Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Bea sat at her desk, hair still damp from a shower, the steam from her coffee long gone.
Three replies had landed overnight. All from firms she’d researched for hours, crafting every line of her applications.
She clicked the first.
Fenwick the straps left her shoulders bare. Elegant. Intentional. Feminine, with an edge.
Something in her unfurled. A quiet satisfaction. Like her femininity had been petted, and was purring beneath her skin.
Which might be why she said, a little bolder than planned, “It’s my favorite color for special occasions.”
His lips curved slightly, eyes intent. “Is my birthday special to you, then?”
Warmth crawled up her neck, but she didn’t retreat. “I guess it must be.”
Something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or a pull he hadn’t expected.
A voice broke the moment.
“Gage.”
Catherine Vale.
She was exactly as Bea remembered from the Welcome Gala. Gorgeous and serene. Chestnut hair pinned in a sleek twist, her gown a deep magenta that demanded attention. Not a single thing about her presence was accidental.
She smiled at Gage with the kind of quiet familiarity that told Bea she wasn’t an acquaintance. She was a fixture.
“Happy birthday,” she murmured, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.”
“Your mother mentioned you’d be busy tonight.” A pause, just long enough, glancing at Bea. “But I love that you’re always polite.” Her gaze was curious, but not exactly warm. “Hello again, Bea. I didn’t know you knew Gage.”
Bea matched her tone. “Hello.” A quiet beat. Then, simply, “I don’t, really.”
She left it there.
Catherine waited, like she expected Bea to fill the void. She didn’t.
Eventually, Catherine turned back to Gage. “I’ll see you at dinner next week.”
“My parents will be there. I won’t.”
Her smile held, but dimmed at the edges. “Oh.” She laughed lightly. “I guess that makes it easier to talk about you.”
Bea had been a spectator for far too long. She shifted slightly, about to excuse herself—
Then his blue eyes caught hers. “Stay.”
Her body obeyed before she could think.
Catherine froze.
“I should mingle,” Bea said, voice light but steady. Not exactly looking for permission, but somehow unable to move without it.
Gage’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Find me later.”
A request. Or was it a command?
She nodded. Then, draping herself in an air of nonchalance she didn’t entirely feel, Bea strode off to find Georgina.
Bea stood at the edge of the party, sipping sparkling water, the delicate notes of a grand piano threading through the air. The melody was soft, effortless, the kind that curled around the edges of conversation, settling into the space between words.
She followed the music, tracing each rise and fall like a path she might have taken. Her parents’ extra money had gone to IVF rounds instead of piano lessons. She’d never resented it. But whenever she heard a piano, something inside her ached.
It was a welcome distraction. She could almost convince herself she wasn’t also waiting for him.
And then, he was there. Close enough for the clean spice of his cologne to catch on her next breath in.
“I thought I told you to come find me,” he murmured.
“You seemed occupied enough.”
“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching.”
Warmth bloomed beneath her skin. She tightened her grip on her glass, covering it with a shrug.
“I was with Georgie.”
“Georgie went out onto the terrace ten minutes ago,” he countered mildly.
She cleared her throat, like he hadn’t caught her. “I was listening to the music.”
Gage cast a glance toward the pianist in the corner, then back to her. “That’s what kept you in here?”
Her throat tightened. “Yes…at first.”
That last part had come out before she could think better of it.
“And then?”
Her teeth briefly caught her bottom lip. “Uh…don’t ask me too many questions I can’t answer.”
The silence stretched for a beat. Her skin prickled. Every second felt like standing under a spotlight she hadn’t realized was on.
“You know,” he said in a low tone, “I can’t quite decide if you’re playing with me, or if you don’t realize you are.”
For a second, all she could do was feel the echo of his voice—and everything it implied. “I’m not playing anything.”
“No?” His voice was soft, dangerously inviting, sliding under her skin. “Then why are you still here?”
Her pulse kicked.
Cool. Cool cool cool.
Now to pretend there was a logical answer for that.
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “You think I should’ve left?”
“No.”
She shouldn’t be analyzing that single word as much as she was. “Then why ask?”
His lips tugged up, just slightly. “I like knowing what makes people stay.”
“So, you watch people, figure them out?”
“It’s useful to understand people.”
“For what?”
“For getting what I want.”
The confession should have sounded arrogant. Instead, it sounded honest.
She believed him.
And even more than that, she wanted to know what it was he wanted now.
But since she had a healthy sense of self-preservation, she asked instead, “And you always get what you want?”
“Almost always.”
Heat curled low in her stomach. “Must be nice to be you.”
He exhaled a low laugh—rich, genuine, unexpectedly intimate.
Somehow, that was worse. And better.
And not nearly enough to make her leave.