Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Charlie

I shouldn’t have used Bess as a human shield. It wasn’t fair to her, but I was desperate. And now that I had an excuse to touch her, my hands couldn’t get enough. The curve of her waist under my palm was so deliciously distracting that for a moment, all thoughts of shame vanished.

I led her to a table by the window and pulled out a chair for her. “A bit of everything, right? Wait here.”

“You don’t have to serve me.” She tried to get up, but I anticipated her move, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Please, let me. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“No.”

Heads turned as the others observed our interaction. Bess swallowed her protests and settled into the chair, playing her part, and I left to fetch her lunch. I made sure to include absolutely everything—Italian pastrami and cheeses, olives, and antipasto, with various breads.

I placed my haul in front of her and was rewarded by a shocked gasp. There was something so genuine about her, glimpses of childlike enthusiasm and moments of depth and clarity that drew me closer. I wanted to watch her face like one would observe a rare phenomenon, like northern lights, trying not to miss anything.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If it’s too much, I’ll go and straighten out everything with Ms. Whatshername.”

“Miranda,” she amended.

“See? I was close.” I grinned. I’d genuinely forgotten the woman. Name, face, everything.

“Then you better inform her entire table because she’s already passing the news.” She glanced over my shoulder, and I turned to follow her gaze.

Miranda and her three lunch companions turned back to their meals in such a hurry it was obvious they’d been gawking at us. Bess may have been right. If I went there to explain how I in fact was single, they’d latch on and never let go. I knew the type. They were wealthy, bored and horny. In a client meeting, I could have worked that to my advantage. Flirted enough to win them over, led them on a little but not too much… unless I was ready to get involved later. I hadn’t felt like doing that for a while, though. That game exhausted me and, in this environment, it felt like an irritating distraction—another thing draining my energy when I needed to focus on breaking through this creative block. Working with Bess.

I swallowed. “They’ll eat me alive.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be your fake girlfriend,” Bess said, taking a sip of orange juice. “Let them wonder why on earth you’d be with someone like me. I enjoy watching their heads explode.” She gave a wry smile, her eyes flicking at the other table.

“Why?”

My question made her jerk back. Pink blotches spread across her cheeks. “We both know I’m not your type.”

“How do you know my type?”

She evaded eye contact. “I… I guess I don’t. Apologies.”

Back to that polite bullshit? “Come on. You can say it. We’re friends. And fake lovers.”

Her reply was almost inaudible. “Can we change the subject?” She glanced at me, desperation glowing behind her eyes.

“No, Bess. We’re not going to change the subject. I have to crack this case, and I need you to be real with me. Offend me. I don’t care. But be honest.”

She looked so torn that I regretted my forceful tone. This wasn’t working. I was only pushing her further into her shell. The cheeky, brave woman I’d seen a glimpse of last night would forever disappear behind that veneer.

“You know we’re not really friends, don’t you?” She looked at me with sadness, head tilted, a cherry tomato dangling from the fork in her hand. “You’re the boss’s son.”

“I’m not George. I didn’t hire you and I can’t fire you.”

Her mouth dropped open as the realization took hold. Had she not understood this? “I know,” she said quickly, but I’d already seen behind the curtain.

I blew a deep breath. “You have no idea how little say I have.” I wanted to tell her everything, right there and then. The urge was so overwhelming I stuffed my mouth with three olives to keep quiet. To think. Because I knew she wasn’t ready. She didn’t know me. She didn’t trust me. If I told her she’d already been fired, she’d lose heart. All the work to unlock her creative thinking would be pointless if she was panicking about her future. She didn’t know George. My father could change his mind in an instant. We only needed to give him a reason. And I knew Bess had it in her. I’d long ago stopped questioning my intuition. I just went with it.

“Any further thoughts on the Thriver campaign?” I asked.

“Didn’t Leonie tell us to not think about the work stuff?” She winked.

Relief flooded my body upon seeing her smile. “I’m not big on following rules.”

“Why do you think she said that, though? They’ve been running these workshops for ten years. I read the online reviews—everyone says that if you commit to the program, it really works. When you focus on the exercises, your subconscious mind keeps working on those other problems and then suddenly, the answers come to you. It’s all about lowering your stress levels and distracting your brain so you don’t exhaust yourself hyper-focusing on the problem.”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You read the online reviews?”

“Of course. I wanted to understand how it works, and I like how it sounds. It probably works, in theory.”

“Not in practice?”

“Not for everyone. I mean, if you come here from a high-stress environment, even if you manage to relax a bit, you’ll be going back to your old life and old habits, right?”

“Possibly. But if you get one great idea, it might be worth millions. It’ll change your life forever”

She let out a sad laugh. “You and your million-dollar ideas.”

“They’re real,” I insisted. “Lots of people make millions with one decent idea.”

“Especially people who already have millions.” The inkling of defiance in her eyes excited me more than anything.

