Chapter 12 Bitsy #2
"I don't recall making that an option, Bitsy," he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, dominant register that left her with absolutely no room to argue.
"Rule number two dictates that you take a lunch break at one o'clock, and since it's your first day, I am handling the logistics.
You are eating. With me. Now, grab your things. "
Bitsy swallowed her protest, her heart doing a frantic dance against her ribs.
The sheer weight of his control was terrifying, but beneath the fear, there was an incredibly strange, intoxicating sense of relief.
She didn't have to make a decision. She didn't have to calculate the cost of a value menu or figure out where to park without getting towed. He was just... taking care of it.
"Yes, sir," she whispered softly, her chin dipping as she walked back over to her workspace to gather her things.
She quickly gathered her few personal belongings, leaving the heavy laptop and the canvas duffle where they were on the desk.
Wyatt held the door to his office suite open, waiting for her, and she stepped through just before the lock clicked shut behind them, leaving the gear behind in the silence of the room.
The shared executive landing was dark and silent.
Instead of leading her toward the elevators, Wyatt took two long strides across the polished floor to the adjacent double doors labeled Lennon Rhodes.
Bitsy followed closely, her sneakers squeaking softly on the clean stone as he pulled a master keycard from his pocket and swiping it through the secure reader.
The lock clicked green, and Wyatt pushed the door open, waiting for her to step past him into the dark, pristine office.
He walked directly over to a sleek wardrobe against Lennon's wall, opened the heavy door, and pulled out a thick, oversized heavy black winter coat.
"Put this on," he commanded, walking back over and holding the heavy garment out to her.
Bitsy blinked at the coat. It was clearly a woman's jacket, but it was cut long and structured, tailored for a girl who stood taller and carried herself with a lot more confidence than Bitsy ever could. It bore a faint, clean scent of expensive perfume and strawberries. "Um... whose is that?"
"It's Lennon's," Wyatt replied evenly, his arms not budging an inch as he waited for her to step into it. "She keeps a spare in her office. It's barely forty degrees outside today, Bitsy, and you walked into this building wearing nothing but a knit sweater. Where is your coat?"
Bitsy felt a sudden, icy spark of panic flare deep in her gut.
She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him that her winter coat had been ruined three weeks ago when a heavy rainstorm leaked through the faulty weather stripping of her car's rear door, leaving the fabric molded and smelling of damp rot before she had to throw it in a dumpster behind a gas station.
She couldn't tell him that she hadn't had the spare cash to replace it yet.
"I... I just forgot it," she lied, her voice dropping into a small, defensive whisper as she stepped forward and let him slide the massive coat over her shoulders. "It was—it wasn't clean, and I didn't have time to wash it before I came over here. I just left it."
Wyatt didn't say a word as he adjusted the heavy shoulders of the coat, his large hands smoothing the fabric down until she was completely swallowed by it.
The hem hit her nearly at her knees, the sleeves burying her hands completely, but the instant, radiating warmth of the insulation felt like a miracle against her perpetually chilly skin.
He stepped back, his dark eyes studying her face, cutting right through the flimsy excuse. He didn't call her out on the lie,but his jaw set in a hard, unyielding line that let her know exactly how little he believed it.
"Bundle up, little one," Wyatt rumbled, his voice low, stern, and entirely absolute. "When it's this cold outside, you wear a coat. No exceptions. Am I understood?"
The sheer, overwhelming weight of his care made her throat tighten, her face flushing a deep, pretty pink as she tucked her chin into the high collar of Lennon's coat. "Yes, sir," she whispered.
"Good girl," he rumbled, the quiet approval making her chest ache with a sudden, sweet warmth. "Let's go. There's a local taco place a few blocks away. The walk will do you good."
They left the executive suite, pulling the heavy doors secure behind them as they navigated the quiet, high-end corridors of Enigma's upper floor.
In the crisp afternoon light of Bridgeport, the building felt intensely private and imposing—a fortress of glass and dark concrete that made Bitsy feel even smaller as they walked.
They took the elevator down to the ground floor, bypassing the main secure entrance and slipping out of a discreet side door that led directly into the executive parking lot before heading out toward the street.
