Berlin Bea Setton Novels & Stories

“Pack takes care of its own.” Brandon chimed in, his deep voice cutting through my thoughts. “You settling in okay, Beatrice? East Berlin’s a lot to take in.” She nodded, fiddling with her sweater. “It’s overwhelming, but I love it the TV Tower view, the vibe. Just… still wrapping my head around the whole crossbreed thing.” Luke, lounging in the front passenger seat, turned back with a grin. “You’ll get there. Takes time. Just don’t try shifting in the middle of class teachers hate that.”

Then he looked at Becky. “Where's she?” he asked. Becky drawled. “She is at the library down below.” Jonathan walked away, Geoffrey followed him. Until they reached his door. He stayed behind and Jonathan walked in. Yelena was in his office again. The second time since he was denied coverage of the London Festival. Yelena had found a weak spot to exploit. Jonathan passed by her and sunk in his chair. He did not look clueless like last time. His look was steady and composed.

"Let's go! What are you waiting for?" "Okay, thank you for your cooperation," Seth said ending the conversation. He immediately returned the smartphone in his hand to Bastian. "Did you hear that, Bastian?! So, didn't Miss Stella tell you before where she was going?" Seth asked curiously. Still regretful, Bastian answered Seth's question, "No, Mr. Seth. Not at all." Seth gave an order to Bastian. He called out, "I'm gonna call the Birmingham international airport. Get your car ready now! We're gonna Gatwick airport right now."

His laughter almost caught the attention of everyone in the canteen. "I'm sorry, I was just kidding. I'm from Berlin. Just watch out if you don't know where Berlin is." Veronie and I laughed at Becca's last sentence. Of course we do. Who doesn't know Germany's capital city? What an outrageous person who doesn't know that. The three of us returned to class after the entrance bell rang. **** Campus was deserted but Arga didn't pick me up. Where is he? Why doesn't he pick up my phone?

Sylvia requests nervously. I immediately feel intimidated the moment I hear Mr. Beckett’s name. I’m in no way qualified to be his assistant. Mr. Beckett is the CEO and founder of this company, Thunder Motors, Inc. he needs someone with way more experience! Besides, he is not in Europe, he is already here, I saw him yesterday at the board meeting. Maybe Sylvia doesn’t know it. “But... Mr. Beckett is already here... I saw him yesterday...” I inform her.

She tried to sound reasonable. “What about an hour or two? You will decide.” “Deal.” She smiled, then she turned on her high heel to her friends. “Guys, I have some announcements to make. Could I have your attention, please?” Almost immediately everyone fell silent. “That's not the end to todays’ attractions. We are going to the most snobbish place in the whole city.” Jo informed her friends casually. “Where?” Elen asked, very intrigued. “The Sin!” Elen was speechless. The rest didn’t know what to say, because they had no idea what the place was.

Veronica stepped out, her heels meeting the pavement with quiet certainty, the silk of her blouse shifting softly against her skin as she moved. Inside, the building moved with purpose, people crossing the lobby in steady lines, voices low, movements efficient. And yet, as she stepped in, something shifted. A glance, then another. Recognition moved quietly, carried in hushed voices that did not fully form but echoed all the same. "Is that—" "Beckett—" "She's here?" Veronica didn't react. The Beckett and Sterling names had once existed side by side. Before. A digital display panel near reception rotated through financial headlines, pausing just long enough on one before shifting again:

Grayson of Titan Holdings maintained a composed yet commanding demeanor. “Good morning,” Beckett started, his rich voice exuding a sense of calm assurance. He was a person who seldom squandered words, his choices precise and deliberate. "I hope you’ve all checked out the recent footage from our forthcoming project, Glass Roses?" There was a gentle wave of agreement in the room as various board members that had their heads tilted, their faces engaged. “I must say, I’m rather impressed,” said a more senior board member, a woman in her fifties with silver-streaked hair.

"How do you hear these things?" "I know everyone," he says, without apology, because Beckett has never apologized for anything in his life. "Jenna Hart. Or Kingsley now, apparently. That's a development." "She's a contractor," I say. "Her firm is handling the rebrand." "Right," Beckett says, in the tone that means he does not believe a word of this. "Very professional. Very arms-length. Hence why you've been seen buying coffee from that place two blocks away every single morning before seven thirty."