“Fair point.”

“Honestly, I don’t think anyone like me has ever attended this retreat. Not because I’m unique. There are billions of us who could never afford this sort of thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t tap into your creative thinking.”

“I guess not, but I can’t change my reality. I live in survival mode, Charlie. That’s my baseline. I’m not saying my life is horrible. It’s fine. I love my kid. I find joy in little things…. but the sort of creative thinking you do isn’t that important to me. Not anymore. I have to worry about other things, like making rent, keeping my car on the road, keeping my job…”

I tried not to visibly wince as she said that. “But, wouldn’t you rather advance your career? You could move from production to design or become an account manager. Better pay, better benefits.”

I didn’t even know how much she earned, but it couldn’t have been as much as the designers.

Bess fell quiet, staring at her half-empty plate. “It feels like a lot of responsibility. What if your ideas suck? What if everyone hates what you do?”

“Then you get sent to a retreat to get better ideas. It’s not that bad.” I gestured at the flaming red and yellow fall scenery outside the window.

“Well, it’s not like your dad will fire you.” She lifted a shoulder, a little cheeky, a little defiant. I almost cheered out loud.

“Maybe not. He prefers to keep me close so he can yell at me.”

“I’d get fired. I know that.” She shook her head, eyes wide.

“It’s the risk you have to take, isn’t it? If your job is to deliver ideas… stand-out, different, memorable ideas, you can’t play it safe. And that means some ideas will be too wild. Too crazy. That’s part of the deal. If you never hit it out of the park like that, you’re not being brave enough. You’re playing it safe.”

“What’s wrong with playing it safe?” She fixed me with a fiery gaze. “When you’re responsible for another human, keeping them safe and fed and warm. And for them to be safe, you have to be safe.” I saw her hands shake. She dropped her fork and hid them in her lap.

“Are you not feeling safe?” I asked. “What would happen if you lost your job? Would it be the end of the world? You’re so skilled. You’d find another job.”

She bit her lip, staring out the window.

“Tell me, Bess. Help me understand. I’m aware of my privilege, and I know it’s the biggest roadblock for me with this campaign. I don’t get it, but you do. Your reality is different, isn’t it? There’s a reason you’re not that chill about finding another job.” I was shooting in the dark, but as her eyes flashed with pain, I knew I’d hit something.

A cold sensation engulfed my stomach before she even opened her mouth. I needed to hear this, but could I handle it?

“Listen, Charlie. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise you won’t make me your project… or charity case. Nothing like that, okay?”

“Okay,” I managed, my windpipe tightening.

Bess finally looked me in the eye, those deep greens holding a film of tears that wouldn’t spill. “I was married. My husband died, and I was left with the debt from our failed startup business. I sold everything of value, but I couldn’t cover it, and now I’m dealing with the debt collection agency, compounding interest and all those fun things. I have to make the weekly payments. I have to. I’m not able to save much, so I wouldn’t survive unemployment. I don’t have enough to bridge the gap. Not right now. I have nothing left to sell. But I’m saving as much as I can and taking extra jobs on the side.” She cast a half-horrified look at me. “Small business stuff, people who couldn’t afford to work with the agency. I’d never?—”

“Relax. I’m not going to report you.”

Her shoulders dropped. “Anyway, I haven’t had much extra work and it’s hard to find the time. But I’m okay, I really am. If I can keep my job, I can keep making the payments and everything will be fine.” Her eyes glowed with resolve, and she resumed eating, wiping her plate clean with a piece of bread.

I pushed my plate aside. I’d suddenly lost my appetite. Bess needed her job more than I’d ever needed anything. A job she’d already lost. In that moment, everything made sense. Her willingness to jump through any hoop, her fear of putting a foot wrong with me.

“Thank you for trusting me with… that,” I said clumsily. I wanted to say ‘her story’ but it didn’t feel like a proper story, only a depressing litany of facts. “The debt collection agency… how are they operating? Are we talking about threatening letters or a man with a shotgun?”

Bess tried to smile. “So far, it’s just been letters. But I know if I miss any payments, they’ll come to collect anything I have, starting with my laptop, which is not worth much to them, but to me…”

“It’s your one chance to make more money?”

“Exactly.”

“So, if you lose your job, you’ll lose your laptop and can’t use your skills to do any freelance work while you’re looking for another one?”

She nodded. “It’s not the best scenario.”

My lunch tried to travel upwards. “You can’t ask me to not do anything now that I know. I mean, I can get you another laptop. I can?—”

“Charlie. You promised. No charity.” Her eyes were hard. “I have skills and I work for everything I have. That won’t change.”

“But—”

“No.”

With great difficulty, I closed my mouth and nodded. She wouldn’t accept any offer. Not now. But I couldn’t let this nightmare play out for her or her daughter. I’d find a way.