by Aria Ford
“Dressed?”
The grin that spread across his face was lovely. He laughed. “You’re not, though,” he commented, walking over in his smart trousers and crisp slate-colored shirt. He drew me against him, and I laughed.
“Kyle! I’m all wet. I’ll mess your clothes.”
“You’re wet, are you?” He teased.
I blushed. “Not in that way.”
“Oh?” he frowned playfully.
I pushed him playfully, amazed by the closeness that existed between us. “You know I want you,” I said firmly. “But you’ve got work.”
“I know,” he said, turning away and reaching for a jacket. “Don’t remind me.”
“Sorry,” I said, pulling on my clothes from the night before. I had thought we’d thrown them off with some haste, but I found them now, neatly piled on the bed. Someone had tidied up, I thought with some surprise. I looked around absently, noting how minimal the room was. A modest-sized wardrobe, a table with almost nothing on it, a crisp white bed.
I am a designer, and the room was like Mies van der Rohe meets Ned Stark. It was so simpled down and bare that there was almost no character in it at all. Monastic and cold. It surprised me.
“Coffee?” he said from somewhere behind my shoulder.
I looked up from fastening my shirt. “Yes. That would be awesome.”
He grinned. “I’ll get that going, then. If you need a toothbrush or something…”
I blushed. “Thanks. I’d love that.”
“In the second drawer down,” he said, indicating a small cabinet in the bathroom. “I’ve got a new one.”
“Oh! Thanks,” I said. “that’s thoughtful.”
I walked into the kitchen a few minutes later and found myself enveloped by the scent of coffee. I looked over at him. He was calmly stirring it, with toast cooking in the toaster behind him.
It felt so weird. It was almost like he and I had known each other forever, and yet we’d never done this before.
“Here we are,” he said as the toast popped out. “All done.”
I smiled at him, feeling a small frown on my brow. “Thanks,” I said. “You’re really organized.”
“Thanks,” he said. His big gray eyes seemed surprised.
“And such great coffee. Service with a smile too,” I added teasing him.
“Well, service makes me smile,” he joked. “That sort, anyway.”
I guffawed. “Pleased to hear it,” I said.
As he drew out his chair and sat down, I realized that it was the first time I’d really seen him at ease before. In his kitchen, with an aroma of coffee and the sunlight sheening his hair, he was a playful, boyish man. So much nicer than the hard, cold, and brittle person I had met previously.
He crunched into his toast and smiled. “That’s much better.”
“Well, we did expend a lot of energy last night,” I said. His grin made me laugh.
“Yes,” he agreed. He was still smiling as he drank his coffee. My heart melted just a little at how shyly proud he looked.
We ate and drank in silence. He stood after a minute or two.
“Eight forty,” he said with a frown. “I should go.” He looked uncomfortable, almost reluctant. I felt surprised and touched. And also worried about making him late.
“Hell,” I nodded. “Yeah, you should.”
“I can at least get you back to the restaurant,” he said, his face taut with worry.
I shrugged. “I can get a taxi. Or the bus or something.” I didn’t want to make him late for work.
“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t let you do that. Or at least let me call someone.”
I smiled, touched by the depth of his care. “I’ll be okay.”
“You’re sure?” he frowned.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He stood there in the kitchen, just looking at me. He was smiling, but there were a lot of complex messages in his gaze. I swallowed hard.
“We should go,” I said, not wanting to make him late. I looked at my hands. It was surprisingly hard to decide to walk away from him.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess.”
“Yes,” I nodded.
He grabbed his briefcase and keys and we walked into the hallway. He was quiet as we went to the lift and pressed the button, heading downstairs. When we reached the front door, he looked into my eyes.
“Thanks,” he said. His voice was gruff. “It was amazing. You’re sure you’re okay?”
I swallowed, feeling my eyes well up with tears from nowhere. I blinked harshly. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I’ll be fine,” I said tightly. “I don’t want to make you late.”
He reached out and gently touched my shoulder. I let out a long breath.
“Come on,” I said. “We should go.”
Nodding, he made a small discomforted face, his mouth making a thin line. “Yeah.”
We walked out into the fresh morning air.
He went to his car automatically, then turned and looked at me. He waved.
“Bye!” I called, making my voice sound lightly cheerful.
“Bye.”
I walked briskly down the path, back straight, mouth set. It was only when I reached the intersection that I figured out I had no idea where I was.
“Come on, Bethany. Think clearly.”
I had my phone and I looked around for landmarks. I was in a suburban area with trees and wide, elegant streets. I breathed in the scent of dew and the fainter scent of gasoline from the vehicles that had just passed on their way to work. I saw a road sign.
“Great. Now I just need a house number, and I can call a cab.”
