Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Bea had a week to get to know St. Ives before the semester started, and she didn’t intend to waste a minute of it. She’d already booked herself in for an orientation tour and to organize her campus access—student pass, biometrics, the works.
She stretched, slow and loose, before padding into the kitchen. A massive island ran down the center, flanked by perfectly arranged barstools.
Georgina was already there, perched on the counter, script in one hand, smoothie in the other.
“Do you even sleep?”
“Not when I’m in rehearsals.” Georgina didn’t look up. “Opening night is in seven weeks.”
Bea reached over and snagged a piece of mango from Georgina’s plate. “I’ll be there. Front row.”
Georgina looked at her then. “Good. It’s a bit of an event, like, dinner, drinks, the whole thing. Gage is coming too, obviously.”
Bea paused mid-chew. “That’s sweet. I didn’t think he’d have time.”
Georgina shrugged. “He works and studies full time so basically, no, he has no time.” Her smile was fond. “But he always shows up.”
Bea smiled to herself.
So he’s nice.
“You’ll have to help me figure out how to get to the show.”
Georgina frowned. “You don’t have your license?”
“I’ve got one back home, but it doesn’t roll over here. I have to retake the test first.” She wrinkled her nose. “So…probably just an Uber?”
“There’s Uber in St. Ives,” Georgina confirmed. “Though you might get stuck with a Prius instead of a black car. The horror.”
Bea laughed softly. “I’ll try to survive the indignity.”
Georgina tapped her highlighter against the page of her script. “Or, you know, if Gage has class that night, maybe he can drive you.”
Bea blinked. “Seriously?”
“Why not? If you’re both coming from campus and he’s going anyway.”
“You think he’d…mind?”
Georgina waved her hand. “Gage doesn’t do things he doesn’t want to do. I can suggest it.”
“Well, if it’s convenient,” Bea said. Then added, self-consciously, “But please don’t make me sound like I begged.”
Georgina’s mouth twitched. “I make no promises.”
Before Bea could swipe another piece of mango, Georgina slid the plate firmly out of reach.
St. Ives town was charming—small enough to feel quaint, large enough to get lost in. Only a twenty-minute walk from campus. The streets were distinctly European. Cobblestones, squares with alfresco dining, and fountains murmuring quietly in the sunshine.
She stopped at an especially cute café tucked between boutiques and an art gallery, wrought-iron tables set beneath green and white umbrellas. The air smelled of espresso and butter.
Bea took a seat outside, closing her eyes as she sipped her coffee in the sun, savoring the moment.
A shadow fell over her table.
She glanced up, startled. Rafael slid into the seat opposite her, all confidence, as if he had every right to be there.
“Mr. Shark,” she greeted dryly.
“In the flesh.” He leaned back, studying her. “You came here alone?”
She tilted her head slightly. “Should I have brought security?”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” he said, one side of his mouth tipping up.
A waiter appeared, placing Rafael’s order in front of him. A shot of espresso and, surprisingly, a croissant.
Bea raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t peg you for a pastry guy.”
Rafael broke off a piece, watching her as he popped it into his mouth. “You’d be surprised what I have a taste for.”
Her spine stiffened, too alert for someone supposedly unaffected. “That sounds like a line.”
He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “And if it is?”
“Then you might have to try harder.”
Something darkened his eyes.
Before he could reply, another voice cut in smoothly. “You don’t even like croissants.”
Bea’s head snapped up.
Gage stood beside them, immaculate, as though even the to-go coffee cup in his hand had been curated.
“Expanding my horizons,” Rafael said.
Without a word, Gage pulled out a chair.
Her attention moved between them, amused despite herself by the subtle tension hanging in the air.
“You two…know each other well?” she asked.
“Well enough,” Gage answered.
Rafael’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Well enough to make things interesting.”
Bea took a slow sip of her coffee. There were two predators now, sharing the same sunlit cage. Someone should probably be nervous. She had a sinking feeling it was definitely her.
“So?” She turned back to Rafael.
“So?” he echoed.
Bea nodded toward the half-eaten pastry. “Verdict?”
Rafael chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Not bad.”
