Chapter 8

Tyson had decided to hire a car rather than take a cab, and dashed in and out of the town limits to show her the many different aspects of the packages they had on offer.

They ate at Pascha, the Michelin-starred restaurant he’d told her about. Dining on a succulent leg of lamb in a cranberry coulis and finishing up with a tiramisu that knocked his socks off for lunch.

As they ate, he told her the details of the packages. The lengths the company went to to get the best prices for their corporate clients, and the perks for the upper management that came as part of the pricing structure.

“It seems an expensive luxury.”

“It is,” he conceded immediately. There was no bullshitting her - she spoke the truth. “But look at the likes of Google. Their offices are more than just a place of work. They’ve incorporated psychological techniques to improve the workforce… Happy staff makes for incredible productivity. And productivity is all that matters.”

She grimaced at his wording.

“What did I say?” he asked, when she remained silent.

“I’ve been having a problem with that recently.”

“With your design team?”

“No. The Legal department if anything,” Bernadette said with a huff as she savored a bite of tiramisu. She pulled a face as she admitted, “I’ve been on a diet. It makes me pissy.”

His grin was quick as a flash. “They’re used to you being a lot nicer to them, huh?”

“I guess,” she said, ducking her gaze. “I don’t expect a lot. Just for them to get their job done on time, you know?”

“Have you looked into… what was his name? Robert? Have you looked into his personal life?”

“Why would I?” she demanded with a scowl. “That’s his personal life. It’s got nothing to do with his work life.”

“Ahh, but it does, Birdie.”

She just cocked a brow and took another bite of tiramisu.

Tyson ran a finger around the edge of his glass. The crystal sung at his touch - she had a feeling the crystal, if it could have a gender, was female.

Most things with ovaries probably sang at his touch.

“How big’s Grafix now?” Tyson asked softly.

“We have a four hundred strong team.”

His eyes widened. “Wow. I didn’t realize it was so expansive.”

“We’re looking to expand more over the next four years actually. We went from a two-girl band to a few dozen workers practically overnight. The rest has been organic growth. Supply and demand, you know? When Tor came on board, things went through the roof, and that’s why the numbers will start increasing again.

“We’ve only just been processing their branding. Eventually, we’ll be handling all their graphic requirements. From adverts to all aspects of their marketing campaigns.”

“Wow,” he repeated, his astonishment evident.

She'd have been pissed at his surprise, but… “I know. I still have to pinch myself from time to time too. It all seems too crazy, but that's my life now.”

Bernadette continued, "What made you ask though?”

“Have you thought about hiring a psychologist? A resident one? It might be wise to check on the mental health of your employees. High stress environments can be triggers for all kinds of things.” He shrugged. “It might seem a holistic approach, but if you care for your people, that will be reflected in the work they do for you.”

She pursed her lips, “I’ll have Emily look into it.”

Tyson smiled, apparently pleased she was going to take his idea on board.

Truth was, she’d been thinking something similar of late.

Robert had always been a little slow. But this time? He’d been way off base.

A man didn’t go from hero to zero without there being a reason.

Emily would have told her if there was a problem between members of the staff, which had her deducing his private life - which she wholeheartedly believed was none of her business - was the source of his deterioration.

Which meant the personal side of his world was affecting her business, whether she liked it or not. It seemed that finding a happy medium was required.

As she finished up the last of her tiramisu, she’d asked, “Where to next?”

Tyson showed her the slopes, then took her back to the hotel for an early evening drink before they were due to head to their room to change for dinner and some more sightseeing.

“She’s practically stripping you, Tyson,” Bernadette complained halfheartedly, pointing out the almost-drooling bartender who served them their drinks.

“Can you blame her?” he retorted, making her chuckle.

The man’s ego was way too healthy, and though it should have been unappealing, it actually wasn’t.

He was sweet. Always had been. Thoughtful.

So unlike a regular jock that she’d always suffered whiplash around him.

