Chapter 6: I’m so sorry, Ms. Adams

After finishing her macaroni, Georgia glanced at Kayden’s retreating figure one last time. His words from the night before echoed in her mind—something about helping with the contract. Could he really pull it off?

Oh, come on, she thought, shaking her head. Even if Kayden had regained his memories, there was no way he could handle the Atkinson family. They were the wealthiest, most influential people in the entire Southwest. Kayden? Against them? It sounded more like wishful thinking than reality.

With those thoughts swirling in her mind, she grabbed her helmet and headed out.

As she hopped onto her motorcycle, her thoughts drifted back to Kayden’s strange behavior lately. But what stuck out the most wasn’t his words or his demeanor—it was the macaroni. She never would have guessed he could cook something so delicious. The flavor lingered on her tongue, vivid and comforting.

It was mouthwatering. Better than anything from the fancy restaurants she had ever been to.

Could he have been a chef before? she wondered, smirking at the thought. If he was, maybe having him around wouldn’t be so bad—at least she’d be eating like a queen.

Her daydreams were cut short when a car sped past her, sending a spray of cold, filthy water in her direction. The puddle exploded under the car’s wheels, drenching her from head to toe.

She cursed under her breath as her motorcycle wobbled dangerously around. She barely managed to keep herself upright, her heart racing from the near spill.

Once she steadied herself, she looked up, ready to unleash on the careless driver. But when her eyes landed on the sleek BMW X6 pulling over, her stomach sank. She knew exactly who it belonged to.

Jamie.

He stepped out with his usual smug grin, flanked by Layla and their two younger siblings. Their faces were painted with mock innocence, but Georgia wasn’t fooled.

Jamie spoke first, his voice dripping with fake concern. “Oh no, Georgia! I didn’t see that puddle there. It's totally my bad. You okay? This car’s steering is so sensitive, you know—just the lightest touch and it veers off. But hey, don’t worry about it. Grandma’s promised me a Porsche for my birthday in two months. That’ll handle way better.”

Georgia ignored the comment, brushing water off her jacket and gripping her handlebars. She had no time for their games.

Before she could drive off, Layla chimed in, feigning sweetness. “Aw, Jamie, you’ve upset our little princess. Better watch it. You know how much Grandma adores her these days. If Georgia cries in front of Grandma, you can kiss that Porsche goodbye.”

Jamie laughed, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his annoyance.

Their younger sister piped up, her voice laced with mockery. “Please. Georgia would never do that. She’s too busy taking care of her dimwit husband. Grandpa’s orders, remember? She’d never defy him. Right, Georgia?”

Jamie’s laughter returned, louder this time. “Exactly! Georgia, married to that loser? It’s perfect. I mean, you’d never ditch him for someone better, right? Grandpa trusted you with him, after all.”

The three of them burst into laughter, their taunts echoing in Georgia’s ears. Her face burned, but she bit her tongue. She’d learned long ago not to let their insults get the better of her.

Without a word, she climbed back on her bike, intending to leave, but Jamie stepped in front of her.

“Where are you off to, sis?” he asked, his tone mocking.

Georgia shot him a cold glare. “Move.”

Layla smirked, crossing her arms. “Oh, come on, Jamie. Isn’t it obvious? She’s heading to the Atkinson Group to negotiate that contract. Didn’t she say yesterday she’d figure out how to seal the deal?”

Jamie burst out laughing, doubling over as if her words were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You? Signing a contract? With the Atkinsons? Riding this?” He gestured at her motorcycle. “Are you trying to embarrass the Adams family, or is this your idea of a joke?”

Georgia’s hands tightened on the handlebars. “Excuse me,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “Some of us actually work for a living. Unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of spending all day lounging around in sports cars bought with other people’s money. You know why I’m on this bike. All the family’s money goes to you ‘young masters and misses.’ Where exactly am I supposed to get the cash for a car?”

With that, she revved the engine and sped off, leaving Jamie and Layla in stunned silence.

As Georgia disappeared down the road, Layla turned to Jamie, her expression sour. “What now? If she manages to sign that contract, Grandma’s going to be thrilled. Georgia’s standing in the family will improve no matter what.”

Jamie’s face darkened, his fists clenching. “Sign that contract? Please. She doesn’t stand a chance. If the Atkinsons were that easy to deal with, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Let’s head back. Once Grandma hears about her showing up on a motorcycle, she won’t be impressed.”

In the meanwhile, inside the Atkinson Group offices in Hiphia, Beckett stood frozen, his mind spinning.

Before him stood Fletcher Atkinson, head of the most powerful family in the Southwest—a man Beckett rarely saw more than once a year. And yet, Fletcher was currently bowing and scraping before a young man in his mid-twenties, dressed in the simplest clothes imaginable.

Who the hell was this guy?

Beckett’s palms were slick with sweat as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. To him, Fletcher Atkinson was untouchable, a king among men. But this stranger—this quiet, unassuming young man—seemed even more untouchable.

“Is everything clear?” Fletcher asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes, sir,” Beckett stammered. “Crystal clear.”

Fletcher turned to the young man, his tone softening instantly. “Defender, is there anything else you need? You can tell Beckett directly—he’s pretty dependable.”

The young man—Kayden—glanced at Beckett briefly before saying, “I trust your people.”

Fletcher looked like he’d just been handed a medal. “It’s always an honor to serve you. By the way, will you join me for dinner tonight?”

Kayden didn’t answer right away, and when he finally did, it was with a casual nod.

As the two of them left the office, Beckett slumped against the wall, taking deep, shaky breaths. His heart was racing.

Who was this man Fletcher called “Defender”? And how could someone so young command this kind of power?

Outside, Georgia parked her motorcycle and stared up at the gleaming Atkinson Group building. She swallowed hard, nerves twisting in her stomach.

She was about to step inside when a security guard approached, eyeing her with open disdain.

“Hey, you. Did you ride that thing here?” he asked, pointing at her motorcycle.

Georgia flushed. “I… yes.”

The guard sneered. “You can’t park here. Move it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll move it. I’m here to see Mr. Robinson.”

The guard laughed. “Mr. Robinson? You? What for?”

“I… I’m here to discuss a business collaboration,” Georgia said, her voice faltering.

The guard’s laughter grew louder. “A collaboration? Seriously? You rode a motorcycle here to talk business? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before Georgia could respond, a sharp voice cut through the exchange.

“What’s going on here?”

The guard turned pale as Beckett approached, his expression thunderous.

“This woman says she’s here to see you, sir. I was just—”

SLAP.

Beckett’s hand connected with the guard’s face before he could finish.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Adams,” Beckett said, his tone panicked.