Chapter 20

Beck

Three sharp raps to my office door have me raising my head and blinking my bleary eyes. I rub my fingers over them, happy for the break from reading code.

“Come in,” I say gruffly, picking up the bottle of mineral water on my desk and taking a long swig.

The door swings open and JT walks in. He looks…different. Instead of the normal custom-tailored, three-thousand-dollar suit he wears with diamond cuff links, he’s got on a pair of dark jeans and a burgundy cashmere sweater. He never dresses casual for the office and it catches me off guard, because JT likes to flaunt his money, and nothing says money like Armani.

I immediately notice his eyes are clear and his pupils are normal, and I wince internally that this has become my standard practice whenever I see him. He shoots me a grin and says, “What’s up, bro?”

“Not much,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Just reviewing some code for the new platform. It’s a bit buggy.”

“I saw the mock-ups last week,” he says as he sits down in one of the guest chairs opposite my desk. He props an ankle on the opposite knee and relaxes back casually. He looks almost…carefree.

This should make me happy, but rather makes me suspicious. I wince again, because I’m supposed to be giving him a second chance.

“Good holiday weekend?” he asks, his eyes bright with interest.

“Um…yeah. Caroline and Ally came to visit for a few days, and Sela and I just hung out around the city this weekend. You?”

“I spent it up at my folks’ place in Windsor. Just relaxing with them. Actually had time to read a book.”

JT’s parents have a winery estate in the Sonoma Valley. It actually produces, but it’s more of a vacation home than anything for them, and they only use it sporadically, preferring to spend most of their time at their home in Sausalito. JT’s family made their money in tech but they have their fingers in several pies.

I cock an eyebrow at JT. “You just went there and relaxed? Read a book?”

“I had some wine and cheese too,” he says with a wink. “And turkey, of course.”

I shake my head and try not to smile at his winsome ways. I know he’s trying to show me the new JT, but it seems odd to me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen this I’m having a bit of a hard time trusting it.

“Did Karla get that agreement to you last Monday?” he asks, his expression turning serious. “You never said anything.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

It’s sitting in my desk right now under lock and key. Karla brought a copy to me, sealed in an envelope, as soon as I walked in that Monday morning after I met with JT. I grimace in distaste at what I’d read, but if the signature on the document is real, then that Sugar Baby clearly had a seriously kinky side that she wanted JT to indulge her in.

I didn’t accept the agreement on its face. I looked up the Sugar Baby on the database—Melissa Fraye—and compared her photo to the woman I remembered that night at the mixer. It was the same. I even pulled up the scanned photo of her Sugar Baby agreement with us, and the signatures matched.

That did not ease my conscience completely though. I know way too much about computers and graphics, and know exactly how easy it is to pirate a signature off one document and place it on the other. I know I shouldn’t be concerned. I know I should give JT the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t help but fucking remembering Sela’s words and how assured she’d sounded that morning when I came back and told her about my meeting with JT.

I don’t believe it.

I don’t trust him.

It wasn’t consensual.

Her doubt in him makes me still doubt to some degree, and I have to marvel at the way in which I seem to trust her but not a man I’ve known for far longer.

A man I have far many more ties and memories with than I do a woman I’ve known for a little less than a month. JT and I go back for years. Our parents did business together. He came to all of my ostentatious birthday parties, and I went to his. We skied together in Tahoe on winter breaks, and backpacked together in Europe. Prep school days, Stanford. Next to Caroline and Ally, he’s the person I was closest to in the world.

Beyond all of that, JT and I share a bond that Sela can’t comprehend and that is deeper than even what she and I will ever have.

A sudden spark of guilt hits me hard, that at some point I had forgotten that. When JT went off track, I just let myself get consumed by my career and building this business. I ignored his partying and turned my nose up at the Sugar Babies he’d burn through. I figured it was his due, I guess, and only when it got to a breaking point did I bother to take the fucking time to do something about it.

Maybe…just maybe if I’d paid a little bit better attention, and been a friend a little earlier, I could have pulled him back from the brink a little quicker.

“Those look like some deep thoughts, dude,” JT says, and I blink my eyes, bringing him into focus. His head is tilted, looking at me with amusement.

