Page 78 of Beau and the Beast

“Well. A lot of things have done that,” Geoffrey continued.

They said goodnight then, Geoffrey retiring and Wolfram heading to his bedroom.

It wasn’t as if Wolfram ever thought, in his past life, that he was doing anything good for people. He knew that at the heart of Wall Street, they were making the rich richer and they were doing it on the backs of people who would never have an inkling of the type of wealth he had.

The curse had certainly forced him to think about his actions—not only with the callous way he’d treated Harriet but also with his role in the crash that had terrorized so many people in his own country.

$2,100.

Wolfram had never known anyone who’d been evicted. He’d never been friends with someone who had to prioritize bills, had to choose between eating or keeping the lights on.

The idea of homelessness now had a face—one that Wolfram looked forward to seeing, one that was handsome and comforting with a perfect smile, with kind, clear eyes.

In another life, Beau Blake would’ve just been a name on a list of names, just another person who suffered because Wolfram’s father had figured out a way to make a buck at any cost.

And what would’ve happened if he’d never met Beau? If he was still working as a reporter, would he and Noah have been able to scrape together enough money to pay all of their bills this month, or would they have had to prioritize, to choose which thing got paid and which one got put off?

It was an awful thought. Beau worked hard, was conscientious, smart. It was disgusting, Wolfram thought, that someone so kind and talented could have such a small dollar amount between safety and destitution. He’d been through enough suffering for an entire lifetime, yet he was still forced to struggle to make ends meet.

The curse had forced Wolfram to look inward, to find out what he could do to become a better man. But meeting Beau, he realized, had changed his perspective on everything.

Chapter Fifteen

When Beau arrivedin Wolfram’s study the next day, it was immediately apparent that something was up.

There was no tea set out on the table. Wolfram wasn’t seated waiting for Beau, either. He was pacing in front of his bookcases, hands locked behind his back, tail cutting the air from side to side.

He said good morning to Beau but didn’t move to sit down.

Beau approached the table where they normally sat. It looked like Wolfram had had a visitor the night before because there were tumblers with old brandy and a decanter still sitting there.

A pang of something uncomfortable struck him square in the chest.

So, Beau had declined his invitation and Wolfram had extended it to someone else. Had it been Violet? James?

Am I jealous?

Wolfram had known the others for ten years. It was his own goddamned penthouse. He was allowed to have anyone he wanted in for a nightcap, Beau told himself.

You’re being a ridiculous creep.

Before he could wonder where to sit, Wolfram came up and sat heavily onto the cushion across from him. Beau followed his lead, sitting and opening his notepad.

Even though he was sitting, Wolfram still emanated a manic energy, his tail sweeping across the floor behind him and making a soft noise, his hands busy at the clasp of his gold watch.

“Are you alright?” Beau asked cautiously.

Wolfram nodded. “I’m ready to tell you about my father.”

* * *

After the firsttime they’d touched the topic, Wolfram had been keenly aware of how adeptly Beau avoided tackling the topic of his father head-on.

Wolfram appreciated that. But in the narrative of his life, leaving out his father would be an egregious omission.

Especially since the man made me everything I am today, Wolfram thought wryly, his fingers curling around the tip of one of his horns.

But how could Wolfram make Beau understand the complicated tapestry that was his relationship with his father?

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