Berlin Bea Setton Novels & Stories

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."