: Chapter 6

I rub at the Cartier ring my father’s assistant sent me in the mail on his behalf for my high school graduation and yawn while my second cup of coffee gurgles in the fifteenth floor’s break room Keurig.

Sleep for the last week has been…tricky. Between Avery coming home at all hours of the night and the intense awareness of Beau being nothing more than a wall away now that he’s moved in next door to us, my circadian rhythm has been bouncing off the walls. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s gone from circadian to straight-up cicada. The noisy little bastards.

“Hey, Juni,” Beau’s smooth voice greets, startling me so hard I bang my knee against the cabinet in front of me, trying to stand up.

“Ow,” I groan, grabbing at the joint and biting my lip so hard it almost pops. A million trashy words run through my mind as I try to subdue the blinding pain and embarrassment, but Beau does me the favor of saying one aloud.

“Fuck, June, are you okay?”

I nod manically to shake it off. “Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah. Totally fine.”

“Are you sure? Let me see it,” Beau insists, hunching over toward my black pencil skirt to take a look.

Hah. No. One touch from Beau on my bare leg and the only work I’ll be doing today will be done remotely, from the clouds.

“I’m fine. Really.” I tap his shoulder to stand him up again and smile through the burn. “Clumsy, but fine. I just didn’t get as much sleep as I should have last night.”

His barely there dimple sinks into his cheek as he leans his ass against the kitchenette counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Avery have you out at the club again?”

“Nope.” I shake my head, take my now coffee-filled mug from the Keurig, and try to concentrate on adding some sugar and cream to it. You’d think it’d be an easy task, but nothing is easy for me when Beau Banks is around. Not to mention, my knee still stings like a son of a bitch. “I was in bed early, just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.”

His brows draw together, forming a tiny wrinkle at the top of his straight nose. “Oh, man. I didn’t hear anyone over there at all. I guess the walls are pretty soundproof.”

He chuckles and I swallow hard. It’s hard to hear someone you don’t even know exists half the time. Funnily enough, I heard every freaking move he made. I swear, if I’d let myself listen any closer, I’d probably know his bladder’s schedule.

I take a sip of my freshly made coffee and recoil immediately. Good grief. How many freaking sugars did I put in this thing?

“Still not a huge fan of coffee, huh?” Beau asks as I rub at my now-watering eyes.

“What?”

“During the Summer No-Sleepathon,” he explains with the kind of handsome smile that has the power to make me lose brain cells. “Avery made you do it that time my parents were out of town when you were, what…fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” I correct, the memory catapulting over me like an avalanche.

The summer after Avery’s and my freshman year of high school, Neil and Diane went out of town. For the first time ever, instead of getting an official sitter, Beau was in charge of watching us since he was home from college. He had Bethany and Henry and Seth and some of his other friends over to surf and hang out, and Avery and I clung to the lot of them like a couple of groupies. For some reason, she got it in her head that we shouldn’t sleep at all, so we wouldn’t miss even a minute of our newfound independence. When things got really dire, she started force-feeding me coffee at a criminal pace.

Adult Juniper likes coffee just fine—enjoys it, actually—but letting Beau think I’m still coffee averse is way less embarrassing than admitting I’m so distracted by every freaking facet of his being that I can’t even fix it right.

Instead of correcting him, I smile. “I had no idea adulthood would feel so similar to a no-sleep challenge from childhood.”

“Yeah.” Beau snorts. “Just wait a few years. I was up until almost one a.m. trying to figure out the inner workings of the Midnight app.”

Sadly, I already knew this information. I can literally hear him through my bedroom wall. I’d say it’s borderline stalker behavior, but it’s hard to be a stalker from your own bedroom, you know? Like, I’m not actually trying to listen to him. At least, not that closely.

A small laugh escapes my lips—half embarrassed that I know too much and the fact that I think Beau’s hilarious. And smart. And sexy. And funny. And perfect. Even though it’s always a dangerous move, I let myself meet the soft, warm, ooey, gooey chocolate-chip-cookie depths of his eyes. “I guess the older you get, the harder technology—”

“Beau,” a voice calls from the door of the break room, robbing me of the opportunity to linger in his beautiful gaze and handsome smile or finish my sentence. His assistant Natalie is leaning around the doorjamb, urgency in her smile. “Golfate Capital is waiting on a call for you.”

“Right,” Beau says, shoving away from the counter and dismissing himself with a wave. I watch as he leaves, long enough to study his firm ass until it’s fully out the door, and then dump the truly offensive cup of coffee down the drain. I load the mug in the break room dishwasher, scoop up the file Neil gave me fifteen minutes ago, and walk into the hallway. I have a million copies to make, and stopping for a cup of coffee wasn’t supposed to take more than a minute or two.

I wasn’t counting on getting caught in Beau’s vortex of perfection, of course, but I can’t say that I regret the time. Even when I’m a bumbling idiot in his presence, it’s better than not being in his presence at all.

And yes, I’m fully aware of how pathetic I am.

