He recalls his latest negative tabloid sensation—the one that days ago had Ward in a tither.

Our eyes lock over our joined hands. “My beautiful friend, both stories are false. But to the media-hungry world, they’re in print.”

“Therefore they must be true,” I conclude sadly. “I’ll never understand how you do it every day.”

“Do what?”

“Go out there with such a devil-may-care attitude.”

Becks’s lips quirk before he turns to fully face me. “Probably because I listen to only about thirty percent of what they have to say about me.”

“Becks…”

“And when I land on the front page, I pay Carrie an epic amount of money to handle it for me. Unless it’s in good fun.” He winks before concluding, “Then I let it ride. Kind of like calling David ‘Dave.’”

I grin. “You’re a menace of a good man, Becks.”

He contemplates that before nodding. “I like the way that sounds.”

“You would.”

“Well, now that I’ve made sure you’re smiling, is there someone for me to talk with?” His smile turns sheepish.

I prop my hand on my chin. “What did you get into this time? Or should I say who?”

“It’s a where, beauty. I was at Redemption. I might have deliberately slammed into some reporters on my way out last night.” He lifts his shoulders in a careless shrug that just shows off his custom-made suit. “They may have been holding recording devices.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“That I am.” When his true smile is aimed at me, I understand why half of the population of the globe would love to be in the position I am right now. Beckett Miller is just adorable.

“I’ve heard Redemption’s amazing.” I change the topic before Becks gets lost on listing his redeeming qualities.

“I keep offering…” he starts before a rude cough sounds behind us.

And there he is. Dark eyes. Thick hair mussed like he’s had a rough night of his own. But at least he made it in before noon, I think a bit uncharitably.

“Did you need something, Becks?” Ward addresses Becks directly after running his eyes up and down me so quickly as if he’s confirming I’m properly dressed in my school uniform. Not that I want Ward turning those dark, slumberous eyes my way, but being polite to the person who’s responsible for your schedule is considered good form. Especially when I could make it so booked he doesn’t have time to use the restroom.

Becks narrows his eyes to blast the younger man, but I give him a sharp shake of my head. I don’t need the additional attention any day, but most especially not today. “Fine.” And I know that’s for both me and Ward. “Until later, beauty,” Becks advises me as he follows Ward through the heavy wood doors.

I curve my lips at Becks, earning myself a blinding glare from Ward, who turns to open the door. Becks taps his phone and winks. Right. My cell’s off. I open my desk and pull out my phone. When I turn it on, it immediately starts vibrating in my hand. Then my countenance softens when I see the one from Becks. Dinner at Carys and David’s tonight. We’re not taking no for an answer. We’ll make certain you get back to your hideaway.

I hold the phone to my chest for just a moment, grateful that the people I work with actually know who I am and care about what today means to me. Just as the euphoria washes over me, a new text comes in from Sula.

Are you okay? I saw the news about XMedia. Call me as soon as you can.

No, I’m not, I think grimly. But I really have no choice. And I make a mental note to call Sula at some point during the day if possible. I send her a quick text back, letting her know I’ll contact her later—that we’re in crisis mode at work with no internet. Her laughing emoji does much to lift my spirits even as I groan. “What a freaking morning.”

The door behinds me flies open, and a triumphant Carys comes out. “We have phones! We have internet! Angie, can you please get Zapatta back on the line and apologize profusely before seeing if we can salvage any of this day?”

“You bet, Carys.” Shoving my cell to the side, I reboot my computer. Ignoring the quiet buzz, I use our business communication platform, get an outside line, and get Z’s representatives back on the line. After abjectly apologizing for the communications breakdown, they get the profanity-loving Grammy-winning artist back on the line.

I can’t help but grin when his first word to me is “Fuck.”

“Let me get Burke for you.”

“Yeah, let’s fuckin’ do that.”

I’m sure we’ll enjoy this conversation over dinner tonight. And knowing my friends care enough about me to put aside any small differences they may have to get me through today, I manage to get through the rest of today with a smile on my face.

Not fear in my heart.