I shake my head and give him a confident smile. “Nah…just still thinking about the code I was reviewing.”

Not about to tell him that I’m having a hard time buying this nice-guy act.

“Remember that time you and Barry Kratzel were building that…what the fuck was that program…the one where it would measure a woman’s ability to be a one-night stand?”

I snorted and then a laugh popped out. “Yeah. We thought it was brilliant. Luckily our professor did too, but I think that was only because he was recently separated from his wife and was hoping like hell it worked.”

JT laughs right along with me, the laugh lines around his squinted eyes looking natural and without the calculation that I normally see. “I tried that stupid thing out and hooked up with that crazy girl in my econometrics class. Your fucking program told me I had a 99.3 percent chance of her not caring that I didn’t call her the next day.”

Grinning at JT, I remember that with fondness. It was a program I’d created my freshman year in a course entitled Reliable Algorithms. I used my buds in the fraternity to beta test it. It was an app where you could be out on a date, take a piss break after you’d had some time to talk to the girl, and answer a series of ten questions based on what you’d learned so far. It would then spit out odds on her being the perfect one-night stand. We didn’t really think it had much practical application outside of drunk college students, but figured it would impress our professor.

We got an A on the project.

JT banged a girl who ended up stalking him for almost a month before she finally got the hint he wasn’t interested after their one night together.

“Those were the good ol’ days,” JT says, turning his head to look out the window with a slightly regretful tone in his voice.

“Yeah, they were,” I agree softly.

JT clears his throat and stands up from the chair, turning to look back at me. “So, listen…I’ve got Sam putting together a proposal for us to consider. It’s for a start-up based out of Santa Clara, and they’re developing software that will read facial expressions.”

“I read about that a few weeks ago,” I say with a nod. “It’s supposed to analyze emotional responses consumers have to certain products.”

“Yeah…it looks very promising. I want you to take a look at it and give me your thoughts.”

I blink my eyes in surprise. JT never runs this shit past me. At first I didn’t care, because he’s the one with the MBA and is the king of investing, but it appears he may be truly trying to forge a stronger partnership with me.

“Sure, be glad to,” I say with a smile of gratitude.

“Cool,” he says, and turns toward the door. When he reaches for the knob, he turns back and says, “Are you and Sela interested in getting together for dinner sometime soon? I’d like to learn more about this woman who seems to have taken you off the market.”

I study his face carefully, trying to see if there is an ulterior motive. Perhaps sleazy intent. At the very least, too creepy of an interest. Instead, he looks back at me with open friendliness and I decide to finally give one to him.

“Yeah…that would be great,” I say with a smile. “How about Saturday?”

“Perfect,” JT says with a grin. “That will give me time to find a presentable date of the non–Sugar Baby variety.”

“Really trying to turn over a new leaf, huh?”

God, I hope that didn’t sound too shitty.

JT just laughs and nods. “I told you, bro. I’m getting my shit together, and I’m sure my mom won’t have any problem finding me a nice, young socialite with a perfect pedigree for me to bring along.”

“Sounds lovely,” I say dryly.

“Dude…you know it’s not, but I don’t want to feel like a third wheel, so I’m going to go call my mother right now.”

“Can’t wait to meet the future Mrs. Jonathon Townsend,” I say with a laugh.

JT grimaces and shakes his head, but there’s amusement on his face. “Later,” he says, and then he’s gone.

I glance at my watch. Only 3:45 p.m. and I wonder what Sela’s doing. Her classes don’t start back up until tomorrow, so I’m thinking she’s probably home all alone and needing some company. I glance back to the code, knowing I need to get this done.

Back to my watch and think of Sela.

Fuck the code. I can work on it later tonight after she falls asleep.

I flip through the mail as I walk to the condo door. A small cream envelope with my name and address written in emerald green calligraphy stares up at me. I grimace and open it, knowing what it is and yet still feeling compelled to read it.

The honor of your presence is requested to join Mr. and Mrs. Beckett W. North, Sr., as we celebrate the Christmas holiday with our friends and family…

Jesus. I hate getting these things.

