Chapter 3
Bea padded across the marble floor in nothing but an oversized band shirt that hung off one shoulder and a pair of black booty shorts.
Her hair was a messy cloud of dark curls she hadn’t bothered to tame.
The penthouse was bathed in moonlight, from the floor to ceiling windows.
The only other illumination was from the faint glow of her laptop waiting on the desk.
She held her phone between her shoulder and ear while she wandered around the kitchen searching for a little sweet treat. “You’re telling me,” Bea said, voice warm with disbelief, “that after all of that, he just–walks away?”
Barb’s voice came through the speaker, gravelly and unimpressed. “He didn’t just walk away. He brooded away like the emotional mess he is.”
Bea snorted as she opened the fridge and stared at the contents like something good magically appeared since the last time she checked, which was exactly two minutes ago.
“I swear Barb,” Bea said, “if Dean Winchester looks at someone with wet eyes one more time, I’m going to start sending him invoices.”
“For what?” Barb asked
“Pain and suffering. For MY pain and suffering!” She groaned.
Barb’s laugh was a short bark. “You’d make a fortune.”
Bea shut the fridge and leaned back against the counter, idly twisting a curl around her finger. “I’m still mad at the writers. Like…Sir. Ma’am. Whoever. You can’t just hand me a tragic angel, a tortured older brother, and the human golden retriever brother and expect me to live a normal life.”
“Human golden retriever,” Barb repeated, amused. “That one’s Sam?”
“Obviously.” Bea started pacing again, bare feet silent against the floor. “He’s tall, sweet, and looks like he apologizes when other people bump into him. Meanwhile Dean’s out here acting like feelings are illegal, and Cas–”
“Don’t say it,” Barb warned, but she was already laughing.
“Cas is my forever boyfriend,” Bea said, dramatically. “I’d commit crimes for that trench coat.”
“You already commit crimes,” Barb pointed out.
“Barb!” Bea gasped, scandalized. “Allegedly.”
Barb made a noise and Bea knew she was rolling her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
Bea reached her desk and dropped into the chair, not caring how her shirt clung to her soft stomach, she had come to love her body and herself.
It was definitely a battle between depression and her stubbornness, but in time, with the help of some lovely anti-depressants and some self-reflection…
she got there. The laptop screen glowed, half a dozen tabs open, maps, codes, stocks, and her latest spicy read.
She rested her elbows on the desk, switching to the speaker phone, setting it down beside her laptop.
“You know what the real problem is?” Bea said.
“Your taste in fictional men?” Barb replied.
“No.” Bea sighed. “My three boyfriends set the bar too high. Castiel, Dean, and Sam. How is a real man supposed to compete with that?”
Barb didn’t miss a beat. “That’s not why you can’t keep a relationship.”
Bea blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The reason,” Barb said, voice smug with certainty, “is because you don’t need just a guy to keep up with you.”
Bea’s mouth curved, “Oh?”
Barb continued,“You need more than one.”
Bea froze for half a second, then burst out laughing, head dropping forward onto her forearm, “Barb!”
“I’m serious,” Barb stated, and Bea could hear the grin in her voice. “One man tried to date you and he’s exhausted by Tuesday. You’d have him ragged, stressed, and questioning his life choices before the weekend.”
Bea wiped at her eyes, still laughing. “That is so rude.” “It’s also accurate,” Barb said.
Bea straightened, breath still shaky with amusement. “So, what you’re saying is…I’m simply built for a whore’s life.”
“No, you just need a team,” Barb corrected.
“A roster if you will…With benefits.”
Bea wheezed. “Stop. I’m going to pee my pants.”
“I’m just saying,” Barb went on, enjoying herself now, “you might need one to make you dinner, one to handle your attitude, and one for whatever it is you do that makes people disappear from the world.”
Bea pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”
“With who?” Barb asked. “Your fictional boyfriends?”
Bea inhaled, trying to regain dignity. “Dean would pretend to judge me, Sam would lecture me gently, and Cas would just stare at me like he’s trying to understand why humans do the things we do.”
“That sounds about right,” Barb said.
Bea let out a content sigh and leaned back in her chair, toes nudging the base of the desk. The laughter softened into that warm, easy quiet that only happened when the day hadn’t managed to win.
Then her laptop chimed.
Not a casual notification nor a reminder, a sound Bea had chosen on purpose. A sharp, clean, and unmistakable.
She sat up, spine going straight.
Barb noticed immediately. “What was that?”
Bea’s gaze locked onto the screen, A new massage had appeared in the secure inbox. No sender name, no subject line., just a string of characters that looked meaningless unless you knew what you were looking at. This was heavily encrypted.
Bea’s smile didn’t fade, but it changed. The humor stayed in her eyes like a candle. And something colder slid in behind it.
“Well,” she murmured, fingers hovering over the keyboard, “look at that.”
“Bea,” Barb said, voice suddenly all business from the lobby desk. “You good?”
Bea glanced toward the windows, only the city lights glittering, innocent and oblivious. Then back to the message.
“Oh, I’m great Barb.” She said softly, the last of her laughter curling into something sharp. ‘It’s just that somebody out there just did something very brave…or very stupid.”
Barb exhaled. “Which is it?”
Bea’s fingers begin to move, smooth, and practiced. “Give me thirty seconds.”
“You want me to–”
“No stay on the line,” Bea said, and the old warmth flickered back just enough to make it a tease. “If this is another tragic, emotionally repressed man asking for help, I’m going to need you to remind me I already have three boyfriends.”
Barb laughed again, quick, steadier than before. “You mean the ones who can’t call you back because they only exist in a television show?”
“Details, Barb.” Bea said, eyes scanning as the encryption peeled back layer by layer.
Outside, the city kept shining, but inside, Beatrice Rossi smiled at the message that just changed the game into a battle and she wasn’t the slightest bit scared.