37. PAIGE
THIRTY-SEVEN
PAIGE
The discomfort that twists on Linc’s face as he accepts Beck’s handshake is palpable, and I shift uncomfortably.
Not Linc. “Cook.” The new, gay security guard.
My eyes roll, but I keep them on the ceiling to hide it just as Beck takes a seat on the other side of the desk, his fingers slightly bent with the tips pressed lightly together. “I won’t waste either of your time. I appreciate you coming out today.
“I want to start out by saying that this was a first for The Window. In our ten years of operation, I can tell you this is not a problem we’ve had before.” Other than a glance of confirmation to Jackson, he directs nearly that entire part to Linc. But I don’t have too much time to think about it before his eyes move to me.
“Blue, I am sincerely sorry for what happened. I feel terrible. Especially after it was me who assured you that you would be safe.”
Linc’s hands clench on his lap, and I notice a penny he’s fiddling with in his right hand.
I wish we could go back to the car. That last twenty-minutes or so of the ride felt like . . .
We were driving away.
Jackson clears his throat, demanding my attention. “It will never happen again. Security will be present at all Veranda events going forward.”
Beck nods. “Yes. We had been working on some plans to increase our security as the club’s popularity continues to grow, and this made it all the more clear that it needs to be top priority.”
Linc sits up a bit, his fists working to loosen themselves by fidgeting. The back of his jaw pulses, before he says, “How well do you know the men from that room?” His voice is tight but commanding, and my back straightens a bit.
Beck’s chin dips, his lips tilting as he nods. “Yes, well, this is why I wanted you both to come in. It was clear from the footage that you . . . know each other?”
My eyebrows pinch, and I fight the urge to rub my head. The hangover headache has been coming in waves, but this meeting is only making it worse. And trying to remember who knows what isn’t helping.
I don’t really know why it matters that I know Linc, but I’m not willing to give Beck any more information. Not real information, anyway.
Using Linc’s lie, I shrug. “He’s my brother’s boyfriend.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see Linc shift his weight and our gazes meet. His mouth is flattened, his jaw tense, and I have to pull my lips into my mouth to hide my smirk.
I turn my attention to Beck, whose eyebrows lift, studying Linc. His dark blue eyes fill with confusion as he takes him in, and I have to actively work to even my expression.
It’s fucking dumb—people’s preconceived notions of what a certain kind of person is supposed to look like—or act like, for that matter. Even in a city like LA —as a club owner— Beck’s expression reads —”he doesn’t look gay.”
I had seen it our whole lives with Ellis.
People often assumed I was his girlfriend when we were out in public without Linc. Classmates at school always joked about how he was the straightest gay guy they’d ever met, just because he wasn’t outwardly hitting on guys all the time, or making bitchy comments.
He saved all that for us, I guess.
“I see,” Beck finally says. “Well, Cook, to answer your question, I’ve worked with Tariel before. His company assisted with some location scouting for a movie I produced a few months ago.”
Of course. Everyone in this goddamn town has a toe in showbusiness.
“What’s the movie?” Linc asks, evenly enough to give the idea of casualness. His body is tight, though, his eyes determined.
Beck smirks. “Still in post-production, unfortunately, and the details are hush-hush till it’s announced publicly.”
A laugh snorts through my nose, but I pull my lips into my mouth.
Whoops.
“Which leads me to my last point,” Beck finally says, ignoring my rudeness with a sigh as he directs his attention solely toward me. “We have already filed a report with the police, and we’re preparing to press charges of our own, but I wanted to let you know that you have The Window’s full support with any legal matters you would like to take as well.”
The way he said support settled strangely in my mind. Like it meant something else. Was he offering to pay for legal fees, should I choose to press charges?
No, that couldn’t be it. And I didn’t want that anyway. I just wanted to slip back into the background, like a gust of wind merging back into its pattern.
Where it would blow, on the other hand, was anyone’s guess.
I stay quiet, slowly trying to process exactly what he’s offering. Beck looks back and forth between Linc and me, then stands, rounding the corner of his desk and planting himself at the spot closest to my chair.
The blues in our eyes meet again, and I take a deep breath as he grimaces. “I’d understand if you never wanted to come back here after today,” he says, sincerely, shifting my stomach. “But I hope you’ll consider staying at The Window. We can revisit your contract, and bump up your hourly rate. And despite the extra security measures we’ll be taking, I certainly wouldn’t expect you to ever work a Veranda event again. My business partners and I have big plans to make the club a more theatrical experience in the new year—perhaps we can utilize that voice of yours—add some singing performances to the rotation?”
