Odessa sits her cup down and squares her shoulders, the corners of her mouth curling a moment later. “You’re shitting me.”

I shake my head, looking from side to side. “No.”

“I mean, I’d heard rumors that he did that, but I didn’t know it was really a thing.”

Shit.

The non-disclosure agreement. I should’ve memorized the damn thing because I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to disclose that I’m on the payroll for sexual favors.

My hand claps over my mouth. “Odessa, please don’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

“Were you crying over Dane?”

My chin dips, and I glance out the window.

“Please, tell me you weren’t crying over Dane.”

“He’s intense,” I say. “We have an agreement, and I’m just not sure I’m what he needs, and I need this job.”

“You’re exactly his type.” She angles herself in her chair, and her tone is flat. “Blonde. Blue eyes. Pretty. An innocent ingénue ready to be shown the world…”

“I didn’t know he had a type.” Do I have a type? I guess if I did, he’d be like Dane, but nicer. A little less arrogant and a little more transparent. Someone I could get to know on a deeper level and without being on all fours.

“Why do you need this job so bad? There are millions of other jobs out there. Don’t work for someone who treats you like crap. You’ve got to have more respect for yourself.”

“It’s complicated.” I lift my Styrofoam cup and swirl it around to gauge how much is left. “Again, just please don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Anyone I might tell probably already knows.” She shrugs and takes another sip, her eyes following a striking man in a gray Macintosh jacket and wayfarer sunglasses who walks by and smiles at her.

“Who would you tell?”

“Well, Beckham,” she says. “We tell each other everything.”

“Are you and Beckham together?”

Odessa’s mouth drops and she lets out a robust laugh that causes the couple at the table across from us to stare. “Absolutely not. And please don’t ever ask me that again.”

Her laugh suggests I’ve just assumed the most outlandish thing in the world.

“Been there. Done that. Got the t-shirt.” She pulls her small clutch from her lap and yanks out her phone. “Speak of the devil.”

I try not to watch as she feverishly types back a response to Beckham’s text.

“I guess we have to head back,” she says. “I have to go with Beck to see his uncle in hospice.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why we’re here,” she says, standing up and tilting her cup back to get the last drop. After she tosses it in a nearby trashcan, she whips out a tin of Rosebud Salve and coats her lips before popping in a stick of gum. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

“So Dane didn’t tell you about Uncle Leo?”

“No.”

“I’m shocked. The man practically raised them, well, since they were teenagers.”

We leave the coffee shop and head back. I’m dying to ask more questions about Dane because silly me had only ever assumed someone as put-together and driven as Dane had been raised in some perfect family unit with two kids, a dog, and a picket fence.

“I wish you could’ve met Uncle Leo in his better days,” Odessa says with a wistful gleam in her emerald eyes.

“Is there anything I should do for Dane?” I ask. “Anything to help him cope with this?”

Her lips purse as her blue heels click on the cement sidewalk. “I doubt it. If he hasn’t mentioned anything to you yet, he probably doesn’t want to talk about it. The doctors say it’s going to be any day now. If Dane’s a little more on edge than usual, that might be why.”

He’s always on edge. I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference at this point.

“I see,” I say as we trek into the lobby and approach the elevator.

When we hit our floor, we walk side by side past the reception desk where the gaggle of gossiping girls stand. I’m not sure how or why Dane tolerates that, but it never seems like they’re working. Odessa shoots them a glare, and they all glance away like they share a brain. She’s a deflector, that woman.

“You ready?” A dark haired man in a casual linen suit rounds the corner and hooks his arm into Odessa’s, but she immediately retracts as if she knows he’s doing it to annoy her. Must be Beckham because he looks almost like a cut-and-paste version of Dane, only with a bit more playfulness in his stormy eyes. “Where’d you go?”

“Coffee,” she says, nodding at me. “And it was on you, so…thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Beckham teases, one eyebrow arched. He wears the same dimples, dark hair, and hollowed jaw as his brother.

“It was great meeting you, Bellamy,” Odessa places her hand across the side of my arm. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be around this week, but I’m sure I’ll run into you again.”

I duck past them and head into my office, waking up my computer to check my email. Not that I usually have any. I’ve yet to do any real, actual work in this place. My heart jumps into my throat when I see an email from HR asking me to head down to her office as soon as I get a chance.

This is it.

I’ve approached the end of the road.

I just want to forget this ever happened and move on.

Thank goodness my tears are all dried out. I stiffen my wobbly legs and rise up, pulling my shoulders back. I’m going to march in there, take it like a grown woman and spend the rest of the day in the city because I don’t have a car to get home, and my ride isn’t coming until five.

“Hey, Laurie,” I say a few minutes later, popping my head into her office.

She pulls her glasses off and sets them down, reaching across her desk for a stack of paperwork.

“Have a seat,” she says.

My heart thuds hard and deep, but I force a smile. I’ve been raised to grin and bear things, and this situation would be no exception.

She places a form in front of me and hands me a pen. “You forgot to sign your background check authorization.”

“Oh.” A shaky laugh settles in my throat as I grab the pen and sign my name on the line. “Is that all?”

“That is all.” She slips the form from in front of me and places it in a nearby stacker tray. “Carry on.”

FOURTEEN

BELLAMY

Sick relief swirls in my belly on my walk back to my office, and I stop dead in my tracks when I see Dane’s doors wide open. I haven’t seen him since my little episode this morning. I take a few hesitant steps toward his doors.

I’m going for it.

I’m going to take the high road, apologize, and pray we can both move on from this and resume our training. For twenty grand a month, I’m more than happy to swallow my pride.

“Dane?” When I enter, I see him standing by his window, a tumbler in his hand filled with amber liquid and stones. He turns around slowly, and the tiniest sliver of me swears his face lights up when he sees me, but it could easily be half wishful thinking and half my imagination.

“I’d tell you to come in, but you’re already here.”

“The doors were open.” I point behind me.

“Shut them.”

I follow his orders and amble up to his side, hanging my head. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He takes a generous sip and says nothing for a moment, just looks down at the traffic below.

“Why did you cry this morning, Bellamy?” he asks after a period of deafening silence. “I promised I’d never abuse or humiliate you, and I need to know what to do so it doesn’t happen again.”

“The accusation involving the family friend,” I say. “And the condescending tone. They were hurtful.”

“My delivery,” he says, “isn’t agreeable with everyone all the time. It’s something I’m aware of and something I have no intentions of overhauling anytime soon. But I respect that I should choose my words a bit more carefully around you. I’ll work on that.”

He leaves his empty glass on the window ledge, and I pick it up because it seems like something a sub might do. At the wet bar I rinse it out, pat it dry, and place it upside down on a towel.