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I pull open the door to my apartment, Beckham leaning partially against my doorway.
His hair is mussed, his tie loosened, and there’s a bottle of wine in his hand and a pathetic attempt of a smile on his full lips.
“Hey,” he says. “I owe you an apology.”
“Yes, you do.” I can’t hide the smile that threatens to break across my lips so I step aside and open the door wider, motioning for him to come inside.
He steps through the doorway, his imposing figure making my open concept kitchen and living room suddenly feel incredibly small.
He looks around the room. “I like your place.”
“Yeah? Not exactly a penthouse.” I take the wine from his hand as he leans down to untie his shoes, kicking them to the side of my door. It’s a mundane action, something we do as humans every day, but for some reason it strikes me as intimate.
“Penthouses are overrated.”
“How so?”
I stand on my tiptoes to reach my wineglasses when I feel him standing right behind me. His hand rests softly against the exposed skin of my waist from my outstretched arm, his other reaching up to grab the glasses for me, placing them on the counter next to us.
“They’re cold and lonely, high above the rest of the world. They make you believe you’re keeping the rest of the world out, but in reality, you’re keeping yourself locked in.” He looks down at me as I spin around to face him, but his eyes aren’t focused on me. Even though he’s looking down at me, it’s like he’s looking through me. “Like a very expensive prison.”
“If given the chance, I think most would take your penthouse over my place any day.”
“I like your place. It’s warm and welcoming.” He doesn’t put any distance between us. His arms rest on my waist as he looks around, his eyes settling on the few framed photos of my mother and me and then to the various little candles and knickknacks that I’ve collected over the years. He smiles and looks back down at me. “It’s you.”
We stand so close, and even though it’s the end of the day, I can still smell his cologne. It’s very subtle but it’s there. I want to bury my face in his neck and never leave the warmth and comfort of his chest, but Chantelle’s words about one of us developing feelings and getting hurt echo in my brain.
“I’m sorry,” he says gently, his fingers brushing down my cheek. “I was angry and frustrated and I took it out on you and that was wrong.”
“Were you angry at me?”
He shakes his head. “No, darling. I was angry at the situation with Pierce. I don’t appreciate being lied to or dicked around.”
I’m gripping his shirt as his hands slide into my hair, tilting my head just enough so that his lips angle perfectly over mine. The kiss is sweet and warm, his lips covering mine. I want more but he breaks it, stepping away to grab the wine.
“Corkscrew?”
I open the drawer to the right of us and retrieve it. I hand it to him and he grabs it, along with my hand and looks at me.
“Am I forgiven?”
I shrug. “Maybe. You might have to do some more groveling later, which could include some serious lip service.”
“I’m always happy to offer lip service. It should probably take place from my knees, don’t you think?” He winks at me and it shoots right to my core. I want to grab the wine from his hand and tell him we can drink it later, but he looks like he could use it, and honestly, I really love just talking to him.
“So, I spoke with your father about the financial records, and I called Jack.”
“What happened?”
“Your father says he has no idea what’s going on and I do believe him. I know you might feel differently, but I’m going off my gut here and it’s telling me he’s not lying. He has no reason to skim from employees and he certainly wouldn’t risk his empire and reputation for a few hundred thousand.”
I nod. “That is true and makes more sense than where I was going with it. What about Jack? I mean, could it be him or maybe it’s just a regular accountant in the organization who’s found a way to hide their scam?”
“If I had to guess, that’s probably more accurate. Jack played coy, even had the audacity to insinuate that Jonas might know more than he’s leading on.”
“Are you serious?” My eyebrows practically jump off my forehead as I grab our glasses and Beckham pours the wine.
“I told him that I didn’t care who was doing it; I’m going to not only find out who it is but I’m going to fucking destroy them and make sure they face charges. How fucked do you have to be to steal from your own employees? I told him to get his shit sorted or I’m pulling the deal.”
