Chapter 18 #3
“No. You both need to listen.” Her voice quivers with barely controlled emotion as she steps between me and them like the most beautiful human shield in history.
“Noah has been working on this project for months. It matters to him. It matters to the community. And to your damn company because of your damn board. And instead of helping, you’re both just making it worse. ”
I stare at her back, at the rigid line of her shoulders, completely stunned. The woman who’s been torturing me for weeks with her tight skirts and sharp tongue is defending me like a lioness protecting her cub.
“The presentation is tomorrow morning,” she continues, her voice steadying. “So either help or leave. Those are the only two options right now. With that in mind, let me ask you, gentlemen, again. What did you want when you barged in?”
Martin’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide with shock.
Ezra’s expression shifts from annoyance to respect. “I wanted to see if anyone was dead and you needed a shovel, but looks like you’ve got that part handled.”
“Someone will be dead if you don’t tell me what you need and get out of my office,” I nearly growl.
“Yes, Boss. Go. I’ll make sure everything is okay here,” Martin chimes in, settling more comfortably by the window.
“No, take your assistant with you.” I point at him.
Martin gasps dramatically, placing his open palm to his chest. “I’m wounded.”
Ezra watches me for a few moments with those knowing eyes I hate before he turns to Beatrice again. “Are you okay to stay here? You should be home by now. We will manage.”
“Enough,” I say in a hard voice, my knuckles aching. Coming to my office and ordering my assistant to go home is too much.
Bea’s gaze flits to my hands again before she looks at Ezra, completely unfazed by my tone.
“There’s work that needs to be done, and you have proved yourself to be totally useless. I don’t work for you. I work for Noah, and I’ll stay here as long as he needs.”
Ezra shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking almost uncomfortable. “You might want to give him space to cool off.”
She’s standing in front of him with a relaxed posture and a slightly raised brow. The silence gets a little heavy at some point, and Ezra shifts his weight again. More noticeable this time, and my lips twitch.
“Why would I need to be away while he’s cooling off? Are you suggesting I can’t deal with my boss on my own and I need a savior?”
I watch this exchange with growing amusement, my rage dissolving into something like satisfaction. Ezra’s face reddens under Bea’s calm interrogation.
“I don’t think that’s what he meant—” Martin starts, but Bea cuts him off with a raised hand, her eyes never leaving Ezra’s face.
“I’m still waiting for an answer,” she says, her voice steady, but it holds a sharp edge that she doesn’t use often.
I lean my ass on my desk, crossing my arms over my chest and savoring every second of my brother’s discomfort. This is better than any therapy session I’ve never been to.
Ezra runs a hand through his hair, a tell I recognize from our childhood. “I just… thought maybe you’d want some space after…” He gestures vaguely at the destroyed office.
“After what, exactly?” Bea presses, taking a step closer to him. Despite being a foot shorter, she somehow manages to make my six-foot-three brother look small. “After Noah had a bad day? After his life’s work just got ruined? Are you saying I can’t handle a grown man having emotions?”
“That’s not—”
“Because if that’s what you’re saying,” she continues, her voice dropping to that dangerous honey-sweet tone I’ve heard her use on difficult clients, “then maybe you should reconsider who you think needs protecting here.”
Martin’s trying so hard not to laugh that he’s practically vibrating, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. My assistant—my tiny, fierce assistant—is absolutely demolishing my brother, and it’s the best thing I’ve seen all year.
“Actually,” Ezra says, straightening his shoulders in what I recognize as his attempt to regain control of the situation, “I think there might be some confusion here—”
“Oh, there’s no confusion,” Bea cuts him off, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. “You walked into your brother’s office, saw a bit of mess, and immediately assumed I needed rescuing. Like I’m some delicate flower who can’t handle a man having a rough day.”
My chest tightens with something I don’t want to name. She’s defending me—defending my right to lose my shit without everyone treating me like I’m dangerous. No one’s ever done that before. They either run or they handle me with kid gloves, like I’m one step away from a padded room.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ezra says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Then what did you mean?” Bea asks, tilting her head with mock curiosity. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you think your brother is some kind of monster who terrorizes his employees.”
The word ‘monster’ hits different coming from her. Not like a usual accusation, but like she’s daring anyone else to call me that. My throat gets tight, and I have to look away before she sees too much.
Martin clears his throat. “Maybe we should all just—”
“No,” I say, finding my voice. “Let her finish.” I meet Bea’s eyes, and there’s something there—understanding, maybe even pride—that makes my chest do something weird.
“Your brother,” she says, turning back to Ezra but keeping her voice pitched so I can hear every word, “is a brilliant architect who’s under enormous pressure. He’s allowed to have bad days without everyone acting like he’s lost his mind.”
My jaw drops. She’s not just defending me—she’s defending my work, my talent.
When’s the last time someone did that without wanting something in return?
She’s doing exactly what I should have done a year ago on the island when her pieces of shit for parents were being dicks to her.
The thought lands in the pit of my stomach with an uncomfortable weight.
“Look,” Ezra says, clearly trying to salvage what’s left of his dignity, “I was just checking—”
“You were just assuming,” Bea cuts him off. “And you know what they say about assuming.”
I can’t help it—I snort, watching Ezra’s face turn an even deeper shade of red. It’s about time someone called him out on his knight-in-shining-armor complex. The fact that it’s Bea—tiny, fierce Bea who’s been making my life hell and somehow keeping me sane—makes it even better.
“I think what my brother is trying to say,” I cut in, enjoying this too much to let it end, “is that he’s terrified I might corrupt his wife’s baby sister.”
Bea’s eyes flash to mine, that fire I can’t get enough of burning bright. “I’m nobody’s baby anything,” she barks back, making my brow jump in surprise. “And I don’t need protecting from you or anyone else.”
“Clearly,” I reply, letting my gaze travel over her—the straight spine, the lifted chin, the eyes that never back down. I shouldn’t look at her like this, especially not with Ezra standing right there, but I can’t seem to help myself.
Ezra clears his throat, looking between us with narrowed eyes. I know that look—it’s the same one he gave me when we were kids and he caught me stealing his baseball cards. Suspicion, irritation, and the dawning realization that he’s been missing something important until this very moment.
“Fine,” Ezra mutters, finally accepting defeat. “I’ll leave you to… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at the chaos of my office before heading to the door, but not before giving me one last pointed look that screams we’ll talk about this later.
As soon as he’s gone, Martin erupts into full-blown laughter. “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he wheezes, wiping actual tears from his eyes. “Bea, you’re officially my hero.”
“You have to go too,” she orders in a stern voice.
“Me?” Martin blinks, looking surprised.
“Yes, you. Antagonizing my boss right now is not a good idea.”
Martin, still chuckling, heads for the door. “Then, I’m going to leave you two to figure this out. Try not to destroy any more furniture while I’m gone. Or do,” he adds with a wink before disappearing.
When the door clicks shut, I’m left alone with Bea, and the air between us quickly picks up the same charge from before. She’s still standing there, looking right through my bullshit.
“You didn’t have to do that.” My words sound like gravel, feeling itchy in my throat.
“Do what?” She tilts her head, sounding curious.
Did I misread everything?
“Defend you from your family when they teamed up against you?” she suggests, eyebrows arched like I’m an idiot for not getting it. And just like that, I’m slammed with guilt. Despite everything, this tiny woman defended me against my family when I had sat there and watched her get devoured by hers.
“Why?” I ask, the word coming out more vulnerable than I intend. “Why did you do that?” It’s the same question she asked me a year ago, and I replied with half the truth.
She shrugs, glancing at the ruined plans. “Because he was treating you like you’re broken. And you’re not.”