6. Chapter 6
I’d been too excited to sleep last night. It reminded me of being in elementary school, that last night of summer when you lie awake in bed knowing only your new teacher’s name. That fear and thrill of the unknown, being on the cusp of change, heart thrumming, and mind reeling with the possibilities. Taking on Hailey’s client, accepting the job, had awoken that feeling in me.
But now, getting ready to dip my toes in the cold pool, all I felt was grumpy, possibly a little doubtful of the decision. I should have slept on it before being so quick to decide.
It’s fine. It will be fine. I can still back out,I reminded myself, nearing the lanes. The first of which had my favorite elderly couple. The man backstroked down the lane while the woman pumped her arms, moving along in the aqua jogger.
What wasn’t expected was the guy in the other lane, the only other lane. Barring the elderly couple, I hadn’t ever seen anyone else in the pool at the time I swam. And this guy had the form of a pro. He gave off Michael Phelps vibes, the way he glided across the water, pulling himself forward with strong arms.
Peeling my eyes away from the Poseidon in the pool, I benched my duffle and mentally prepared myself for sharing a lane with someone who obviously had something serious to train for. Whether that be an Ironman or just to keep his back and shoulders chiseled, he was serious about it. I hated imposing, but I already had on my damn swimsuit, hair tucked into my cap, goggles suctioned around my eyes.
He stopped to get a gulp from his blender bottle, and I knew it was now or never to approach him. He might go for a marathon swim and not come to the surface for hours.
As I got closer, I couldn’t help but admire the ink wrapped around his forearm: floral work with beautiful, intricate lines. The flowers popped in shades of red. I didn’t know flowers, especially ones so delicate, could look masculine, but they did on this guy.
Poseidon of the gym pool noticed me and pinched a spot on his headphones, seeming to pause them. I crouched down to say, Mind sharing a lane? But as my goggled eyes fell on him, I realized, with horror, I recognized that confident jawline, the sharp eyebrows, those full lips.
My request died in my throat. Instead, I sputtered, “You’re in my lane,” to my office enemy.
Beck pulled off his goggles, laughing. “I’m sorry. This is my first day.” He made a show of looking around. “Where can I find the reservation for this lane?”
“What are you doing here?” I asked because seeing him in my lane, in my pool, was like running into your gynecologist at the grocery store.
Worse. This was one of the few places I could unwind, and now I had to share with someone who flustered me to a point where I felt unrecognizable.
“Swimming,” he answered with a flash of perfect teeth. “What are you doing here? I thought you only did open water.”
“Har. Har.” I looked around at the sad-looking, two-lane pool. This was like the Dollar General of gyms. “There have got to be natatoriums in the area that better suit your standards.”
“What standards?”
I motioned vaguely toward his well-defined physique. He looked as if he’d been sculpted in pools with more lanes, pools more akin to an Olympic standard in every aspect.
He hiked an eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate. But when I just shook my head, he said, “As I’m sure you are aware, this one is convenient, being so close to work.”
“It used to be convenient,” I muttered.
Beck smirked, and I suddenly became painfully aware of how undressed I was, crouched only a couple feet from him. While swimming might have tightened my arms and shoulders, I still had thighs that tattled on me for never turning down cake. And though I generally felt comfortable in my own skin, I found it difficult being half-naked in front of someone who probably ate kale for breakfast. Seriously, I could have guessed he had a nice body under those button-downs. But what I was seeing was . . . more than just nice. It was unholy.
A flicker of flight response kicked in. I could leave, kiss my swimming spot goodbye, and probably save myself the embarrassment of Beck scrutinizing my very liberal freestyle. But leaving wouldn’t be saving face. Not really. It felt like losing to him, and I’d done enough of that lately.
Instead, I slipped into the biting water, clamping down on the urge to gasp at the polar plunge. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing a sign of weakness so early in the workout.
“Just stay on your side,” I said.
Then I hit play on my headphones, pushing off from the wall before he could retort.