She blinked. “Not bad? That’s it?”
He licked a crumb from his thumb. “Too soft. I prefer things with more resistance.”
Bea raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it takes more refinement to appreciate delicate things.”
Gage took a sip.
Rafael eased back in his seat, completely unruffled. “Actually, Bea, I’m good at handling things that need a careful touch.”
The line wasn’t a throwaway. Not with that look.
Gage didn’t move, but the temperature dropped. “Griffin.”
A warning.
Rafael’s smirk was unrepentant.
Bea felt it. She was one step past the shallow end, and the bottom had already slipped out beneath her feet.
She reached for her bag, her movements calm and composed, even if her pulse wasn’t. “Well, guys, I think that’s my cue.”
When she stood, both men rose with her. The old-world courtesy was so automatic that it caught her off guard.
“See you around,” she said.
It felt less like a goodbye and more like a promise she hadn’t meant to make.
Tired from a full day of exploring, Bea passed on Georgina’s invitation and chose a quiet night in. She’d been texting with her parents regularly, but tonight, she missed their faces.
She propped her phone against a stack of textbooks and settled onto the bed. Her parents appeared seconds later.
“Ah, she lives!” her mother said. “Tell me everything. What have you been eating?”
Bea laughed. “Actually, Umma, I found the most amazing café today.”
“Coffee and pastries aren’t food, mija.”
“Don’t worry, Papa. My campus dining card kicks in on Monday,” she teased. “Until then, coffee and croissants are a balanced diet.”
Her mother rolled her eyes fondly, changing the subject. “And your classes? You got your schedule?”
Bea brightened. “Yes! It’s intense, but I’m excited. And the library. Umma, you’d lose your mind. It’s like something out of a dream.”
Her mother laughed, warm and knowing. “Of course it is. You grew up in one.”
“All those afternoons shelving books and sneaking extra reading time? Worth it.”
As the conversation began to wind down, her mother’s eyes twinkled. “And boys?”
Bea groaned. “Umma. I’ve literally been here less than a week.”
Her father’s jaw tensed. “She’s there to study.”
Her mother waved dismissively. “Yes, yes. Study first of course. But still. So many new people. Surely there’s a boy that caught your eye?”
Two faces appeared unbidden in Bea’s mind. One with eyes green alight with unholy fire, the other set blue and sharp as frost.
She was here for a future. Not daydreams.
But deep down, a small voice whispered. They’d noticed her.
She was only pretending she hadn’t noticed them.
The soft chime of the door code, the clatter of heels, the scent of perfume. Georgina was home, and Bea was sure the night had gone her way.
“Bea. It’s past one. Are you solving the economy?”
Georgina appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, stilettos dangling from two fingers, her lipstick still perfect. Her dress clung to her like it had been poured on, though her hair—once impeccably waved—had loosened into glossy strands.
Bea glanced up, sheepish. “I’m just finishing some applications.”
“Applications? You’ve been here a week.” Georgina strode into the room and leaned over her shoulder. “Are you applying to every firm in Northgate?”
“Not every,” Bea muttered. “Just the ones that don’t require military clearance or an inside connection.”
“So, none of them,” Georgina said dryly.
Bea’s fingers hesitated before she angled the screen. “I want to get some work experience.”
“Ugh. You’re so hardworking it hurts.” She took a sip from Bea’s tea and grimaced. “Also, you didn’t include a photo.”
“A what?”
“A headshot. You didn’t attach one?”
“No? It’s not a modeling job.”
Georgina crossed to her bed and perched on the edge, tucking one leg under herself. “Bea. This is the UR. They’re not going to hire someone without knowing what kind of girl they’re getting. Finance firms screen women as…how should I put this…investment risks.”
Bea blinked. “That sounds illegal.”
Georgina shrugged.
Bea exhaled, sinking back into her chair. “So should I send a selfie with my GPA in the caption?”
“No. Let me take one of you tomorrow. Nice blouse. Hair down. Soft makeup. You’ll look smart, sweet, and expensive.”
“These are unpaid positions.”
“This isn’t about money. Trust me. Look like you cost more, and they’ll treat you like you do.”