The cold air hit her face instantly, but inside the massive sanctuary of the borrowed coat, Bitsy barely felt the chill.
Wyatt walked beside her, his massive frame naturally shifting to the outside of the sidewalk, blockading her from the light traffic of the city street.
He didn't speak much as they walked, but his presence was an unyielding shield, his eyes scanning the perimeter with the practiced ease of a man who ran a security empire.
Three blocks down, they turned into a small, vibrant brick-front restaurant with a glowing neon sign that read Barrio Grill.
The interior was warm, filled with the rich, mouth-watering scent of grilled meats, cilantro, and warm corn tortillas.
It was the kind of place where customers lined up at a sleek counter to place their orders before taking a numbered plastic stand to a table.
There were only a few local patrons scattered across the wooden booths, keeping the atmosphere quiet and low-key.
Bitsy stood slightly behind Wyatt as they approached the counter, her eyes auditing the digital menu board.
Her stomach gave a loud, betraying growl, her face burning with instant mortification as she tried to pretend she hadn't heard it.
She stared up at the menu, her survival instincts instantly forcing her to calculate the cheapest layout on the board—two standard street tacos and a water.
Reaching deep into the pocket of her oversized sweater, her fingers wrapped around the crinkled, faded ten-dollar bill she’d been hoarding for an emergency gas top-off.
She pulled it out, her knuckles turning white as she prepared to step up and quickly order the bare minimum before Wyatt could notice.
"I... I can pay for my own, Wyatt," she murmured softly, trying to edge toward the cashier with her crumpled bill.
Wyatt didn't miss the movement, his dark eyes tracking the faded money in her tight grip before cutting right back to her pale face. He stepped up beside her, his massive frame completely taking over the space at the counter.
"Put your money away, Bitsy," Wyatt said, his tone low, flat, and entirely absolute.
He didn't grab her, but his forearm smoothly extended across her path, an unwavering physical boundary that effectively blocked her from handing the bill to the cashier.
He looked down at her, his gaze narrowing with a heavy, dominant warning that brooked no argument.
"I told you I am paying for lunch. Do not skim the menu for the absolute cheapest option because you're trying to be polite. Order what you actually want."
Bitsy swallowed hard, her throat tightening as her fingers quickly retreated into her pockets, crushing the ten-dollar bill back into the dark.
Before she could even process the sheer speed of his intervention, Wyatt slid a sleek black titanium card across the counter toward the cashier, completely dismissing her attempt to pay.
"Go ahead, little one," Wyatt murmured, his voice softening just a fraction, though the absolute command behind it didn't budge an inch. "The cashier is waiting."
Bitsy’s heart did a frantic, fluttering dance against her ribs under the weight of his unyielding gaze.
She looked back up at the digital board, her eyes blurring for a second as she forced herself to look past the prices and actually read the descriptions.
She couldn't remember the last time she’d been allowed to just want something without checking the math first.
"I... I'll have two of the steak tacos, please," she said, her voice small but clear as she looked at the cashier. She paused, swallowing the lingering tightness in her throat before pointing to the sides. "With an order of chips and guacamole. And a large sweet tea."
"Make it a double order on the tacos and the chips," Wyatt told the cashier evenly, the titanium card clicking against the counter as the transaction processed.
The cashier nodded, swiping the card and handing Wyatt a plastic number stand.
A mixture of intense vulnerability and overwhelming relief swirled deep in Bitsy’s gut, warm and incredibly heavy.
Having someone simply step in, read her deep survival panic perfectly, and completely shatter it without making her feel small was entirely foreign.
"Thank you," she whispered softly, her eyes dropping back down to her sneakers.
"You're welcome," he replied evenly. "Go find a booth in the back while I grab the drinks."
Bitsy hurried toward a quiet corner booth, sliding deep into the varnished wooden bench, still completely wrapped in Lennon's massive coat.
She watched from across the room as Wyatt gathered two large cups, his tall, powerful frame drawing the instinctive respect of everyone in the small restaurant.
He walked back over, setting a cold, condensation-mapped cup down in front of her, the dark amber liquid inside swirling with ice.