I found a numbered building near a convenient bench and sat down, calling the taxi service. It was just as well the traffic had died down and so I could hear the operator and give directions without having to yell. I decided to go to the restaurant where I could fetch my car. Fortunately, it wasn’t like I was needed somewhere urgently. I organized that fairly quickly. Then I leaned back, waiting.
During the taxi ride back, I felt dazed and still a bit distant. Almost as if I wasn’t really awake. Like part of me was still drifting in the dream that was me, being with Kyle. Unbelievable.
I thanked the driver, paid him and drifted up to my car.
“You’re crazy,” I told myself as I looked in the rearview mirror. “Absolutely, completely crazy.”
I really was. I laughed, a sort of bittersweet laugh.
You had your wonderful night, I told myself harshly. Now you can get back to reality. Kyle is not going to want to keep up a connection. It was a moment of madness, that is all.
I drove back trying hard to be grounded and sensible. But the happy spark inside me simply refused to be put out. When I pulled up at mom’s house I was still smiling.
When I walked in, the house was quiet. I realized Mom had left for work and sent her a quick text to let her know I was back. Then I went upstairs to put on fresh clothes.
“Bethany,” I told myself sternly in the mirror, “don’t even think about it. You had your fun. Now it’s back to your ordinary, boring life.”
That was how it was meant to be. There wasn’t room in my life for handsome billionaires. Not even cute, boyish ones who seemed to be slowly coming out of their shell. No, that was for someone else. Not me.
“I’m Bethany Hayworth,” I told myself firmly. “An ordinary girl.”
Well, I thought, smiling at myself as I combed out my hair, something extraordinary had just happened to me. And whatever happened next, I told myself gently, I would always have the memories of this. They would keep me smiling no matter what.
Chapter 10: Kyle
“Mr. Beckham?”
My secretary called me, breaking in on my thoughts. I looked up, distracted. I had been drifting in my memories of Bethany. Those beautiful breasts with their pink nipples—I could look at them all day. I felt my groin ache.
“Yes?”
&nb
sp; “Uh, sorry. It was the CEO. He called to say he would have to reschedule the meeting today?”
“Oh?” I frowned.
“Yeah. Could you do three thirty? He just found out he has to leave early.”
I nodded grimly. It had been meant to be at four thirty. “Fine.”
“Great! Thanks, Mr. Beckham.”
I gave a tight smile. “Sure. It’s nothing, really.”
Nothing? I swallowed hard, typing away furiously. I had to get this report done by three? I felt annoyed at myself. If I hadn’t been so distracted all day, it’d be finished already.
“You’re being stupid, Kyle,” I told myself harshly. If I’d thought about it, that was exactly what my dad would have said. It was weird how the things I said to myself were so often things he’d perpetually said to me. I shook my head at myself, amazed by my own disorganization.
You’re slipping up, getting behind. Pull your socks up.
I opened my desk drawer, searching through the stack of reports to find the latest one from the head of logistics. Dammit! Where did I put things?
I found the paper and read through it slowly. While I did so, the word “services” jumped out at me. I remembered Bethany’s comment about service, and grinned. She was so funny.
Thinking of that reminded me of the morning with her. It had been such an amazing way to spend a breakfast. With her there, my world felt so good. Nice and peaceful. Anchored. Her presence in my home made it a safe space. When she looked at me there was nothing but care in her eyes. No judgment, no scorn. No neediness or expectation. I felt good with her.
I felt like a worthwhile person. Worthwhile for myself. Not because of what I could give or do.
My phone rang. I blinked in surprise, then registered what it was. I grabbed the receiver, heart pounding. Somehow, there was a crazy thought in my head that it might just be Bethany. I could always hope. “Hello?”
“Kyle,” a smooth voice said. I sighed.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Just checking you’re on schedule for this business lunch today. I’ll not make it.”
“Oh?” I let out a long sigh. I was quite relieved. The thought of having to do an important piece of negotiation like that with my dad breathing down my neck was not encouraging.
“No. I have to make a Skype call with investors in Japan.”
“Great,” I said. I meant it. “I can handle it.”
“You can?”
I took offense. “Dad, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old man with experience in this company. I—”
“You were an irresponsible kid, and you have fairly basic education. I do trust you, son. But only so far,” he interrupted harshly; taking my breath away.
I felt like he’d hit me in the stomach, driving out all my air. I took a while to collect my thoughts. All the sweet thoughts that had been drifting through my mind the last while shattered, replaced with the ugly truth of who I was in his eyes. The runaway son who never got it right.
“Dad,” I said tightly. “You made sure I know what I’m doing. I won’t screw this up.”
“Good,” he said, suddenly affable again. “Well, I’ll be waiting to hear how it goes. Bye, son.”
When he had finished, the call mainly to give me a list of pointers to remember for the meeting, goals we were meant to achieve, I hung up. I sat there in shock. His words rang through my head.
An irresponsible kid. A basic education. I can trust you, but just so far.
It hurt.
