Page 19 of To the Chase

I narrowed my eyes. “Is that why you’re encouraging me to pursue her?”

Sam wanted the contract, and he hadn’t been subtle about it. Taking it would result in a top-to-bottom transformation. We would move into a whole new league, far beyond the goals I’d set for Nox. On top of that, it meant relocating to Denver. It wasn’t a completely foreign city—I had family here—but I was comfortable in LA. In fact, I was comfortable with the incremental progression of Nox.

I had time to work on outside projects. The concierge app I was developing was close to the beta testing stage. But if we took on this contract, all that would fall by the wayside.

Sam interrupted my contemplation.

“No, of course not.” He held up his hands. “You need a life outside work. I’ve told you that for years. I don’t know if things will go anywhere with this woman. All I’m saying is keep an open mind abouteverything.”

Easier said than done, but I’d give it a try.

My father was a man stuck in a bygone era. He wore a fedora on a regular basis, said things like “the bee’s knees,” and called me “champ” unironically. When my sister and I were growing up, we’d watched more black-and-white movies than new releases.“Classics,”he’d called them, when men were real men and the women were true beauties.

While I’d never subscribed to his notions of masculinity or gender roles, some of it must have sunk in, because the first thing I thought when Beatrice Novak walked into the restaurant wasMarilyn Monroe.

Her blue hair curled at her shoulders, the strands bouncing with each step. The straps of her cream dress tied at the nape of her neck, and the pale fabric dipped low in the front before trailing over her abundant curves like a love letter. Her skin looked softer than velvet, and the heels she wore were tall enough to qualify as stilts, but she sauntered up to me with confidence.

I could almost hear my father’s voice calling her a bombshell. That was what she was. So astonishingly beautiful, my tongue became sandpaper in my mouth.

Stopping in front of me, she smirked. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Bea,” I growled—not on purpose. I wasn’t a man who growled, but my throat was raw and desert dry.

She leaned into me, lashes brushing the top of her rounded cheeks as she blinked. Her heels put us almost eye to eye, leaving me little choice but to study the color of her irises. The darkest blue before becoming black. Midnight. Dangerous and mysterious. The only relief was the amber ring around her pupils.

“I like your eyes,” I said before I could stop myself.

“Thank you.” Her lashes fluttered. “You look really handsome tonight.”

“Not nervous?”

Her cheeks lifted as she smiled. “Oh no. You look nervous too.”

I huffed a laugh. “I thought I was hiding it.”

She reached up, tracing the tip of her finger along my ear. “These turn bright pink when you look at me. I like it.”

“I suppose there’s no hiding anything from you.”

Her hair brushed her shoulder as she tilted her head. “No. But why would you want to?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I like that answer.” She took my hand and guided it to the curve of her back. “Shall we?”

From that moment on, we remained connected. My hand stayed at her waist as we walked. When we slid into the horseshoe-shaped booth, we sat pressed together, thigh to thigh. As we talked, her fingers drifted over my knuckles, arm, and leg. I brushed her hair from her face, let my hand rest on her knee, and when a crumb clung to her lip, I wiped it away with my thumb.

For me, being with Bea was a singular experience. I’d had casual encounters, a small number of short-lived relationships, but there had never been a time I’d become so comfortable with someone in such a short period.

Once the conversational dam burst, the words came easy.

“My sister, her kids, and my father are here,” I explained.

“Are you close with your sister?” she asked.

“As close as very different, extremely busy people can be. Tia is somewhat of a free spirit. Pretty much the exact opposite of me. She’s allergic to schedules and rules.”

“But you get along?”