Chapter 4 - The Black Town Car to Bay View
The cold November wind whipped off Lake Michigan, carrying the sharp scent of freshwater ice and approaching winter.
Outside Aureline, a sleek, armored black Mercedes Maybach pulled smoothly up to the curb. A chauffeur in a dark wool cap jumped out instantly, holding the heavy rear door open against the gusts.
Tessa stood on the wet sidewalk, her emerald wrap dress fluttering around her calves, clutching her purse against her chest. Her mind was a spinning vortex of adrenaline, shock, and lingering humiliation.
"You didn't have to do that," she whispered, looking up at Gideon as he stood beside her, his overcoat unbuttoned, completely unaffected by the freezing wind.
"Do what?"
"Destroy a forty-million-dollar business deal because some arrogant idiot made a comment about my weight."
Gideon looked down at her. His gray eyes were steady, unblinking, and deep as an ocean trench.
"Julian Vance didn't lose his financing because of what he said about your weight, Tessa," Gideon stated flatly. "He lost his financing because he lacked discipline, because he insulted my guest at my table, and because he is a coward who preys on people he assumes cannot fight back. In my world, weakness of character is a bad credit risk."
He gestured toward the open door of the Maybach. "Get in. It’s freezing."
Tessa hesitated on the curb. "I live in Bay View. It’s a twenty-minute drive through working-class neighborhoods. You don't have to chauffeur me."
"Tessa," Gideon sighed softly, his hand resting lightly against the small of her back. His palm was burning warm through the silk of her dress. "Get in the car."
She stepped into the vehicle. The interior was a sanctuary of heated leather, burled walnut, and silent insulation that shut out the roar of the city traffic the second the door latched closed.
Gideon slid in beside her. The scent of him—cedarwood, high-end scotch, and cold night air—filled the cabin. The chauffeur pulled away from the curb without needing an address, navigating south toward the historic bungalows of Bay View.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Tessa stared out the tinted window at the neon signs of the Third Ward reflecting off the damp asphalt.
"Does it happen often?" Gideon asked quietly.
She didn't need him to clarify.
"Since I was twelve," Tessa answered, her voice quiet but free of self-pity. "When you're a girl who isn't built like a ballerina, the world treats your body like public property open for commentary. You learn to smile through it. You learn to make the joke before someone else does. You bake incredible things so people look at the cakes instead of your waistline."
She turned her head to look at him in the dim amber light of the cabin.
"Why didn't you leave when you saw me, Gideon? Really."
Gideon leaned his head back against the leather headrest, studying her profile.
"When I walk into a room in this city," Gideon spoke slowly, each word weighted with absolute truth, "everyone smiles. Everyone flatters me. Men who want to slit my throat shake my hand, and women who want my bank accounts laugh at jokes that aren't funny. It is an exhausting pantomime of parasites."
He reached out, his calloused thumb gently brushing against the soft curve of her knuckles on the armrest.
"You bumped your knee on the table. You told me straight to my face that I was terrifying. And you insulted my dessert because the chocolate was too good." A faint, genuine smile curved his lips. "You are the first real thing I have encountered in ten years, Tessa Wren. I had no intention of walking away."
Tessa’s heart skipped a dangerous, erratic beat. Her skin tingled where his thumb rested.
The Maybach slowed to a halt outside a modest, two-story brick duplex on Logan Avenue. The porch light was on, illuminating a row of potted marigolds that had withered in the frost.
"This is me," she whispered.
Gideon looked at the small house, then back at her. "You have to be at the bakery at 4:30?"
"Yes."
"Then you have four hours of sleep." Gideon leaned forward, his face inches from hers. For a terrifying, electrifying second, Tessa thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he reached past her and opened her door, his warm breath grazing her temple. "Go to sleep, Tessa. Don't burn the croissants."
Tessa stepped out onto the cold pavement, her legs trembling slightly. "Goodnight, Gideon. Thank you for dinner."
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"Goodnight, Tessa."
She walked up her porch steps, unlocking the front door. When she turned back to look, the black Maybach was still idling at the curb, its headlights illuminating the street, waiting until she was safely inside with the deadbolt turned.