Linc clears his throat. “If she decides to come back, our schedules will be the same,” he states. It’s not a question—and his eyes narrow up at Beck.
Well, well, well . . .
A resounding, there he is, rings silently through me, tilting the corner of my mouth up. It’s also the first time I take notice of how his voice has been steady—no stutter—with anything he’s said to Beck.
But then there’s the skin about to break over his knuckles, and I fix my face as Beck simply smiles at Linc. “I don’t see why that would be a problem. That way you can walk her to her car every night too. I’m sure her brother would appreciate that.”
I ignore the strange tilt in energy with his last comment and instead take inventory. A single close-call in the Veranda has granted me: immunity from the Veranda, a raise, a singing opportunity, a personal bodyguard in the way of Lincoln Morrow —Cook— and ten thousand dollars sitting in my trunk an hour away that no one has mentioned yet.
There’s no way.
My eyes are stuck on Beck, noticing again how his clothing only seems to crease in what looks like manufactured lines to outline his physique. Which is fine, I guess. I mean, it doesn’t hold a candle to the inked up grizzly bear sitting next to me.
I can fully feel the tension rolling off Linc and wafting over to me from my peripherals, preparing myself to react quickly if things . . . turn.
Fidgeting in my seat, an equal balance of confusion and tension continues to build, just as Beck says, “Well, anyway, please take the weekend to think about it. We’ll give you leave-pay until then. And you’ve already received your tip from the Veranda, correct?”
He tosses it out there so casually that I have to do a double take to him. There’s something in his eyes that’s lifted. It’s barely noticeable, but since I’m pretty sure I’m not blinking at all, I notice it.
Tip?
He’s referring to the thousands I took off the man’s lap as a tip?
A tip?!
The word tip is starting to sound weird in my head.
His offerings dangle out in front of me.
The raise, the “promotion,” the tip.
It confirms my earlier thought. When Jackson was calling me incessantly. He knows they fucked up.
“We support you.”
But then I remember Jackson’s apology. And what Beck had said to me in the Veranda—the unexpected humility—a seemingly genuine appreciation for what I brought to the table.
A table he left you to be eaten alive on, though, I remind myself.
The sound of Beck opening and closing the drawer to his desk brings me back to now. As he walks back around the corner of the desk, he hands me a business card. “It’s my lawyer’s card. If you decide to move forward with anything, give her a call. She’s . . .” He chuckles, and somehow, I just know instantly that he’s likely bent his lawyer over this very desk. Confirmed, when he finishes with, “She’s a firecracker. She’ll help you with anything you need.”
Linc takes the card, somehow managing a tense grab, rather than the snatch his claw-like hand would suggest, and shoves it in his pocket, then stands.
Ope. Guess we’re leaving.
No arguments here, though. Beck said I could take a few days, and I definitely need it. Get my bearings.
Make a plan.
Still, there was one thing I wanted to do before I left. “Is Rio here?” I ask.
Jackson takes a step forward, his voice it’s normal, even tone. “She’s teaching a class out in the valley. Won’t be here till call time.”
My mouth slopes down. If I decide to leave The Window —maybe even leave California— I’ll still have to go back to Gram’s before I leave. Maybe I can text Rio and invite her out to Venice or something.
We start toward the door again as Beck reaches out and gently touches my elbow. “Blue.”
The reflex I’ve kept idle snaps to attention. I feel it before it even happens, Linc is turning around, but there’s just enough hesitation that I’m able to grab his hand in mine. Catching it down by my side, I stop him from possibly hitting a very, very rich fucking man as I meet his eyes.
This behavior is hot, but not right now.
Fuck.
Why did I think that?
His mouth turns up in the smallest way and fuck me, does it do something to me.
I wish it would just keep going—keep pulling up— but it confirms our telekinesis is at least partially still alive and kicking.
And goddammit. I can’t even be happy about it because he caught a spicy thought. In front of other people.
I quickly turn to Beck, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Davis. I know you’re a—a busy man,” I say, though the tightness in my jaw cranks a notch. “I appreciate your apology, and I’ll think about the offer.”
I just want to get out of here.
Beck’s smile pulls. “Still my best investment,” he says with a wink that flicks at my irritation, but I swallow it and tighten my smile in a way that feels so unnatural it hurts.
His eyes flick down to my hand, still holding Linc’s, which I guess is kind of strange.
Fuck it, what do I care? I don’t explain it.
And I drop the smile before I turn and walk through the door, hand-in-hand with my brother’s boyfriend.