Chapter 24
Noah
I close my office door and lean against it, running a hand through my hair. Fuck. The look on Bea’s face when she mentioned Rebecca’s call—professional neutrality masking something that looked dangerously close to hurt. Or jealousy.
I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want to explain. But the way she said ‘familiar with your evening schedule’ with that carefully controlled voice makes my chest tight with hurt for her.
I sink into my desk chair and stare at the pink message slip. Rebecca. Of course she called. Of course she wants me again after last night. That’s the problem with going back to old habits—they always want more than I’m willing to give.
Last night was supposed to be simple. A way to burn off the frustration building between Bea and me. A reminder that I don’t do complicated, don’t do feelings, don’t do whatever the hell has been crackling in the air between us since she started working for me—since the island.
Instead, I spent the entire time thinking about honey-blond hair and sharp blue eyes. About the way Bea looked at my drawings like she could see straight into my soul. About how she defended me to Ezra like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And that was distraction enough. And this is why I’m hiding one side of my neck now.
I pick up my phone to call Rebecca but pause with my finger hovering over her number.
The bruise on my neck throbs slightly, a reminder of how quickly things escalated last night.
I hadn’t intended to let anyone mark me, but sometimes you end up with souvenirs if you get distracted enough, and I was sure distracted.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tossing the phone onto my desk.
My dirty little secret found me at my job. I told them to never call me at work. Never. And yet they did.
I should have known better than to go back.
Five months clean, telling myself I’d found healthier outlets.
Drawing. Running. Even that ridiculous meditation app I listen to every night.
But after that moment with Bea in the conference room, after feeling myself wanting something I can’t have, I needed a familiar place I could control.
The problem is, Bea now clearly thinks Rebecca is important to me. The way her voice went flat when she delivered that message, the careful choice of words and pauses expecting me to elaborate or deny. Everything suggests that she’s thinking about whatever is going on between us.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Come in.”
Bea steps through the door with her spine rigid and that professional mask firmly in place. She’s carrying a stack of contracts, but there’s something brittle about her composure that makes me want to reach for her.
“The Newside revisions,” she says, setting the papers on my desk without meeting my eyes. “They need your signature by five.”
“Thanks.” I watch her turn to leave, the careful distance she’s maintaining like a physical barrier between us. “Bea.”
She pauses at the door but doesn’t turn around. “Yes?”
I want to tell her everything. I want to explain who Rebecca is, but I don’t think she’d understand.
So, instead, I say, “The Wilson Group just emailed. They’re going to sign.”
Her shoulders relax slightly, but she still doesn’t turn around. “That’s good news.”
“It is,” I agree.
She holds herself so carefully, so controlled. It is a big win for me, the win I’ve been battling for years. Why doesn’t it feel as satisfying as I hoped it would?
“It means the board can’t block the affordable housing component.”
She nods once, flexing her fingers against the doorframe. “Is there anything else you need?”
Need? I need her to look at me the way she did yesterday in the conference room.
I need to understand why I can’t stop thinking about her even when I’m trying my hardest to focus on anything else.
I need to explain that Rebecca isn’t what she thinks, but that would mean admitting where I was last night, what I was doing.
“No,” I say finally. “That’s all.”
She’s gone before I can change my mind, leaving me alone with contracts that suddenly seem meaningless compared to the growing distance between us.
I spend the rest of the afternoon buried in work, ignoring the bruise on my neck and the way my back hurts.
By six, most of the office has cleared out, but I can still see Bea at her desk through my glass walls, her blond hair catching the late afternoon light as she types with mechanical precision.
She’s been avoiding eye contact all day, and I know it’s because of those phone calls from Rebecca.
I should let her think what she wants to think. It’s easier that way—cleaner. But watching her build walls between us makes something in my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with last night’s bruises.
My phone buzzes again. Rebecca. I decline the call and immediately block her number. The club has rules about contact outside its walls, and she broke them. I don’t need that complication on top of everything else.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, pushing back from my desk.
I stride out of my office, my footsteps echoing in the nearly empty space. Bea looks up as I approach, her expression carefully neutral, but I catch the way her pulse jumps at the base of her throat.
“We need to talk,” I say, stopping in front of her desk.
Her fingers pause over her keyboard. “About the Newside contracts? I’ve already—”
“Not about work.” I lean against her desk, ignoring the way she stiffens. “About this morning. About Rebecca.”
Color floods her cheeks, but her voice remains steady. “I don’t know what you mean. Your personal life is none of my business.”
“Isn’t it?” The words come out harsh, making her brows draw together, but I can’t take them back. “Because the way you’ve been avoiding me all day suggests otherwise.”
Her eyes flash with anger or hurt masquerading as fury. “I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been doing my job.”
“Bullshit.” I lean closer, lowering my voice. “You’ve been treating me like I have a communicable disease since that phone call.”
She stands abruptly, her chair rolling back so far it hits the wall. Even in heels, she has to tilt her head up to meet my eyes, but there’s nothing submissive about her posture. She’s all sharp edges and barely controlled fire.
“Fine. You want to know what I think?” Her voice is deadly quiet.
“I think you spent last night with someone, and now she’s calling your office like she owns you.
I think you came in this morning looking like you’d been thoroughly,” she looks me up and down with open disgust, “satisfied. And I think it’s none of my goddamn business, but apparently my brain didn’t get that memo. ”
The honesty in her words makes my own anger nearly die out. She’s jealous. Beatrice Wrong—sharp, controlled, untouchable Bea—is jealous over whom I spent my night with. The realization sends heat straight through me, and it feels dangerous and intoxicating.
“You’re right,” I say, watching her face closely. “It’s not your business. But you’re wrong about Rebecca.”
Her jaw ticks. “I don’t want to hear about your—”
“She’s not my anything,” I interrupt, getting frustrated by the second. This is not how I imagined this conversation would go.
“Good.” Her chin lifts up. “Because I don’t care.”
“Great.”
“Great!” she cries out, leaving the last word to her.
Feeling the rage boiling under my skin, I go to my office, grab the car keys, and storm toward the elevators, mentally smacking myself for starting this talk in the first place.
When I’m in my car, I pick up the phone and dial a different number.
“I’ll be there soon as we planned.” My voice is not exactly welcoming, and I give myself a mental smack.
“Not today, honey. Let’s reschedule for tomorrow. Okay?”
Her brittle voice makes my hands turn into fists.
“I’ll be there soon,” I repeat firmer.
“I’m nearly asleep already. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Fuck. I wanted to try and avoid going back to old habits again, but here I am, getting pushed right to them. I throw the phone on the passenger seat and start the car. I guess I can’t escape my destiny.