Page 50 of To the Chase

There was no other word for it.

Why else would I have spent Saturday night—between taking orders, delivering drinks, and ignoring my aching feet—watching the door, half hoping Tore would ignore mynoand show up anyway?

He hadn’t. He’d respected my wishes. And that had been both a relief and a letdown.

By the time I walked into Nox Cyber a few days later, I was jonesing for a fix.

Given he was already in the conference room, I wondered if he’d been feeling the same.

He looked up from his computer, fixing his gaze on me. “Good morning, Bea.”

“Good morning.” I put my hands on my hips, doing my best to glare at him, but I couldn’t summon any heat behind it. “Is this always going to be a thing?”

“A thing?”

“Yes. You being in here while I set up.”

“Oh.” He straightened his glasses. “Possibly. There are times my schedule is out of my control, but if I can help it, I’ll be here.”

I sighed. “I thought that’s what you would say.”

“I haven’t been subtle about what I want.” His gaze softened. “How was work Saturday night?”

“Fine. It was a long day, and I was glad when it was over, but that’s not unusual.” Turning my back to him, I went about doing my job—the reason I was here.

“Is your catering business not doing well enough for you to quit your waitressing job?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when he appeared next to me. He always stayed in his seat, pretending to work on his laptop. It seemed things were changing.

“That’s a pretty personal question,” I replied.

He nodded. “I know. I’ve told you a lot of personal things about myself. You can ask me anything you like.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s a two-way street.”

He plucked up one of the muffins I’d just set out and methodically peeled the wrapper. “Then you can tell me it’s none of my business.”

I placed the final snack cup down and checked my list, making sure I wasn’t forgetting anything. Me from a few years ago would have been shocked—but impressed—at how organized I was.

Judging the way Tore was eyeing the checklist like a juicy steak, he was impressed too.

“Technically, I’m making plenty, but I don’t feel safe enough to quit waitressing yet.”

He lifted his eyes to meet mine. “What would it take to make you feel safe?”

“I don’t have a number in mind.” I shrugged. “I’ve always juggled multiple jobs. I don’t know if I’m capable of quitting.”

“You deserve rest.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I scrunched my nose. “I doubt you take much time off work.”

“I do, actually.” He twisted the ring on his finger. “I don’t work weekends, and I have time set aside for vacation.”

I was surprised, but not quite convinced. “How many years were you running Nox before giving yourself a break?”

His mouth tugged into a reluctant smile. “Longer than I care to admit. You should take me as a cautionary tale. I do not recommend working seventy-hour weeks. I lost many years strapped to my desk instead of experiencing life.”

“Luckily, I’ve never forced myself to sit at a desk. That wouldn’t fly.” I glanced from his ring to his eyes, finding them pinned to me. “I get your point. I’ll have to think about it. Maybe I’ll set a monetary goal and let myself quit when I reach it.”