Page 11 of Beau and the Beast

“Fucking hell,” Alfie said, putting his head in his hands. “What are we going to do?”

“What’s the good news?” James asked, cutting in.

“The good news is that he wants fifty grand in exchange for the footage which is eminently doable,” Geoffrey said. “And he’s willing to come here.”

They breathed a collective sigh of relief. Was the oxygen sneaking back into the room or was it Violet’s imagination?

“He’s coming tomorrow at five.”

“So what’s the plan? Just hand over the money and he walks?” Violet asked. Geoffrey was too wily to think that something like that would actually work, that this would be the end of it. He shook his head.

“We ambush him in the foyer, give him the scare of his life,” Geoffrey said. “When he comes to outside the locked door, he’ll have his money but he’ll also have very little desire to ever fuck around with the security systems at 330 West again.”

“And if hedoestry to fuck us again?” Song asked.

“Already covered,” Geoffrey said. “I figured out how he got in and put in a failsafe. The next time someone gets anywhere near our building’s security, there’s a packet of incriminating—and true—information about his online misdeeds that’s going straight to everyone with an NWPD email address. No interference from our end necessary. He can’t blackmail us from jail.”

* * *

Beau wasglad he’d brought an umbrella as he cut through the park toward 330 West. There was strange weather on the way.

Darkness had begun to descend on New Whitby at four, and by the time he’d started the trek from his work at The New Whitby Ledger over to the condo building, it might as well have been midnight. To top things off, a fog had rolled in from the river.

The spring weather should’ve been beautiful, but instead it felt like the beginning of winter. And to think he’d almost left the house that morning without a coat.Goddamn global warming,he thought angrily.

Beau wrangled his cell phone out of his pocket as he approached the final block. Still no answer from Lincoln. He’d waited around for Lincoln for a full fifteen minutes before giving up.

Even though Lincoln had agreed yesterday to come with Beau on this fool’s errand, he hadn’t responded to any of Beau’s texts today. Lincoln probably thought of the no-show as payback—which was… fair.

Beau had been asking too much of the guy—calling Lincoln up for a favor not even 24 hours after he’d broken up with him.

If he was going to do this, he’d have to do it alone.

330 West loomed before him in the middle of the block, dark with raw stone, heavy and almost ancient-looking, as if it would’ve been more at home hewn into the side of a snow-capped mountain than in the middle of glittering New Whitby.

Beau stepped into the luxury condo building and was overwhelmed. It was like a goddamnedcastleinside. The facade of the building looked to be hewn out of granite—but Beau had assumed it was just that: a facade. He’d prepared for a slick, modern interior and was instead met with lobby ceilings that soared, heavy wood beams above polished stone floors, and walls made from the same giant blocks as the exterior.

He shook his umbrella and closed it. Beau had no idea New Whitby had a building like this.

This was the type of place a prince should live—not rich jerks. He wondered if the condo interiors had the same sort of medieval flair as the lobby and facade.

God, I can’t wait to get inside one of them,he thought.

His journalist’s mind was off and running immediately. Once this thing with Noah cooled down, maybe Beau could pitch a story about the building to his editor at The Ledger.

He was already cycling through headlines in his brain:New Whitby’s hidden castle… no, wait, Medieval charm in the heart of the city… Game of Thrones meets Sex in the City at 330 West...

Without thinking, he’d already produced his reporter’s notebook from his pocket and begun to scribble down his first impressions.

Vast, soaring, cold, ancient...

A man jostled him, breaking off the tip of his pencil, and Beau realized that he’d stopped right in front of the entrance. He stepped to the side and watched the man walk on without even glancing back at him. Suddenly, he was back to reality. Beau remembered what he was actually there for.

Even in his nicest work clothes, Beau knew he looked out of place. He’d done his best to dress up, even topping things off with a bowtie—but you couldn’tfakebeing rich. The men and women who were coming and going from the building were wearing clothes that probably cost what Beau and Noah spent on groceries in a whole month.

At least, he thought, he looked less out of place than Noah would’ve, with his scars and his cane, his shaggy hair and too-big hoodies. Unlike his brother, Beau was clean cut and didn’t look like he was out to rob anybody—just seemed lost.

Beau boarded the first elevator he came across and was followed inside by a couple dressed head-to-toe in black. They hit the button for the 23rd floor and, feeling sheepish, Beau reached across to press the penthouse button.

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