Page 33 of Perfect Assumption
“Sure. Piece of cake.” I reach for a glass of water and immediately knock it over on its side.
David curses and races for a roll of towels we keep under a sideboard for messes just like this.
“No, Angie. I can’t let you. If a pap happens to snap a pic of you, it could explode into a holy mess. Particularly this week. They could follow you home.” Becks’s blue eyes sear into mine with undiluted anguish.
And his anguish is what convinces me to do it. “Every morning, I look into the mirror and see the exact same look you’re wearing on my own face. I’m awake, I’m breathing, but nothing is what it seems anymore.” I reach over and grip his trembling arm through his suit jacket. “You shouldn’t be wearing that look at all, let alone permanently. If there’s anything I can do to help you, it’s my duty to do so.”
“It’s your responsibility to heal,” he counters.
“I’ve done so much of that because of the people in this room. Because Carys gave me a job, because David teases me like a little sister. Because you, Beckett Miller, were proud of me for standing up for what was right. This is what’s right. If I don’t talk with her, what’s the worst that happens?”
“You could be exposed. You won’t have any peace,” he reminds me. As if he has to.
“That happens every day I walk out my door.” He sucks in a jagged breath. “Ididn’t do anything wrong.Istood up for what was right. And how would I live with myself if I could have helped you and I don’t? Well, then I’m no better than the people who sat there letting me be judged unfairly.”
Becks shoves out of his chair, hauling me up with him. “Hold on…just hold on. This is why we’re here together, right? To find a better way?”
“Are you sure?” Now that I’ve worked up the nerve, it’s seeping through me, fueling something I haven’t had in far too long.
Courage. It might be fleeting, but it’s twinkling in the dark sky of my life, and I’m reaching for it.
“No. It might be wishful thinking.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” David grabs the office phone. “Let’s take a break and come at this with a fresh perspective after we get some food and drink in us. There has to be some other way than to do…” David makes a spinning motion with his hands.
The four of us collectively slump in our chairs. Becks lifts a shaking hand to his forehead. “Yeah, good idea, David. I actually feel like I could keep something down now.”
David walks around the conference table and holds out a hand to Becks, who takes it warily. “We haven’t always been on the same side. But you’re a good person, Beckett. We’re going to help you find out the answers you need.”
Becks opens and closes his mouth repeatedly before he breaks away and moves toward the windows, the show of support overwhelming him.
Now that the initial storm’s passed, I decide now’s as good a time as any to run downstairs to get our food now that I know we won’t be sick the moment we begin to eat it. Leaving the conference room, I see Ward’s office is still dark. I frown as I pass by. “You know, we could have used your support today, Ward.” My heart aches a bit when I recall the kind, sweet man who kissed me in the middle of a candy-induced dream to the resurgence of the irritable bear from just a few days ago.
I squeeze into the crowded elevator. The moment the doors open, I sprint out when my phone goes off. Slowing my stride, I slip it from my purse and read the message.
Can you grab Ward coffee? He should be back soon. Thanks, C.
“She deserves a medal for dealing with him,” I mutter. With that thought in my mind, I pick up my speed so I can get in line at Pret A Manger to grab Ward a latte that wasn’t in our original order— a drink he likely doesn’t need nor want. But because his sister asked nicely for it, I’ll grab it.
Even if this is one I’m tempted to actually throw at him for making an assumption about Becks just like everyone else does.
Thirteen
Ward
“Winsome Ward” Burke—who made this site’s ‘Most Eligible Bachelor’ list for the last ten years running—was spotted out with yet another female companion of indeterminate identity today. After a cozy lunch at Le Bernadin, he dashed off, leaving the woman stuck with the bill. Does that make one of the world’s richest men playing hard to get or ridiculously cheap?
— Sexy&Social, All the Scandal You Can Handle
Iavoid the penetrating stares from varying people who try to capture my attention while weaving my way through the tables behind the maître d’ in the exclusive Le Bernadin in New York. I asked my lunch companion to meet me here because I wanted to avoid feeling on display. Obviously, I made an error in judgment.
It hasn’t been my first recently. I doubt it will be my last.
The tinkle of glasses as someone makes a toast reminds me of my mother’s lecture before she and my father glided out the door of our family home the night they died. “I know you’re going to a party, Ward. Don’t do anything that would cause us to be disappointed.”
Sorry, Mom. The fact I’m alive and you’re not is probably the bigger fuckup in the grand scheme of things, so the fact I had a few beers that night probably wouldn’t have made you too mad. I clench my jaw as I stride to the table.
I know what has me pushed close to the edge this late-fall day. It started witnessing Angie so damn comfortable in Becks’s arms when I felt like she was like a butterfly ready to flit away in mine when I kissed her—God, was it just last week?
