Page 59 of Making It Burn
"You did more than help.You made us believers."He smiled."We'll see you tomorrow morning for the final signature session?"
"We'll be here," Beau confirmed.
As we packed up our materials, Beverly appeared at my elbow."So, seven o'clock?I'll meet you both in your hotel lobby.Windsor Court, right?"
"You don't have to—" I started.
"Mason.You just spent nine hours in meetings.You deserve a night out.Both of you do."She glanced at Beau."Besides, I don't take no for an answer.It's kind of my thing."
Beau shouldered his bag."Seven o'clock.We'll be there."
Beverly's smile widened."Excellent.Wear something comfortable.Where we're going, a suit would just make you stand out."
She left, and Beau turned to me."Well, this should be fun."
"You don't have to come if you don't want to."
"Oh, I'm coming."His eyes locked on mine."Seven o'clock, Mason.Don't be late."
* * *
I was standing in the hotel lobby at 6:58 PM, wearing dark jeans and a grey button-down with the sleeves rolled up—the most "comfortable" my wardrobe got.I'd debated the outfit for twenty minutes, which was ridiculous.This wasn't a date.This was a business dinner.Or drinks.Or whatever Beverly had planned.
The elevator dinged, and Beau stepped out.
He'd changed into black jeans and a forest green t-shirt that hugged his chest and arms in ways that made my mouth go dry.His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered, and he'd shaved, leaving his jaw smooth and—
"You're staring," Beau said, stopping in front of me.
"I wasn't,” I mumbled.
"You were."But he was looking at me too, his eyes traveling from my face down to my feet and back up again."You look...different.Good.You look good."
"Thanks.So do you."
We stood there for a moment, the lobby buzzing with activity around us, just looking at each other.
"This is weird, right?"Beau said finally."Going out with her?"
"A little."
"We can bail.Say we're tired.Reschedule for never."
I almost agreed.Almost suggested we go back upstairs, order room service, spend the evening reviewing documents for tomorrow's signatures.
But then I thought about Caroline's words.Sometimes the scariest choice is the right one.And about my father, who'd decided to stop being careful and had found happiness.
"No," I said."Let's go.It might be fun."
"Mason Price, admitting something might be fun?Are you feeling okay?"Beau winked at me, and I felt heat racing up my neck.
"Don't push it, Thatcher."
A car pulled up outside—not a taxi, but a sleek black sedan.Beverly stepped out, and I did a double-take.
Gone was the professional dress and ponytail.She wore ripped jeans, a leather jacket over a silk camisole, and boots with heels that probably violated some kind of safety regulation.Her hair was down, falling in dark waves past her shoulders, and her makeup was darker, smokier.
She looked like she belonged in a rock band.
