Black Ties and White Lies(15)

The driver spits out a laugh. I smirk, happy I got the calm and collected guy to finally break.

“Glad you find her hilarious, Ezra.” Beck gives the driver—Ezra, apparently—a dirty look through the rearview mirror. Ezra, however, only makes eye contact with Beck for a fleeting moment before he pins his eyes ahead of him, suddenly very focused on the road. “Sorry, sir.” He coughs. “It was kind of funny.”

I beam, looking at Beck with a satisfied look. “I like him already.”

“Thank you, Miss Moretti,” Ezra comments, his eyes still focused on the road ahead.

Beck sighs dismissively at the both of us. He looks at the packet I still hold between us. “I can assure you I’m not having you sign away anything. All of my staff sign NDAs. It’s standard protocol. Your best friend, Ezra, signed one as well.”

“Sure did. Hopefully, I didn’t sign away my first-born child,” he says sarcastically. “My future wife may not be happy to know that.”

Beck snorts, slightly leaning forward to get Ezra’s attention. “You don’t even have a girlfriend,” he responds dryly.

Ezra’s eyebrows raise to his hairline. “That you know of, sir.” He winks at me through the mirror.

The gesture manages to further annoy Beck. Angrily, he snatches the packet from my hand and places it on the leather seat between us. His fingers trace over some of the sentences as he begins to explain what everything means. My eyes travel over the words he reads out loud, so far confident that I’m not signing some kind of shady deal.

Once he makes it through three pages of the packet, he looks up at me through his thick eyelashes. “Need me to keep going or do you trust me enough to know that I’m a civilized human being that wouldn’t trap you into anything crooked?”

“I don’t know if trust is the correct term when it comes to you.”

Beck makes a face, making it seem like my response actually offended him. “Fine,” he bites, slipping his phone from his suit pocket. “I’ll call my lawyer to review it with you then, if that’s what it’ll take.”

His fingers are quick at typing something on his phone. Taking myself by surprise, I reach across the bench seat, placing my hand on his forearm. “Wait,” I argue. Even the way the suit feels underneath my palm tells me it’s expensive. It’s soft, a light gray that looks great up against his pale skin tone.

Beck looks at where my hand rests on his arm. I pull it away, meeting his eyes. “Don’t call your lawyer. I’ll sign it.”

His eyes bore into mine. I try not to squirm in my seat. Half of me loves having his undivided attention like this. The other part of me wants him to look anywhere but me. I can’t handle having him watch me like he’s leaving so much unsaid. “But you don’t trust me.” It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the disdain in his voice.

Rolling my eyes, I reach for the handbag at my feet. I rifle through it, searching for a pen.

“What are you doing?” Beck finally asks.

I pull random things out of the bag, wondering why I can’t find a single pen in here. Typically, this bag is like the one from Mary Poppins, full of unexpected treasures. Today, it’s full of random things except the one thing I need—a pen. “I’m looking for a pen,” I grumble, pulling out my makeup bag and moving it out of the way.

“Don’t bother,” Beck responds. He opens his briefcase and holds up a pen. “Use this.”

Snatching the pen from him, it feels heavier in my hand than I was expecting. Even this man’s pens feel expensive.

I set the packet in my lap, using my legs as a makeshift table as I sign on each dotted line.





“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” I prod, hoping he’ll finally answer my question. “We’re going to your apartment.”

“We’re what?” I shriek.

“We’re going to your apartment,” he repeats, slower this time, like I didn’t understand him the first time he said it. I understood him perfectly. I’m just in shock he knows where I live.

A sound of annoyance falls from my lips. “Not possible. You don’t know where I live.”

Ezra makes a sound from the front seat. The noise has Beck tossing him a threatening look immediately. “I know exactly where you live, Margo,” he declares, his voice level.

“I don’t believe you.”

He shakes his head at me. His pointer finger digs into his temple as he looks out the window, his eyes focused on the passing cars. “It’s cute you think I don’t know everything there is to know about you.”

Impossible. “You know nothing about me.” For starters, we barely uttered a few sentences to one another at his family’s vacation home.

Words weren’t really needed.

I shake the thought away as quickly as it came to be. The last thing I need on my mind is that memory. One thing I can count on is the fact I doubt Carter said much to Beck about me. I’m reminded of the fact that even though they’re brothers, Beck and Carter aren’t close. The last thing I imagine is the two of them sitting down and talking about me.

He looks from the window to me, a cocky smirk on his lips. “You forget I own the company you work at. Any knowledge they had on you, I now have right here”—he taps his temple—“and that includes your address.”