There are two functions every year that I’m expected to make an appearance at. First is my father’s birthday, which is in June, and the second is their annual Christmas party. While my relationship with my parents is tenuous at best, arcticlike cold at its worst, I do try to accommodate these functions. My father, who is an investment advisor and a very good one at that, has an immense backlist of helpful business contacts, and I’d be a fool not to take advantage of at least that opportunity.

I’m surprised when I see a handwritten note at the bottom in black ink. I recognize my mom’s handwriting: Beck…we look forward to seeing you soon. Perhaps encourage Caroline to attend.

I bark out a laugh at the ludicrousness of that statement and tuck the stack of mail under my arm. I guarantee you that Caroline threw the card unopened into the trash the minute she saw the calligraphy and return address. She has no need of our father’s business pull and she sure as shit has no need for her parents. They failed her when she needed them the most and she’ll never forgive that.

Neither will I for that matter, but I’ll probably attend anyway. I’m sure Sela would be happy to go with me, and that will make it at least tolerable.

I unlock the condo door, my blood firing at the prospect of seeing her. It’s like I can feel her presence just on the other side, and my heart races as my body tightens all over. It’s a feeling I won’t ever get used to, and don’t ever want to anyway.

I push the door open, feel the utter silent stillness, and then my eyes immediately come to Sela as I see her sitting in an overstuffed white leather chair near the window. It normally doesn’t belong there but rather flanks one side of the black marble fireplace, and she clearly dragged it over there. Her bare feet are curled up underneath of her, and her head is resting on the back of the chair with her face tilted toward the enormous wall of windows. She’s staring out over the Bay, and in her right hand, she loosely holds a utility knife.

She doesn’t even turn to acknowledge me.

“Hey,” I say as I set the mail down on the table and drop my keys on top of it. As I shut the door, she turns to look at me and her face is a blank canvas. Normally I’m greeted with a soft smile. Often she’ll walk up to me, hips swaying before giving me a sweet kiss on my lower jaw.

Now she just looks at me impassively, not even surprised to see me standing there.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low with a morose tinge.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes dropping to the utility knife.

She looks down at it, her thumb rubbing over the plastic handle. “Nothing,” she says vaguely. “I was getting ready to open up some of my boxes.”

Sela and I went to her apartment on Sunday and she packed up more of her stuff to move in. It was mostly the rest of her clothing, books, and a few framed photos of her family. Three boxes in all and they sat in the corner of the living room untouched.

Something about Sela sitting there, looking sadly out the window with a box cutter in her hand seems terrifying to me. She looks small and alone, and despite the bright light pouring in, seems to be filled with darkness.

I walk over to her, skirting the couch and coffee table. When I reach the chair, I squat down in front of her, placing my hands on her thighs. She stares down at me, her face revealing nothing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

A small smile comes to her face. She reaches her free hand out and touches the tips of her finger to my jaw before they fall away. “Nothing. Just sitting here enjoying the view.”

My head turns to look out at the dark bay waters sparkling with the rays of today’s unusually bright sun. I turn back to her. “You look sad,” I observe.

“Pensive,” she offers instead.

“About what?”

Sela shrugs. “Lots of things.”

“Not helpful,” I say with a small smile, and I’m heartened when she returns it.

“What are you doing home so early?” she asks, not sounding the least surprised and in a suave change of subjects. Or maybe it’s just that her voice sounds dull, matching the gray that seems to be emanating from her.

“Thought I’d come spend time with you,” I tell her, my thumbs stroking her legs through her denim jeans.

And suddenly, a little color comes back into the picture as she gives me a sweet smile, her head tilted to the side. She uncurls her legs, which dislodges my hands. I stand up, and she does the same, stepping into my body. She presses her cheek to my chest and wraps her arms tight around my waist.

“I’m glad,” she whispers.

I squeeze her affectionately, rubbing my hand into her lower back. “What do you want to do?”

She doesn’t hesitate a moment. Pulling back, she drops the utility knife to the hardwood floor where it clatters unceremoniously, and tucks her fingers underneath my belt buckle. Giving me a tug, she turns toward the hallway that leads to our bedroom.

“I want to fuck,” she says simply, and who am I to deny her?

I follow her back.