of limbs for a fight, and Duncan hadn’t cared enough to correct them. But he hadn’t realized Beck had been at the wedding. Curious.
“Strong enough to take down Gary? That man is built like a mountain.”
“Gary was also drunk off his ass at the time, so I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Sadie said smartly, leading both of them away from the bulk of the crowd and back toward the kitchen.
“Don’t ruin my street cred, Sadie,” Duncan pouted, obediently taking a seat on the barstool she’d guided him to. “You street-cred ruiner, you.”
Sadie laughed. “Duncan, trust me. I’m pretty sure you’re your own worst enemy when it comes to ruining street cred.”
“You need a drink, boss.” JT had followed them back through the crowd, and he gave them all a sunny smile before he twirled a ridiculously expensive bottle of Glenlivet in the air and tipped it into a shot glass behind the bar. Beck growled at him wordlessly but took the shot, downing it in one go and almost managing to hide his grimace.
“Back into the lion’s den,” Beck muttered as he nodded at the three of them and then weaved his way back into the crowd, his apparent reluctance catching Duncan by surprise yet again.
He’d have figured Beck Douglas thrived on mingling and charming guests . Beck smiled and chatted his way around the packed room easily, stopping to pose for photos and speak with reporters and well-wishers alike, always with a smile that held none of the exhaustion Duncan had seen in his face earlier.
Beck Douglas was an enigma wrapped inside a mystery, and he was becoming more and more interesting to Duncan with every layer he unearthed.
Chapter FOUR
AS EXPECTED, the gossip columns were abuzz with tidbits about Beck and Duncan’s friendly standoff at the Brix opening the night before. Beck couldn’t contain his smile as he looked at the photo Lindsay had texted him earlier, a screen capture of a fuzzy snapshot obviously taken with a camera phone from a distance away.
He pulled his laptop out and scanned through the list of links one of Lindsay’s underlings had put together sometime during the wee hours. Beck hadn’t made it home from the opening until an hour or so before dawn, and he’d fallen into bed without even bothering to take his shirt and suit pants off. They were rumpled almost beyond repair, and he had a private laugh over how debauched he must look. People often said owning a restaurant was like having a particularly demanding mistress, since it took all of your spare time and energy, and though Beck had never been the cheating sort, he could appreciate the sentiment. A casual observer would probably make some very different assumptions about his life if they saw him sitting at the kitchen table in his sunny breakfast nook, sipping coffee and scrolling through the gossip sites, with his hair mussed and his wrinkled dress shirt open at the collar. He found it particularly ironic since his life was so hectic he had no time for any sort of love affair, torrid or otherwise.
The headlines about his altercation with Duncan ran the gamut from close to the truth to ridiculous, and the more ludicrous ones made Beck chuckle into his drink.
“The new Romeo and Juliet? Culinary heirs from warring King and Walters empires share an intimate moment at Brix opening” was his favorite, and the accompanying blurb was hilarious, filled with innuendo and speculation that he and Duncan were in love and hiding their secret affair from Vincent and Christian, who would pull them apart.
The press was clearly underestimating Christian and his penchant for drama if they thought for one second he wouldn’t fully embrace a relationship between Beck and the son of his arch nemesis. As Christian was fond of saying, “You couldn’t buy this kind of publicity.” Beck had already had several e-mails from Christian’s secretary—all unread, because even though it was after 1:00 p.m., it was still morning to him, and
“Strong enough to take down Gary? That man is built like a mountain.”
“Gary was also drunk off his ass at the time, so I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Sadie said smartly, leading both of them away from the bulk of the crowd and back toward the kitchen.
“Don’t ruin my street cred, Sadie,” Duncan pouted, obediently taking a seat on the barstool she’d guided him to. “You street-cred ruiner, you.”
Sadie laughed. “Duncan, trust me. I’m pretty sure you’re your own worst enemy when it comes to ruining street cred.”
“You need a drink, boss.” JT had followed them back through the crowd, and he gave them all a sunny smile before he twirled a ridiculously expensive bottle of Glenlivet in the air and tipped it into a shot glass behind the bar. Beck growled at him wordlessly but took the shot, downing it in one go and almost managing to hide his grimace.
“Back into the lion’s den,” Beck muttered as he nodded at the three of them and then weaved his way back into the crowd, his apparent reluctance catching Duncan by surprise yet again.
He’d have figured Beck Douglas thrived on mingling and charming guests . Beck smiled and chatted his way around the packed room easily, stopping to pose for photos and speak with reporters and well-wishers alike, always with a smile that held none of the exhaustion Duncan had seen in his face earlier.
Beck Douglas was an enigma wrapped inside a mystery, and he was becoming more and more interesting to Duncan with every layer he unearthed.
Chapter FOUR
AS EXPECTED, the gossip columns were abuzz with tidbits about Beck and Duncan’s friendly standoff at the Brix opening the night before. Beck couldn’t contain his smile as he looked at the photo Lindsay had texted him earlier, a screen capture of a fuzzy snapshot obviously taken with a camera phone from a distance away.
He pulled his laptop out and scanned through the list of links one of Lindsay’s underlings had put together sometime during the wee hours. Beck hadn’t made it home from the opening until an hour or so before dawn, and he’d fallen into bed without even bothering to take his shirt and suit pants off. They were rumpled almost beyond repair, and he had a private laugh over how debauched he must look. People often said owning a restaurant was like having a particularly demanding mistress, since it took all of your spare time and energy, and though Beck had never been the cheating sort, he could appreciate the sentiment. A casual observer would probably make some very different assumptions about his life if they saw him sitting at the kitchen table in his sunny breakfast nook, sipping coffee and scrolling through the gossip sites, with his hair mussed and his wrinkled dress shirt open at the collar. He found it particularly ironic since his life was so hectic he had no time for any sort of love affair, torrid or otherwise.
The headlines about his altercation with Duncan ran the gamut from close to the truth to ridiculous, and the more ludicrous ones made Beck chuckle into his drink.
“The new Romeo and Juliet? Culinary heirs from warring King and Walters empires share an intimate moment at Brix opening” was his favorite, and the accompanying blurb was hilarious, filled with innuendo and speculation that he and Duncan were in love and hiding their secret affair from Vincent and Christian, who would pull them apart.
The press was clearly underestimating Christian and his penchant for drama if they thought for one second he wouldn’t fully embrace a relationship between Beck and the son of his arch nemesis. As Christian was fond of saying, “You couldn’t buy this kind of publicity.” Beck had already had several e-mails from Christian’s secretary—all unread, because even though it was after 1:00 p.m., it was still morning to him, and
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