Chapter 17 Bitsy #3
When they stepped into their private office, the warmth of the room enveloped her completely.
She walked over to her desk, setting her shoulder bag and her grocery bag down onto the dark wood.
She took two long, slow breaths, trying to steady her racing pulse before she finally turned around to face him.
Wyatt hadn't moved. He was standing near the center of the room, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his unreadable dark eyes fixed entirely on her.
"Where is your coat, Bitsy?" He asked directly, his voice low and heavy.
Bitsy’s fingers curled into the fabric of her slacks.
She had prepared for this question. "I...
I left it in my apartment," she said, her voice steady as she pushed the lie across the space between them.
"I was in such a rush to make sure I wasn't late this morning that I accidentally left it on the entryway hook.
The blazer was enough for the quick walk from the car anyway. "
Wyatt didn't blink. He let the silence stretch between them for three long seconds, letting her know, without a single word, that he was tracking the cadence of her voice. He didn't openly challenge the statement, but his jaw tightened significantly.
"And breakfast?" He continued, his tone shifting but losing none of its authority. "Did you eat before you left?"
Bitsy hesitated, her eyes drifting toward the small grocery bag on her desk containing the single granola bar. "I haven't had a chance yet, sir. I was going to eat a granola bar at my desk while I got logged in."
Wyatt let out a low, dark rumble of disapproval.
He stepped toward her, his massive frame towering over her desk as he looked down at her.
"We discussed this on Saturday, Bitsy. Eating three meals a day is a non-negotiable part of taking care of yourself. I expect you to be operating at full capacity, and that requires proper fuel. A single granola bar does not constitute a breakfast.”
Before she could offer a defense, Wyatt turned on his heel and walked behind his own massive desk. He slid open a deep wooden drawer, reaching inside and pulling out two small, brown paper packets. He held them up, his eyes locking onto hers.
"Do you prefer brown sugar cinnamon or strawberries and cream?" He asked, his tone completely even.
Bitsy blinked in surprise, her analytical mind momentarily stalling at the sight of this man offering her instant oatmeal. "The... the brown sugar one is fine, sir. But really, I can go to the kitchen and make it myself, you don't need to—"
"Sit down, Bitsy," Wyatt interrupted smoothly, his tone level but carrying that authoritative gravity that left zero room for argument.
"Get logged into your workstation. Verify your network handshake.
I will be back in five minutes with your breakfast. Do not touch the configuration layer until I return. "
She swallowed hard, her resistance melting instantly under the weight of his gaze. "Yes, sir."
Wyatt nodded once, grabbed the packet, and walked out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him with a soft, definitive click.
Once the door closed, Bitsy let out a tight, shaky exhale, her shoulders collapsing as she finally let the professional posture drop for a brief second.
She turned to the workstation, waking up the massive desktop monitors dominating the desk and bringing up the primary secure login interface to initialize her session.
While the system loaded up, she took her first real look around the office without Wyatt’s terrifying eyes tracking her every move.
The room was a masterpiece of corporate luxury and high-grade technology.
The walls were lined with built-in bookshelves holding leather-bound reference volumes, contrasted sharply by the ultra-modern triple-monitor arrays flashing with server diagnostics.
The sheer processing power available in this room alone was staggering; the server architecture links glowing on her central screen were more advanced than anything she had ever had access to in her entire academic career.
It was a cathedral of data, and she was sitting right in the center of it.
Five minutes later, the door handle turned, and Bitsy instantly snapped back into her perfect, alert posture.
Wyatt stepped back into the room, carrying a steaming ceramic bowl in one hand and a crisp, large green apple in the other.
He walked directly to her desk, setting the bowl down beside her keyboard along with a clean silver spoon.
The rich, warm scent of brown sugar and maple instantly filled her nose, making her stomach execute a fierce, audible growl.
"Thank you, sir," she whispered, her face warming slightly at the sound of her own hunger.
"Eat it," Wyatt commanded softly, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk as he watched her. "The apple, too. I want to see you finish that bowl."
"I will," she said, lifting the spoon and taking her first bite.
