Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
“What time will you be back?” Bea asked, watching as Gage slipped his arm into his jacket.
“Shouldn’t be later than six,” he said. “Eat in or go out?”
“In,” she murmured, steeping her tea. “It’s meant to rain tonight.”
Drizzle here was constant. She was starting to see that summer in London was more like a rumor than a season.
“I’ll message when I’m on my way back.”
Mornings and evenings were theirs. Between lunch and dinner, he disappeared. That was the deal. Half-days. He’d told her before they came.
Gage King couldn’t fly halfway across the world and not take meetings.
“Where are you exploring today?” he asked.
Yesterday was the Tate Modern. She’d lingered in front of a Rothko longer than she meant to. Blocks of color and silence and a feeling she couldn’t name.
The day before was Harrods. Magnificent. Discombobulating. She’d left with a cashmere scarf and lipstick in a shade she’d probably end up giving to Georgie. Part indulgence, part performance for the staff who, without words, had somehow managed to make her feel like she should’ve worn heels.
“A bookstore in Marylebone.” Somewhere calm, where the only people making life-altering decisions were fictional.
Gage’s mouth twitched. “You sure you’ll make it back before me?”
“Yes,” she said, mock affronted. “And I resent the implication. That was one time, and I maintain the staff should’ve warned me before locking me in with the Brontes.”
He fixed his cuff. “Then let’s not make it twice. The callout fee here is in British pounds.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“You’ll have a shadow again today. Ignore him unless you need him.”
Bea nodded. She’d spotted him once or twice already. Always a few steps behind. Not close enough to draw attention but always close enough to act.
It was different from the UR. Gage hadn’t said it out loud, but she understood. Here, he wouldn’t allow her to walk alone.
He kissed her forehead. “See you tonight.”
GAGE
Gage stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, jacket discarded hours ago. His team sat tense around him. Partners, finance leads, counsel, two envoys from the UR Embassy. No one reached for their coffee.
A document glowed across the central screen.
Sovereign Wealth Infrastructure Alignment.
Decades of legacy. Billions in capital. The kind of move that didn’t just shift markets, it carved dynasties.
“What happened to Clause Fourteen?” Gage asked. “We won’t commit King Global to a multi-decade build unless we have anchor ownership. And control.”
The UR envoy shifted. “Cassian Montenegro has proposed an open equity structure. He’s already received interest from at least four Middle East partners. London is…reconsidering.”
“Cassian Montenegro isn’t serious about building anything,” he said. His voice didn’t betray his frustration. “He’s serious about exiting for profit.”
This was the second time Montenegro had made himself a problem for this project.
One of the lawyers cleared her throat. “We’ve drafted some countermeasures. I can circulate them first thing tomorrow.”
“No,” Gage said. “We’ll go through them now.”
He stepped back, scanning the screen, already reshaping the counteroffer in his head. The numbers weren’t the challenge. The challenge was narrative. Vision. The thing he’d already sold once. The thing Montenegro was destabilizing, again, with shortsighted chaos.
His phone buzzed.
BEA: Just checking if you’re okay?
He checked the time. 6:17 p.m.
GAGE: Sorry sweetheart. Something urgent came up.
GAGE: Eat first. I’ll be at least a couple of hours.
BEA: Okay.
Then he put the phone face down.
Back to the room. Back to the deal.
He and Nate had been nursing this deal since the previous year. Eight months of calls, revisions, and diplomatic threading just to get to provisional approval.
It was the reason he’d had to stay in the UR for the summer.
An opportunity this size came rarely, and pulling it off was exactly the kind of legacy-scale project that would prove to the King Global Capital board that he and Nate were ready to return to the UR and lead.
But if this deal slipped, there’d be no three-year path home. It might be five. Or ten.
And if the years slipped out of reach, so might she.
Bea checked the clock again. 9:32 p.m.
She was sitting in their suite in The Connaught. Room service had already collected her dinner, which she’d eaten while watching a couple of episodes of her latest Korean drama. She hadn’t ordered for Gage.
Mayfair moved below. Inside, the quiet pressed against her ribs.
There might be a lot of nights like this. Waiting.
Not because he asked her to. Because she would.
It’s not like work had never held him back in the UR.
It had. Plenty of times. But it felt different.
She had a world there: Georgina forever blitzing smoothies and rehearsing lines; Lillian reading beside her; Isabel’s sarcastic voice notes; Naomi’s last-minute invitations to go dancing. Even Nico’s random memes.
Here, there were no footsteps in the hallway. No one to drop by unexpectedly.
Not at the start, anyway. She’d have to build that up from scratch.
Again.
Gage would try to be there. He wasn’t careless. Or thoughtless. He was just busy. Trapped in an ambition that built dynasties and devoured hours. He would never forget her.
But the rest of the world might forget him, if he didn’t keep building fast enough.
A beep broke the quiet. Then a soft click. The door unlocked.
Gage stepped inside, jacket folded over one arm. His presence filled the room instantly—cool, composed, and late.
His eyes found hers across the suite. “Sorry,” he said quietly.
Bea didn’t ask what kept him. She could already see it: the meeting hadn’t ended so much as been paused. “It’s okay.”