On a normal, pre-Beck day, I’d get lost in the serenity of my all-acoustic playlist and in the way the light dances across the bottom of the pool. Today, Beck’s body took up all my headspace with his lean, muscular frame, which only made me angry with myself. I could not appreciate Beckett’s—Beck, AKA Senior-level Asshole—body. Not allowed.
He kept darting past me, never seeming to tire. Annoying as hell with his graceful kick turns, while I had to stop and push off the side of the wall to go the other way. He had a desk job, for Pete’s sake. Why did he need that much endurance?
I’d stopped every three hundred meters for a break, but toward the end of my workout, Beck finally stopped too, barely out of breath while I thought I’d pass out, trying to keep my huffing from him.
As he paused for another drink, my eyes were again drawn to his tattoo. I tried to guess what the flowers were—peonies, maybe—which stemmed from two bold, black bands. The space between the bands seemed empty. And I couldn’t help but contemplate the meaning behind it. Was the negative space deliberate?
Beck caught me staring. He raised an eyebrow as he drank, his Adam’s apple bobbing past a singular freckle on his throat.
“I wouldn’t have pinned you as a tattoo guy,” I said, taking my own sip of water.
“I don’t know if I’d say I’m a ‘tattoo guy.’” He held onto the wall, then pushed against it with his legs, stretching his arms and back. I definitely did not admire the chords of muscles beneath his skin. “It’s just the one for now.”
“You really into flowers or something?” I asked, trying to dig a little but also because I found myself genuinely curious.
He made a clicking noise of disapproval. “No. Not really into flowers.”
“Then what’s the story?”
He stopped stretching, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’ll tell you when you beat me at one hundred.”
Pssh. Two laps against Aquaman. I didn’t have a prayer. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“Come on. It will be good motivation.”
“You’ve seen me swim. If you can even call it that. It’s more like aggressive floating.”
He laughed. Actually laughed at that. His eyes crinkled at the corners. The amusement was so authentic that I found myself smiling with him until I realized what I was doing.
“Well,” I said, fixing my face back to a safer, neutral expression. “I’d better get back at it. The rest of us mortals have several more laps to catch up to you.”
He’d started to reply, but I was off, not willing to spare another minute with him—the man who’d stolen my raise. Who’d embarrassed and insulted me out on the waterway.
Last night, I’d been right. Things were changing. I simply never would have guessed it would include sharing a smile with Beck.
Beck and I got to the office elevator at the same time and rode up in an awkward silence. Why was it that I constantly found myself in tight quarters with Mr. Beckett A? And now that I knew what he was hiding under that button down . . . The doors dinged, and I stalked out quickly, ready to put distance between me and those pectorals.
Then I realized we were headed to the same place—a huddle room with Anna to discuss the changes we needed to make based on Frank’s request.
When I’d relayed the meeting to Anna, she’d been furious and cleared her schedule to make this task priority number one. She didn’t want me to have to try and untangle this mess on my own, which was one of a million reasons why I dreaded her leaving. Who else would have my back like Anna? The rest of the team would watch me drown in work and throw another file folder at me instead of a life preserver.
Except for Beck. He had offered to help. Though, one could argue he’d been the one to get us into this mess by not having my portion of the meeting notes in the minutes. I’d tried to let him off the hook—told him Anna and I would knock it out, but he’d been insistent on helping. Besides, Anna thought it would be a good idea for him to attend since he’d been shadowing her anyway.
Anna looked up as we entered. Her eyes played ping-pong between us. “Is it raining outside?” I scrunched my brows, not sure why she was asking that. “You both have wet hair,” she explained.
I scrunched the damp tips. Flustered after my swim, I barely had enough time to shower, let alone finish drying my hair. “Turns out Beckett here is a swimmer. I found him in my lane this morning.”
Her lips pursed to an oh as Beck and I took seats on opposite sides of the table.
“Again, my apologies, Lane. I had no idea it was taken.”
“Does that mean you won’t be in my lane tomorrow?”
“No.” He flashed a smile. “So, I extend my apologies in advance.” So cheeky.
