Chapter 12 Bitsy #3
She took a small sip, the rich, sugary crispness of the sweet tea hitting her tongue and instantly sending a wave of comfort straight to her chest. She looked up at him, a bit surprised by how perfectly he'd provided exactly what she needed, but he simply slid into the opposite side of the booth, his large arms resting flat on the table.
"You look like you needed the sugar," he said simply, his voice calm and unreadable.
Within minutes, a server brought out a massive, steaming tray of food that filled the small table—the baskets of warm steak tacos were piled high beside crisp tortilla chips, a large stone bowl of fresh guacamole, and sides of rice and beans.
It was more fresh food than Bitsy had seen in a single sitting in months.
"Eat," Wyatt commanded gently, gesturing to the tray. "You're too pale, Bitsy, and you've been running on pure adrenaline since last night.”
She didn't need to be told twice. The food was incredible, the rich, smoky flavors filling her with a deep, physical sense of comfort that she hadn't felt in longer than she could remember.
She ate neatly, but efficiently, trying desperately to keep up appearances while her starved body screamed for every single calorie.
Wyatt ate with a quiet, methodical pace, occasionally asking her casual, low-stakes questions about her day-to-day routine and how she liked living in Bridgeport.
Bitsy answered carefully, deliberately keeping her responses vague and focused strictly on the generic layout of the city, completely omitting the fact that her current "neighborhood" shifted depending on which dark parking lot felt safest that night.
She kept her secrets tucked away, terrified that if he found out she was living like a stray dog, the incredible six-figure contract she had just signed would vanish like a dream.
By the time they finished, the heavy, anxious tightness in her chest had entirely dissolved, replaced by a warm, heavy lethargy. They stood up, Bitsy wrapping Lennon's massive coat tight around herself as they walked out into the crisp Bridgeport afternoon.
The walk back to Enigma was quick and quiet.
They stepped back through the secure side entrance, taking the elevator up to the executive suite.
Wyatt led her straight back into his office, where he walked over to his mahogany desk and picked up her canvas duffle bag along with the brand-new silver laptop case she had stared at earlier.
"Everything has been transferred," Wyatt said, handing both bags over to her.
"I initiated the directory migration before we left for lunch. Every script, every personal file, and every byte of your custom environment is securely loaded onto that new workstation. Your old machine has been completely wiped.”
Bitsy took the bags, her fingers tightening around the straps.
A tiny, bittersweet pang hit her chest at the thought of her old, taped-together laptop being gone, but looking at the pristine silver case in her hand, she knew it was a necessary sacrifice.
"Thank you, Wyatt. For... for everything today. "
"I'll walk you to your car," he replied, his eyes dropping briefly to the massive fabric swallowing her frame before looking back up at her face. "Keep Lennon's coat for the weekend, little one. It's not getting any warmer out there. You can bring it back to her office on Monday morning."
Bitsy blinked, her fingers instinctively clutching the thick, insulated lapels. "Oh... are you sure? I don't want to just take her things—"
"I didn't make it a question," Wyatt interrupted smoothly, his tone low, calm, and entirely unarguable as he turned and gestured toward the door. "Let's go."
They walked out into the private, secure parking lot behind the Enigma building.
Bitsy’s heart began to pick up a frantic, terrified beat as they approached her vehicle.
Compared to the sleek, high-end luxury SUVs and sports cars parked in the executive lot, her car looked like an absolute piece of garbage.
She quickly unlocked the driver's side door, hoping to slide inside and drive away before he could look too closely. But as she opened the door, the movement naturally caught the light, illuminating the cramped interior of the vehicle.
Wyatt stopped dead in his tracks, his dark eyes intensely locking onto the back seat.
Bitsy froze, her breath catching in her throat as she saw exactly what he was looking at.
Folded neatly on the worn fabric of the rear bench was a thick, heavy stack of cheap fleece blankets and a small, travel-sized pillow.
Next to it sat a plastic crate filled with canned soup, a manual can opener, and a few jugs of water.
It was the footprint of someone who was living out of their vehicle.
Wyatt’s jaw tightened, his expression turning into a hard, unyielding wall of intensity. He took a slow step closer to the window, his gaze scanning the interior before dropping right back onto her pale, terrified face.
"What are the blankets for, Bitsy?"
The question was low, vibrating with a quiet, dangerous gravity that made her knees feel weak. He was evaluating her, his dominant logic picking apart the data before him, searching for the truth.