I power past my cubicle, rubbing at my cheeks aggressively to rid them of the scorching-fire feeling that’s settled beneath my skin. The adrenaline dump of five whole minutes alone with Beau has me wide awake, but my rosy face tells the tale of its price. Maybe it’s Maybelline? More like, maybe it’s Beau.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Avery calls toward me, jogging to catch up with me as I move toward the hallway that leads to the copy room. “Where’s the fire?” she says through a laugh. “There’s no way in hell you’re just going to walk past my desk and not say hello, friend.”

“Ave, I live with you.” A sigh escapes my lungs, but I keep walking. “I see you every day. Hell, we rode to work together this morning.”

She falls into step beside me, our high heels making a muffled clip-clop on the carpeted hall. “Yeah, but it’s been, like, three hours since then, and mama’s got a hankering for some chips and queso. Let’s go get lunch.”

“No.” I shake my head on a laugh as she shimmies her shoulders and shakes her long, dark hair excitedly.

“Please, June!” She holds both of her hands together as if she’s going to start praying to Jesus right here in the middle of the office. “You know how all-consuming my food cravings get. I’ll be thinking about chips and queso all freaking day! I won’t be able to work.”

“You won’t be able to work if we’re at lunch either,” I retort. “And I’m too busy. I have to get your dad these copies, and then Seth wants me to be available as a runner for his team meeting in thirty minutes.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You act like that stuff is more important than chips and queso, and I know my best friend wouldn’t dare be so blasphemous about our favorite snack.”

I laugh. “Of course not. You know I’d drown myself in cheese dip if given a good opportunity, but Ave, I actually care about this job.”

She wrinkles up her nose. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” I say, stopping slightly to shake her shoulder with my one free hand. “I know it’s a foreign concept, but if I wanted an easy road, I would have just worked for my father.”

“Ohhhh!” she exclaims with eyes dancing. “Maybe that’s what we should do! We should quit this job and go work for your dad. He’d let us get away with anything, and we could swim in queso every day!”

“Avery, honey,” I say, voice cajoling. “I’m going to go make these copies for your dad, okay?”

“Ugh. You’re so boring.” She blows out a breath. “What am I supposed to do now?”

I shrug. “Work?”

“Yuck! No thanks,” she scoffs. “Oh! I know. I’ll go get a spray tan. Want to come?”

“Nope,” I call over my shoulder, purposely heading back on my path, down the hallway and toward the copy room. She flashes me the finger and then blows me a kiss before retreating back down the hall toward our cubicles, destination God knows where.

I scan my badge to get in the copy room door, sidle around Chris McKenzie’s assistant Carla as she hole-punches and binds several pitch booklets, and get to work. I have twenty pages, front and back, that Neil needs several sets of for files. It’s a little archaic, making copies of contracts when we’re in the digital age of everything being online, but both Mr. Banks and Mr. McKenzie are old-school sticklers for keeping backup hard copies on file.

After power went down for the whole city last week and our internet was on the fritz for two hours while everyone panicked, I can see why. I mean, Florida isn’t exactly known for consistently perfect weather. Hurricane season always brings uncertainty.

The machine whirs to life, and I scan the first page, setting the screen to spit out double-sided pages in sets of twenty.

“Sorry,” I apologize to Carla, laughing when the rumble of the machine damn near vibrates the floor.

She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “No worries. That dinosaur might as well be friends with Chris Pratt, it’s so old.” She stacks her booklets and scoops them up, gesturing to me with their bulk. “I’m done anyway. The room is all yours.”

“See ya,” I say politely as she leaves the room. Everyone here has been truly friendly, and for that, I’m grateful. It’s always scary starting something new, and this job, in particular, is something akin to jumping in open water with a bunch of sharks. Everyone is rabid, everyone is focused, and more than anything, everyone wants to win.

On the one hand, it’s exhilarating. On the other, I spend half my time wondering if I’m truly cut out for it. I’ve never in my life been cutthroat or bold or pushy. Things I desperately need to learn to be if I’m going to succeed in the world of advertising.

The copier comes to a rest, and I ready the next sheet, placing it facedown on the glass top and closing the lid. I’m about to push the button and fire it up when a muffled voice on the other side of the wall pulls me up short.

“Oh, c’mon, Laura,” a male voice croons, the edges of the sound blurry but the context clear. It’s like something over a radio—if I strain hard enough, I can make out exactly what they’re saying. “Just tell me what the plan is.”

“You know I can’t do that, Seth,” she responds, and a few soft giggles follow. “I’m not on your team.”

“You should’ve been on my team,” Seth says, a flirtatious lilt that makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. I lean closer to the wall, my heartbeat freaking thundering in my chest. If I can’t get it to calm down, I’m not going to be able to hear anything but the sound of blood whooshing around my body like it’s on a racetrack.

Seth McKenzie and Laura Keller, a very important member of Beau’s Midnight team, are talking in the conference room next door, and a very sinking feeling inside me says they shouldn’t be. I mean, a little flirting is hardly international espionage—though, Seth is engaged to Beau’s ex-freaking-girlfriend, let’s remember—but it feels like it is. In fact, with everything that’s on the line with the “friendly competition,” it feels like the biggest freaking deal of my life.

“You wanted me on your team?” Laura asks, and when I can’t hear Seth’s response, I press my whole dang ear to the wall.

