Page 21 of Steel Beauty

She laughs, shaking her head, her eyes bright with amusement. “That’s a hard no. Once was enough.”

I chuckle, raising my glass in feigned surrender. “All right, no pressure.”

She smiles over the rim of her glass, her eyes dancing with a hint of mischief.

I lean in slightly, watching her carefully. “So you really don’t know who I am?”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re Julius Caesar.”

I grin, giving her a teasing shake of my head. “So, no peeking at my file?”

She leans back, one brow lifting in exaggerated offense. “Nope. That would be completely against the rules. And grounds for termination. I happen to like my job, and I plan on keeping it.”

I study her for a second, wondering if she’s someone who sticks to the rules out of principle or if she’s not interested enough to investigate me. Either way, there’s a strange relief in knowing she’s in the dark about who I really am.

The last woman in my life saw me as nothing more than an opportunity, using my celebrity status to her advantage. She twisted private moments to suit her needs, pulling me in until she’d taken everything she could.

I’m not about to let that happen again.

This whole setup—and the anonymity of it—takes me back to how Jack arranged things with Laurelyn at the start. He hid his identity, just as I’m doing now. And for the first time, I truly understand why he did it. There’s a strange freedom in being known only for who you are in the moment without the burden of assumptions or reputation hanging over you.

And to have that with someone who isn’t from Australia? Even better.

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the bar. “You know, you said something in our first conversation that has stuck with me.”

Her brows lift slightly, curiosity lighting up her eyes. “Oh?”

“You mentioned you’d been through the school of hard knocks––graduated with honors and could’ve taught a few classes there.”

She shakes her head, appearing embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You should never apologize for speaking your truth.”

She looks down at the glass in front of her. “My childhood was a tragic comedy.”

“How so? That is, if you’re okay talking about it.”

She shrugs, her expression softening. “I don’t mind. Talking about it has been part of how I’ve made peace with it.”

A wry smile curves her lips. “I was raised by two women—my mom, Robin, and my grandma, Charlene. They put thefunin dysfunctional. My mom had me when she was sixteen, and my grandma had my mom at sixteen. Both of them still kids themselves if we’re being honest.”

The math clicks into place. “Holy shit. Your grandmother was thirty-two, the same age I am now, when you were born?”

“Yep.” She takes a sip, eyes twinkling with amusement as she watches my reaction. “Crazy, right?”

I blink, a little speechless.

She lets out a small laugh. “I’m sure it’s a far cry from what you’re used to.”

I shake my head, absorbing the picture she’s painting. “What was it like? Having a mom who was a kid herself?”

“Let’s just say, Robin had some creative parenting techniques. She thought Mountain Dew in my bottle was perfectly acceptable—which, as you can imagine, had me bouncing off the walls. And when I was too wired to sleep, Charlene would top off my milk with a splash of brandy to help mesettle down.”

What the actual fuck?

She shrugs. “I think Robin saw me as her little buddy rather than a daughter. I wasn’t a kid she was responsible for—I was more like her sidekick, a playmate she could grow up with.”

I lean back, letting that sink in. “A child raising a child.”

---