How could one person be so popular, so kind, so able to slip between the many different cliques in high school, and all without losing himself in the confusing quagmire?

“What are you looking at?” he asked softly, his voice husky as he watched her watching him.

“I’m just processing the new you, that’s all.”

He smirked. “The bigger and better model, huh?”

She whacked his arm. “Don’t be a jerk.” He winked, and she snorted. “Not that you ever were. I used to be so envious of your ability to be like a chameleon. Comfortable wherever you were.”

“It was all a façade, Birdie,” he said quietly, after a few seconds of silence.

“What do you mean? You haven’t changed at all. You’re the same. As at ease with me, talking business, as you are asking the sommelier to recommend the best wine without him bullshitting you into buying the most expensive bottle in the house…”

Tyson shrugged, swirled the ice around his tumbler, and took a sip of his Scotch. “You know we moved around a lot when I was a kid.”

“Army brat,” she confirmed.

“Well, when that happens, you can either drown in the tide, or you can be the tidal wave. I preferred to be the latter… That was one part of my life I could control - who I was friends with. My dad controlled every other fucking aspect." His voice was so grim, Bernadette’s stomach tightened in response. "Want to know a secret?”

She blinked at him. “Sure. Anything.”

“I hated football.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You have to be joking.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Hated it then, hate it now. With a fucking passion.” He jerked a shoulder. “Dad wanted me to get a scholarship, and as I was good at the game, that was where I had to focus my attention. Everything I did, he had to control. I hated him so much when I was a kid. I think it could have turned me bitter, but instead, I just wanted to be friends with everyone, you know? It was like, that side of my world was miserable, the rest didn’t have to be too.”

Astonished, she whispered, “That’s…”

“What?” he asked edgily, eying her bemused expression.

“I don’t even know,” she replied, then reached for her Long Island Iced Tea, and took a deep drink from the glass. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know.”

That hurt. Badly.

He seemed to see that because he reached over and pressed a hand to her knee. Squeezing, he murmured, “Don’t be sad, Birdie. I didn’t mean to hide it from you. If there was anyone I would have told, it would have been you, but I just… it’s hard. Your parents were always so relaxed with you. I knew you’d never understand.”

She snorted. “They were when it came to school.”

Tyson frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, do you know why I constantly used to diet? Still do?” When he shook his head, she whispered, “My mom did, and still does, undermine me every chance she gets. The fact I haven’t got a boyfriend isn’t because my free time is limited. No, it’s because I wear a size twelve.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m over it now, kind of. But we should have told each other about what we were going through. It would probably have made us feel less alone.”

He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It would have.”

Bernadette studied him as he bowed his head, his gaze on the amber liquid in the glass. There was a strain about his eyes, and his jaw was tense. The seams of his sweater strained once more as he rounded his shoulders in the slouch position he sat in.

His handsomeness took her breath away. So tall, so dark, and so damn male she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

His eyes were like periwinkles. So bright and dazzling, they were like jewels in his swarthy face. He had an obstinate jaw that housed firm lips; the bottom one was wide and made for kissing. His nose was strong, almost Roman but saved from severity thanks to the many breaks he’d experienced over the years - back when they'd been best friends, he'd broken it at least three times then. His brow was high, and a widow’s peak dissected it. Dark brown hair with loose brushed back waves on top.

The look made him seem so male, she could empathize entirely with the drooling barmaid. “Don’t go out of my life, Tyson. When we get back to Seattle, I mean,” she asked him softly, aware that the words came out of nowhere and that there was a plea to her voice. Maybe she was being pathetic, but the notion of having found him, and then losing him again was more than she could bear. A notion which blindsided her at that moment.

He reared back at that, and then surprised her by not shrugging off her serious words. Instead he stared straight into her eyes as he said, his words a promise, "I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since she’d seen his name and photo in his company’s brochure, she felt like she could breathe again. Why that was, she didn't even want to think about.