The warmth of the oatmeal was incredible, spreading through her chest and instantly melting the lingering core of chill that had stayed with her since she woke up in the car.
It was delicious, and she found herself eating with a quiet, desperate efficiency.
Wyatt watched her for a moment, satisfied with her compliance, before he began to outline the logistics of the day.
"The system infrastructure logs are clean this morning. You’ll spend the morning analyzing the traffic patterns on the southern expansion grid.
Map the anomalies we flagged on Saturday.
This afternoon, we have an offsite assessment scheduled. "
Bitsy swallowed a bite of apple, her brow furrowing slightly. "An offsite assessment? Are we reviewing a local server stack or a client asset?"
"A corporate real estate asset," Wyatt said smoothly, his expression completely unreadable as he turned back toward his own desk. "We will be evaluating a high-density security structure down in the residential district. I need your analytical eyes on the access matrix. Get to work, Bitsy."
"Yes, sir," she said, her focus shifting entirely to the central monitor as Wyatt settled into his own leather chair.
The next four hours passed in a blur of intense, satisfying focus.
Bitsy lost herself in the code, her fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard as she parsed through thousands of lines of network data.
It was exactly what her brain needed—a clean, logical playground where everything followed a strict set of rules.
Out of her peripheral vision, she could see Wyatt working steadily at his own desk, his massive frame motionless except for the occasional heavy keystroke or the slow turn of his head as he reviewed his monitors.
The silence of the room was comforting, punctuated only by the soft clicks of their keyboards.
She slowly finished the oatmeal and the apple as she worked, entirely grateful for the deep, stabilizing warmth the food provided.
At precisely one o'clock, a sharp, digital chime echoed from her computer speaker.
The screen instantly transitioned to a dark gray interface screen displaying a bold corporate logo and a simple countdown timer set for ninety minutes.
System Locked. Midday Wellness Break Active.
Bitsy blinked, her hands hovering over the keys in surprise. She had completely forgotten his warning about the automated software locks. She turned her head, her eyes meeting Wyatt’s as he stood up from his chair, buttoning the central button of his tailored suit jacket.
"Time for lunch," Wyatt said, his voice level and commanding. "We're eating with the group in the central conference room."
Bitsy’s chest tightened slightly, a wave of social anxiety rising up to replace the calm of the code. "Um... actually, Mr. Calder, I left my lunch down in my car. I can just run out and grab it—"
"Vic takes care of ordering lunch every single day at noon," Wyatt interrupted smoothly, his tone brooking absolutely no evasion. "There is more than enough food inside. You don't need to walk out into the freeze for whatever you brought. Follow me."
She swallowed her reluctance, entirely afraid to seem desperate or dependent on their charity, but the prospect of another hot, professional meal was too enticing to fight. She nodded quietly and followed his massive frame out into the main corridor.
The rich, savory scent of seasoned beef and toasted buns hit her nose before they even reached the double glass doors of the central conference room.
The large mahogany conference table was lined with heavy silver trays from a high-end local tavern, piled high with thick gourmet burgers, crispy golden fries, and an array of gourmet sauces.
Silas, Lennon, Hudson, and Vic were already settled around the table, chatting casually. As Wyatt and Bitsy entered, a fifth man—tall, with sharp features, dark hair, and a lean, athletic build—stood up from his seat near the end of the table.
"And this must be the missing piece of the puzzle," the man said, his voice carrying a smooth, charismatic cadence as he extended a hand across the table.
"I'm Zane. I handle PR and legal around here.
Essentially, I'm the pretty face who keeps these cavemen out of court and looks good doing it. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Bitsy. "
"The only thing pretty about you, Zane, is your billable hour," Wyatt rumbled from beside her, his tone perfectly dry as he guided Bitsy toward her seat.
Zane let out a dramatic, rolling laugh, completely unbothered, while Hudson snorted into his napkin.
"Don't listen to him, Bitsy," Zane smiled, flashing a bright, confident grin as he sank back into his leather chair. "He's just bitter because my job requires actual charm."