"Goodnight, Belle," I said, my voice betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath.
I turned and walked toward the door. As I reached the threshold, I found Marcus waiting just outside, his expression carefully neutral but I knew he missed nothing.
"A word," I said to him as I passed, expecting him to follow.
We moved a short distance down the corridor, far enough that our conversation wouldn't be overheard. I turned to face him, keeping my voice low.
"Keep an eye on her," I instructed. "For security reasons."
Marcus's expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle flicker in his eyes as he tracked Belle’s form briefly before returning to me. She gathered her things with her friend's help. When his gaze returned to mine, I saw knowledge there that made me uncomfortable.
"Security reasons," he repeated, his tone flat but somehow still managing to convey skepticism.
"Yes," I replied firmly. "She was injured atThe Gray. We need to ensure there are no complications."
"Of course," Marcus said, his voice professional but I thought I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Any specific concerns I should be watching for?"
I hesitated, aware that what I wanted to say would be far beyond professional concern for an employee. I wanted him to make sure she got home safely, check that she had food, and to make sure there was adequate security.
"Just get eyes on," I said instead. "Let me know if she needs anything." I barely suppressed the wince. Yeah. Let me know if she needs anything. That wasn’t subtle at all.
Marcus nodded, but the look he gave me made it clear he understood more than I was saying. "I'll have someone drive them home and take them inside. Both of them." I was pretty sure he added the last to give me plausible deniability when Vittorio questioned me about this whole incident. Because I knew that conversation would be happening later.
"Good." As I walked away, I allowed myself one last glance back. Through the break room doorway, I could see Belle standing with her friend, her bandaged hand pressed against her chest. Her expression was a complex mixture of confusion and relief. Was she that worried about losing her job? I’d have to look into her finances.
No! Not my business.
I forced myself to continue walking, to put distance between us before I did something foolish. The logical part of my brain, the part that had built an empire and had kept my family safe and in power for a long time, was screaming warnings at me. She was an employee. She was young, vulnerable. She knew nothing of my world or of who I really was. Nothing about her should have caught my attention.
Yet something deeper, something I thought I'd killed years ago, refused to be silenced. It whispered that her eyes were the truest thing I'd seen in years, that her trembling hands had touched me inside.
Marcus fell into step beside me as we approached the elevator that would take us back to the main floor. "You know," he said conversationally, "in the eight years I've known you, I've never seen you personally bandage anyone's wounds before."
"There's a first time for everything," I replied tersely, jabbing the elevator button with more force than necessary.
"Indeed there is," Marcus agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Indeed there is."
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, my reflection in the polished brass wall showing a man in perfect control. But beneath the expensive suit, beneath the cold expression and rigid posture, something had shifted. Something fundamental had changed in the space of a single evening, and I wasn't entirely sure I could — or wanted — to go back.
As the elevator doors closed, I knew with absolute certainty this wasn't the end. Whatever had begun tonight would continue, whether I willed it or not. The question was no longer if our paths would cross again, but when. And what would happen when they did.
Chapter Five
Belle
I carried a big plastic container of cookies as I approachedThe Gray. The cuts on my palm were nothing more than stinging irritations, but I thought they might be less irritating if I kept them bandaged. The cookies weren't much, just simple chocolate chip, but they were the only peace offering I could think of after last night's disaster. Every time I closed my eyes, I still saw those thousands of dollars worth of scotch crashing to the floor, still felt the burning shame of kneeling in the puddle while everyone watched. And that was on top of leaving my coworkers in the middle of a shift.
Then there was Dario Luca himself, his blue eyes intense as he'd bandaged my cut hand, his touch sending electricity through my body in a way I wasn't prepared to examine too closely and wasn’t sure I welcomed. There was no scenario where going down that road led to my happiness.
I'd spent half the night baking which probably compounded the whole leaving early because of an injury thing only to spendthe night baking. I’d over-thought trying to bake something as a peace offering, too. I was still shocked I hadn't been fired on the spot.
The employee entrance loomed before me, tucked discreetly at the basement level of the grand building. I shifted the container to my uninjured hand and punched in my code, slipping inside an hour before my shift started.
I made my way toward the break room, my pulse quickening with each step. What if everyone was talking about me? What if they resented me for getting special treatment? The bandage on my palm felt like a spotlight, announcing my mistake and the unprecedented attention it had earned me from the boss.
"What's that?" asked one of the barbacks, Ricky, as I pushed through the break room door, nodding at my tray. I knew the guy and had brought him and his work husband, Ray, gingerbread cookie bars once. Ever since, the pair looked out for me. They said I could pay them in cookies.
"I just... I wanted to apologize for last night," I said, holding out the container. "I made cookies."