I closed my eyes tight, feeling a physical pain in my chest. In my mind, the picture of myself that had grown this morning—the capable, nice guy that Bethany seemed to think I was, the guy who seemed acceptable—shattered wholesale. I was left with a few broken pieces.
Yeah, that’s me, I thought harshly. Dumb guy. Cringeworthy past. Have to do better.
I sighed and reached for my laptop, checking over the presentation for this afternoon. I would be sure to do that properly, at least.
I thought of Bethany again—that sweet smile. I blocked the image out harshly. No, Kyle, I told myself. Don’t go there. You don’t deserve to. Besides—what makes you think that wasn’t a one-off? Forget it.
I breathed out and focused on the present task. I just needed to add figures into one slide. I rummaged through my papers and found the document I needed.
“Mr. Beckham?”
“Yes? What?” I snapped. My secretary blinked, a look of bland surprise on her well-groomed face. “Sorry,” I added with a sigh.
“I was just coming in to check if you’re on schedule for the lunch? The group from Transcor is coming at one.”
I bit my lip to hold back the groan of despair. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I’m coming.”
I looked at my watch. It was twelve A.M. I could still do it.
When my secretary had gone, I put my head in my hands, trying not to sob. I was an idiot.
On a day like this, I just had to spend time on selfish stuff, didn’t I? What would Dad think?
I shuddered, imagining what he would say to me. Skirt is all very well in its place, he’d say. But women are fickle. Get an appropriate girl, because they’re all there for the money anyway.
I swallowed hard. Bethany was appropriate, for sure. But was she in it for the money?
Well, probably.
As I glanced at the clock, I caught sight of myself. Gaunt cheeks, eyes ringed with gray from lack of sleep. I guess I was handsome in a haunted way. Sophisticated? No way. Alpha male? Well, I had the status, but I didn’t feel like the rest of me matched up to the stereotype. I was awkward.
Let’s face it, she wants cash. I told myself pragmatically as I tried to skim the report from the logistics sector, picking out points for my own report for this afternoon.
Why else would a clever, high-functioning girl be interested in me?
I finished the report by one pm. Then I ran down to the elevator for the lunch. I met a group of elegantly dressed men in the foyer.
“Mr. Chan? Mr. Knoll? Great to meet you,” I said, shaking hands. “Kyle Beckham.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“A pleasure. You ready for lunch?”
I nodded. I was starving. Probably, I thought wryly as we climbed into a taxi, because of all the action. I remembered what Bethany had said about the use of energy. I grinned.
“You have some figures to show us?” Mr. Chan asked, breaking in on my thoughts.
“Figures? Mm,” I nodded, patting my briefcase. “I have the annual reports here. Would you like to talk now? Or at lunch?”
“Let’s have lunch,” Mr. Knoll, a tall man with twinkly eyes, said with relish. “I’m starving.”
We all laughed.
I found it hard to concentrate during the lunch—I kept on thinking of Bethany. It was frustrating. Every time we mentioned something innocent—figures, assets, benefits—I found my mind jumping to the naughtiest possible interpretation. And when someone mentioned service, I actually had to look down so I didn’t laugh.
“Well,” Mr. Chan said as he pushed away his plate, a contented expression on his face, “we have learned a lot. If you have a copy of that, so we can take it back to the office?”
“Sure,” I said, relieved that I’d brought a copy of the annual reports with me. I handed it over. They gave me theirs.
We were planning a partnership with their freight company—thinking in the future to maybe merge the two, if our company—FastLane, that was—could cover a buyout. It wasn’t strictly speaking my job to manage this part of the process, but Dad sometimes delegated things to me. I was only too happy that he put the trust in me to do it.
“Well, then,” Mr. Knoll said, stretching his legs. “That was very interesting. Since we’re here for the day, I was wondering if you know any good spots for dinner?”
“Sure,” I nodded. “I can recommend a lot of places. What are you looking for?”
“Something simple. Good, basic food—but nicely done.”
“W
addingtons?” I suggested, remembering the good meal I’d had there with Bethany. “They’re a kind of modern trad British-style place. You can book on that app…” I trailed off, my mind blank. In the place of my thoughts I could see Bethany, smiling as she ate. That pink tongue sliding over the back of the fork. I closed my eyes, trying to distract my poor mind.
“The Fork?” he asked.
“Yeah!” I snapped my fingers. “That’s the thing. You can book with that app.”
The two men raised their brows. “Sure,” Mr. Chan said. “Sounds great.”
“Great,” I nodded.
“If you’re free, you could join us?” Mr. Knoll suggested politely.
I shrugged. In my mind, I wished I could ask Bethany out again. But it seemed like a bad plan. I was already too attached to her. It was better to break it off now. Before I got worse. “Sure,” I nodded.
“Great.”
We finished our lunch and shook hands. Then we headed back to the office. It was two thirty and that left me with an hour to get the final preparations done for the big meeting later.
