Chapter 5 - THE PENTHOUSE RULES
Z
By noon, twelve photographers stood outside Violet's building.
By two, there were twenty-seven.
A television van arrived at three.
The headline was everywhere.
BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET BABY.
Violet watched from behind the curtains while Celeste slept.
"This is insane."
Beckett stood beside her.
"This is mild."
She turned.
"Mild?"
"There aren't helicopters."
"You have a scale for this?"
"Unfortunately."
Another camera flashed through a gap in the curtains.
Violet stepped back.
"How long until they leave?"
"A week."
She stared.
"Possibly two."
"Absolutely not."
"The alternative is somewhere secure."
"I am not moving into your penthouse."
Beckett hadn't suggested it yet.
His eyebrow lifted.
"I know how your brain works."
"Do you?"
"Luxury prison. Private elevator. Security downstairs. Probably a panic room."
"Two panic rooms."
Violet closed her eyes.
"Of course."
"You and Celeste can stay there temporarily."
"No."
"I won't stay."
That caught her attention.
"What?"
"I have another apartment in the building."
"Naturally."
"You take the penthouse. I'll stay three floors below."
Violet looked suspicious.
"You'd leave your own home?"
"If it makes you feel safer."
There it was again.
That new thing Beckett kept doing.
Compromising.
The old Beckett negotiated until everyone else accepted what he had already decided.
This Beckett was asking.
Violet hated how effective it was.
"Three nights."
"Five."
"Three."
"Four."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're bargaining over my hostage terms?"
"Three nights with an option for a fourth."
Despite herself, Violet smiled.
"Fine."
The move took twenty minutes.
Beckett's security team used an underground entrance.
By sunset, Violet stood inside the penthouse she had once called home.
Nothing had changed.
That was the problem.
The cream sofa was still where she had chosen it.
Her favorite abstract painting still hung above the fireplace.
A ceramic bowl she had bought at a street market sat on the console table.
Violet touched it.
"You kept everything."
Beckett stood behind her.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
She turned.
His face gave her one anyway.
Because he had expected her to return.
Violet looked away.
The bedroom door remained closed at the far end of the hall.
Their old bedroom.
She wouldn't go near it.
"Celeste and I will use the guest suite."
"I had a crib delivered."
"When?"
"This afternoon."
"You bought a crib?"
"Six."
Violet stared.
"I didn't know which one was safest."
"You bought six cribs."
"The others are being returned."
"Please tell me someone stopped you before you bought six strollers."
Silence.
"Beckett."
"Three."
She laughed so suddenly she startled herself.
Celeste moved in her carrier.
Both immediately became quiet.
Beckett whispered, "Did we wake her?"
"No."
They looked at each other.
Then both laughed softly.
For a few seconds, it felt almost painfully domestic.
That evening, Beckett stayed for dinner.
Takeout Thai food.
The billionaire ate noodles directly from a cardboard container while sitting on the floor beside Celeste's portable bassinet.
"You hate eating on the floor," Violet said.
"I have adapted."
"Your knee has been twitching for ten minutes."
"My tailor is going to notice permanent damage."
"You'll survive."
Celeste began crying.
Beckett stood immediately.
"I'll get her."
Violet hesitated.
Then nodded.
He lifted his daughter carefully.
Five weeks earlier, he had not known she existed.
Now he could already distinguish her hungry cry from her uncomfortable cry.
"This is gas," he said.
Violet looked up.
"How do you know?"
"Her knees."
He was right.
Violet stared.
Beckett noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That expression wasn't nothing."
"You're learning fast."
Pride appeared in his eyes.
Not billionaire pride.
Father pride.
Violet's chest tightened.
Then Beckett's phone rang.
He ignored it.
It rang again.
"Take it," Violet said.
"No."
"It could be important."
"She's more important."
The words landed between them.
Beckett seemed not to realize their effect.
Violet did.
"Beckett."
He looked over.
"What?"
"Don't say things like that casually."
His expression changed.
"I'm not."
Before she could answer, his phone rang a third time.
This time he checked the screen.
His face hardened.
"Mother."
Violet tensed.
"Answer."
He did.
Eleanor didn't bother with pleasantries.
"The board is concerned."
"About?"
"Your behavior."
"My behavior has produced a twenty-one percent annual return."
"This isn't about the company."
"Then the board should mind its business."
"Your daughter is the business now. The press is already discussing succession."
Beckett looked at Celeste.
"She's five weeks old."
"Which is why someone responsible needs to think long-term."
"I am."
"No. You're playing house with Violet."
Violet heard it.
Beckett saw her face.
His tone turned glacial.
"Do not speak about her like that."
Eleanor continued.
"There is also something you don't know."
Beckett went still.
"What?"
"Ask Violet why she really left."
Violet's face changed.
Eleanor saw nothing but somehow knew she had landed the blow.
"Ask her what she found in your father's study the week before she disappeared."
Beckett slowly looked at Violet.
Violet's hands had started shaking.
"Violet?"
Eleanor hung up.
Beckett lowered the phone.
"What did you find?"
Violet said nothing.
"Violet."
Her eyes filled.
May you like
"Something I should have told you about seven months ago."
And Beckett understood that the argument about children had not been the only reason she ran.