The words are still muffled, and I feel like I’m tiptoeing through a highly guarded museum in the middle of a heist. My breathing is shaky, and my stomach flips over with nerves. I glance over my shoulder, looking toward the still-closed door in the copy room and then press my ear back to the wall, forgoing any more intake of oxygen in an effort to hear.

“I’m on Beau’s team, Seth,” Laura says. “Not yours.” I don’t know her very well yet, but I’m starting to like her a little more. I know the pressure of having someone in Seth’s position push you for information must be immense, but so far, she seems to be holding up. She is mighty. She is powerful. She is woman. Or fucking something, I don’t know. I’m freaking out.

“We’ve already established that,” he comments. “But what we haven’t established is what the benefits would be if you gave me a little insight into where he’s guiding his big campaign…”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Seth?”

Ohhh, shit. Body, mind, and soul, I am an actual piece of this stupid wall now. Tape and spackle and paint me over, I’m here to stay.

“Of course not.” He chuckles. “Just trying to find something that’s mutually beneficial for both of us.”

“Sure.” Laura laughs. “Find someone else to hound.”

“What? So, that’s how it’s going to be?” Seth asks playfully, though I can perfectly imagine his crooked smile as he tries to save face. Just like with Bethany and Henry and all of Beau’s other friends, because of my proximity to the Banks family, I’ve had more than enough occasion to be in his company over the years to learn some of the things that make him tick. He has a quick wit and a flashy smile, but if he’s not getting his way, he’s scheming to figure out a way around it.

Honestly, I don’t know if even Beau noticed the narcissistic qualities of Seth’s personality as soon as I did, but I understand. It’s not exactly normal behavior to study people’s words and expressions and moods as closely as I do. It’s a by-product of trauma and missed connection and, in part, I’m sure, of feeling like my only option for emotional satisfaction was to watch Beau from a distance. Very intently.

“That’s exactly how it is,” Laura comments with finality. There’s a muffled sound of shuffling and then the small creak of the conference room door opening and shutting. I quickly shove myself away from the wall and trip gracefully over my own foot.

“Ow, shit!” I whisper-yell, catching myself on the copy machine with an offensively loud bang. My heart gallops like a fence-breaking horse, and I snatch up the next paper in my stack as quickly as I can to get back to copying. Bing, bing, bing, my eyes flit to the door over and over, just waiting for Seth to come in and throttle me for listening in.

But when I finish the stack of work without Seth—let alone anyone—coming in and sniffing me out, I finally start to relax.

I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fineeee. Laura turned Seth’s treasonous offers down, and I don’t have to worry about the next big fiasco in my undying love and devotion to Beau Banks.

It’s all good, and I can and should go back to doing my job.

Emotionally settled, I take my neat little stack of copies and head for Neil’s office. It’s at the end of the hall, on the easternmost corner of the building with the best ocean view, of course, and as a matter of geography, I have to pass nearly everyone else’s office on the way there.

Seth’s blondish-brown hair and evil smile are unavoidably noticeable through Jay’s glass wall, and my hackles start to rise again with great immediacy. Jay is on Beau’s campaign team too, and while Seth pretends to practice his golf swing in front of Jay’s desk, Jay laughs uproariously.

I slow my walk to a shuffle and crane my neck in a way I hope isn’t too obvious, but I can’t hear either of them well enough to make any headway before I’m well past the door.

I can’t stop or linger—it’d be way too obvious.

But regardless of whether Jay caves or not, I’ve got the ominous, unshakable feeling that Seth won’t stop until someone does. I’ve now witnessed him sidling up to two of Beau’s team members with my own eyes and ears, and I can’t be in more than one part of the office at a time. The building is big, fifteen floors in total, and I’m generally relegated to the top floor where Mr. Banks’s and Mr. McKenzie’s offices are located. Both Beau and Seth’s offices are on this floor too, but the people on their teams are scattered throughout the various floors of the building.

What has he already done that I haven’t managed to see?

What a freaking sneaky snake!

Heat licks my ears and my heart throbs as I drop the copies on Neil’s empty desk and consider what in the hell to do next.

I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I’m not even Nancy fucking Drew! I don’t know how to sleuth or investigate or keep tabs on someone’s shady behavior at all. But I can’t let this go unchecked.

Seth has the potential to ruin Beau’s whole freaking campaign without him even knowing!

Gah. I cannot let that happen.

I sneak back to my cubicle and quickly use the Midnight app I just downloaded last night to get a code and scratch out a quick note to go with it. It’s a long shot, I’m sure, but not even twenty minutes ago, Beau told me with his own luscious lips that he’s been using the app to get acquainted with it.

And because of Midnight’s anonymous features, I figure it’s the safest way to go. I have to let Beau know, but the thought of trying to deliver the news in person makes my whole chest seize up tight. This app is the only way I can follow through.

As nonchalantly as I can manage, I sneak back down the hall and into Beau’s currently empty office to leave a Post-it note on his computer.

Meet me at Midnight.

9 p.m.

Dream Code: 62814

The sooner he knows about Seth’s conniving, the better.