He crossed to her, leaned down to press a kiss to her lips.
She looked at him. His hair was slightly raked back, the beginnings of a shadow at his jaw. The kind of beauty that made her stomach tighten. No one watching him would’ve seen anything unusual. But she did. He was tired.
She reached up, put her hands on his shoulders. “What would help?”
His eyes moved over her face like he wasn’t sure if she meant it. “Something that’s not work.”
“Are you starving?”
“I could eat.”
“Let’s go down,” Bea suggested. “I’m sure the bar has something.”
Gage studied her for a beat, gaze sharpening. “Now?”
She could’ve told him to shower. Suggested they go to sleep. Or given him some advice about not trying to carry the world by himself.
But she didn’t. She looked at her man, and chose. “I’m dressed. You need a drink with your food. Let’s go.”
After a moment, he said, “Alright.”
She took his hand.
GAGE
The hotel bar had thinned, the atmosphere soft with murmurs and second rounds. His evening security, supplied by the London office, was stationed by the entrance. Bea’s additional security had gone home.
Across from him, Bea was watching as he finished off his steak.
His shoulders had started to loosen. The spines in his thoughts were easing. He was just starting to feel human again.
And then Cassian Montenegro walked in. Midnight suit, no tie, collar open. The usual thick-rimmed glasses, and the same quiet arrogance dressed up as intellect.
Gage knew he wasn’t just here for a drink.
“King.” A slow smile. “Glad I caught you.”
Gage didn’t move. “Did you come to drink, or to circle?”
Cassian’s mouth twitched. “Circle. Drinks come later.” His gaze drifted to Bea. Dropped. Took her in from her toes to her face. Long enough to provoke.
She didn’t fidget. Stayed silent. Gage saw the flash of surprise in Cassian’s expression at her composure.
Good girl.
Cassian turned back to him. “Tough night with the team?”
He didn’t take the bait. “You’re circling. So circle.”
Cassian obliged. “Heard your proposal’s still structured around fixed anchor ownership,” he said, tapping the table. “Admirable. But rigid.”
“It’s what the project needs,” Gage said flatly. “Stability.”
“Or it’s a leash. There’s a difference between protecting a legacy and clinging to control.”
“You mean selling.”
“Liquidating. Freedom to pivot. You hold on too tight, you choke the thing you’re trying to build.”
“And if you hand it off too early,” Gage reasoned, “it collapses before it matters.”
The tension thickened.
Cassian’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Still convinced your way is the only way.”
“It’s the one that lasts.”
A pause stretched.
“We’ll see which they want more—longevity, or liquidity,” Cassian said. Then he turned and walked away. His security peeled off the wall and followed him out.
Gage’s jaw moved once. He didn’t speak.
Bea watched the doorway a moment longer. Then turned to him. “It seems like he thinks you care more about being right than winning.”
Gage looked at her.
She didn’t know the deal. She’d barely spoken to Cassian before. But in her own way, she understood them both.
“I don’t,” he said, taking a sip of whisky.
She picked up a salted macadamia nut and crunched on it, then offered him one. “I guess he’ll find out the hard way.”
Gage took it from her fingers.
And for the first time that night, he smiled.
The morning was clear in that rare, golden way London sometimes offered to those about to leave it. The car dropped them just shy of the main gates. He took her hand without a word.
Gage looked more like himself again. It seemed like the pressure had eased for now.
King’s College rose ahead. Regal old brick, carved stone, gothic architecture, iron lanterns. Ivy trailed the windows, clinging like it had for centuries.
It was early, but not empty. Summer programs kept the campus active. Someone was running late, arms full of books. Bea watched two girls walk by, arms linked, their laughter carrying faintly over cobblestone.
Gage tucked his free hand into his coat pocket. “Oxford’s beautiful,” he began. “But it’s not in the city. Same with Cambridge. The train ride would be about an hour. But they’re options, if you want them to be.”
Bea’s hand slid along the rough red brick of the old hall. This place was older than St. Ives.
“I don’t even know if they would accept me,” she murmured.
“You’d get in wherever you want to go.”
They walked a little farther through the quad, under an archway, past a noticeboard covered in paper corners and lost-pet signs.
After circling the campus, they made their way along the Thames. Ahead, the London Eye rose, white and skeletal against the cloudless sky. The Southbank was just stirring, and vendors were wheeling carts into place. The scent of espresso and river wind curled in the air.
Gage glanced at her. “You glad you came?”
“With you? Of course.”
“What did you think of London?”
“It’s impressive. Cultured. Historic.”
“It could be home,” he said quietly.
A soft flutter began low in her stomach.
She wanted to belong to something here. She just hadn’t found it yet. They paused at a railing. The river churned below.
“Can I ask you a question?” Bea asked.
Gage turned to her.
She held his gaze. It felt like peeling back a layer. “Would you move to London, if you were me?”
There was a pause.
She could see it in those blue eyes. The computation. The caution. He wanted her to say yes. But he respected her enough to be honest in his reply.
Finally, he said, “Only if I could build something in it.”
Bea nodded slowly. Let the words sit.
She wasn’t sure yet what she could build here. But maybe, to start…it was enough to help build him.