“Apology not accepted,” I said, straightening some copy paper left on the table.
“Your last name suits you since you guard the lanes of Power Gym so well.”
“Apparently not well enough,” I muttered.
“Oh-kay,” Anna loudly interjected. “Let’s review the new parameters we are working with.”
I happily obliged. I could be professional. Even with Beck, Senior-level Asshole.
After thirty minutes of working through the system, that theory was being tested by fire.
“What if we did this?” I said, sharing my screen with the others.
“But the system has what? Millions of orders? The customer will have to wait forever to search for an item. It’s not user-friendly,” Beck said.
And damn it. He was right. I’d been so focused on the in-house use that I hadn’t even considered the customer’s side, but it would be an issue. Beck might actually prove to be . . . competent. But I willed my expression to remain flat.
I tilted my head. “What if we schedule a job to store an index with header-level information in our own database? It will allow a quicker search of the orders themselves without going outside the ERP system.”
“That—” I could see the spark in his eyes, an argument on his tongue. Then he stopped, really sampling my words. “Isn’t a half-bad idea.”
“Don’t look so surprised, Beckett.” He glared at how I weaponized his full first name, and I gave an overbearing smile, complete with a crinkled nose.
“Okay,” Anna said tentatively, looking between us like she might have to jump up and play referee at any moment. “That will probably work. But we’ll need to get some real-time data on this, make sure it is functional.”
Beck and I nodded. We could at least agree with Anna.
“I’ll get started on that,” Beck offered, closing his laptop.
We watched him go. When the door closed, Anna looked at me pointedly. When I didn’t offer anything, she said, “Are we going to talk about what just happened?”
“What do you want me to say, Anna? He’s insufferable. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since he pranced in here and took my promotion.”
She gave me a long, assessing look. “You know I’m always on your side, and you should have gotten the promotion. Hands down,” she began in a gentle voice, which immediately clued me in that I wasn’t going to like what she had to say next. “But, and don’t hate me, he’s been really helpful to me.”
I gasped. “Traitor.”
“Hear me out,” she said, palms up in a defensive pose. “He’s a quick study. He’s already taken the lead on many of my tasks, shouldering the burdens without me having to ask. And this last doctor’s appointment, he offered to take over our scheduled Zoom meeting with the family office so I wouldn’t have to be at the meeting during the visit. Do you know what it’s like having to carry on a conversation with your colleagues while in stirrups? I mean, I turn the camera off. But still!”
I shuddered.
“Exactly.”
“How are the doctor’s visits going?” I craftily turned the conversation from my issues with Beck because Anna was talking about him as though he spent his free time rescuing kittens out of trees. “My Gracie Girl being good to her mommy?”
Anna rubbed her tight, round belly. “She’s doing fine. We’re doing fine.” She read my expression. “Don’t worry. I still have another two months before she arrives. From what I’ve read, the first one is usually stubborn about evicting. I’m sure I’ll be here until forty weeks.” Anna let out an exhausted sigh and shifted positions on her office chair.
I hated seeing Anna uncomfortable, and I knew she was so ready to meet her daughter and be a stay-at-home mom. But I was selfish and wanted Anna for as long as possible. Even still, I knew these two months would fly by.
Before I could get choked up at the idea of life in the office without my work wife, I pulled a Ziplock from my canvas bag and placed the neatly stacked pile of envelopes in front of Anna.
The recognition hit her face immediately. “You finished the invites?” Bright, contagious excitement replaced her exhaustion. She pulled them out, carefully inspecting the invitations: black strokes on the sweetest blush paper. “Oh, Emily.”
“You like them?” I asked, that anxious feeling bubbling over my chest at someone examining something I took so much pride in.
“They are beautiful,” she gushed. “Better than I imagined.”
I was good at my job. Over the years, I’d evolved into quite the problem solver. But nothing ever matched up to this, someone appreciating my art—my calligraphy bringing someone joy. That never happened over spreadsheets.
I deflated for a moment until I remembered my secret life, taking over my sister’s business, tucked safely away in my pocket.