in the chaos of the rearranged wedding. And I still remember. “In case you’re wondering,” I toss her a pair of steel-toe boots, “they’re clean. Brand new.”
Her eyebrow arches with suspicion as she takes the boots, examining them like they might be booby-trapped. “Thoughtful of you.”
“I’m full of surprises,” I reply, trying to keep my tone casual despite the way my heart’s hammering against my ribs.
I’ve spent a year trying to forget her, trying to drown her memory in work and meaningless hookups, but having her here in my car, at my site—it’s like picking at a wound that never properly healed.
“Aren’t you?” she mumbles under her breath and slips off her heels with a little sigh that does things to me, exchanging them for the boots.
When she bends to lace them up, a strand of blond hair falls across her face, and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out to tuck it behind her ear.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice sounds rougher than before.
She stands, testing the boots with a little stomp. “As I’ll ever be.”
I lead her toward the site entrance, nodding at the supervisor who’s been working with me since I was fresh out of college. “Morning, Hank. Just showing my assistant around today.”
Hank’s weathered face breaks into a knowing smile as he eyes Beatrice. “The famous assistant? Heard you finally found one who can keep up.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “She’s adequate,” I say, ignoring the knowing look Hank gives me.
“Adequate?” Bea repeats, giving me a sugarcoated smile that promises retribution. “I’m touched by your overwhelming praise, Mr. King.”
Hank chuckles, handing her a hard hat. “Good luck, miss. He’s not an easy one.”
“Don’t I know it,” she mutters, adjusting the hard hat over her blond waves.
I lead her through the site, pointing out structural elements that will remain and areas slated for renovation.
The morning sun filters through the broken windows, casting long shadows across the concrete floor.
There’s something about showing her this place—my vision, my creation—that makes me feel oddly vulnerable.
Sure, I have to go through all of this with investors and contractors, but explaining it to Bea seems to access something I usually keep hidden from everyone.
“This area will be the community center,” I explain, gesturing to a cavernous space with soaring ceilings. “Free childcare for residents, job training, health clinic.”
Beatrice pauses, studying the space with genuine interest. “That’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect? Luxury condos and overpriced coffee shops?”
She turns to face me, her expression thoughtful. “Honestly? Yes.”
I try not to let her answer sting. “Not everything is about maximizing profit margins.”
“Says the man who practically invented them,” she counters with a soft smile and walks to a boarded window, peering through a gap at the neighborhood beyond. “So what’s the real story with this place? Why do you care so much?”
I hesitate, debating how much to reveal.
The truth is complicated, tied to my family and burdens I’m carrying because of my father.
But something about this moment—standing in the dust-filled light with Beatrice looking at me without her usual armor—makes me want to tell her.
At least some of the real reason behind my passion for this.
“My father would have hated this project,” I say finally, running my hand along an exposed brick wall. “No profit margin, too much community benefit. A waste of resources, he’d say.”
“And that’s why you’re doing it?” she asks, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “To spite him?”
“Partly,” I admit, meeting her gaze. “But also because it’s the right thing to do. This neighborhood needs affordable housing, not another luxury tower no one can afford.” Plus, I hope my mom will like it too.
She studies me for a long moment before tilting her head slightly to the side when she makes some internal decision. “You’re not what I expected, Noah King.”
My name on her lips tightens my chest and spreads a warmth I don’t want to examine too closely. “Disappointed?”
“Confused,” she corrects, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I thought I had you figured out.”
“And now?”
She shrugs, turning back to the window. “Now I’m not sure.”
Her admission is honest in a way we haven’t been with each other since… well, maybe ever. I watch her profile as she gazes out at Brooklyn, sunlight catching in her hair, turning it gold. She looks softer here, away from the office battleground, like she’s let down some invisible shield.
And she’s doing it on my territory.
“This place will help people,” I say, gesturing around us.
“Families who’ve lived in this neighborhood for generations are getting priced out because of new developments.
Single parents who need affordable childcare.
Kids who deserve safe places to play.” I pause, surprised by my own earnestness.
“It’s not just a building. It’s a statement. ”
“About what?” she asks, turning back to me.
“About what King Developers can be. About what we should be doing with our power and resources.” I run my hand through my hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious of oversharing. “Ezra and I are trying to change things. To make it more like the vision our grandfather used to have for the city.”
She studies me silently, and her gaze seems more curious than combative for once. “So that’s why you’re obsessing over every detail. Why you’ve been driving everyone insane with your demands.”
“I’ve been driving everyone insane because nobody does their job right,” I correct her with a smile. “But yeah. This one matters.”
“So all of the little things you made me do are really important and not just you throwing tantrums?”
“Partly tantrums,” I chuckle. “But most of them are critical for the success of this project.” I nod, letting my eyes drift over her face.
“Without them, we’d lose our timeline, and the whole project would be delayed.
One more excuse for the board to try to take control.
They don’t want this project happening because it’s not profitable. ”
I’ve never talked about the board’s power plays with an assistant before. I’ve never trusted one enough.
“Is that why you’ve been—” she trails off, gesturing vaguely in my direction.
“Been what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.