Beverly padded around Cynthia's large home the next day, running her fingers along the edges of various furniture and knick-knacks as she went. Both Cynthia and Griffin were at the shop (it took plenty of reassuring on Beverly's part to get them to leave), and Beverly had been left to her own devices. She didn't mind the silence, but she had grown bored relatively quickly, even with her laptop and coding to keep her company.

She hadn't left the house since she'd first gotten there from the hospital, and—as large as it was—it could only keep her satisfied for so long; her cabin fever had grown with each passing day. But she knew neither Griffin nor Cynthia would appreciate it if she left by herself, so she'd have to call someone to go with her into the city.

The question, of course, was who? She'd texted Alicia, and the other girl was busy with work; Francis would be working, too—she could probably stop by and see him, but he wouldn't be able to take the day off just because she was feeling claustrophobic.

Ah, but there's another option. Nodding to herself at the thought, Beverly pulled her phone out of her hoodie pocket and tapped on a contact before pressing the device to her ear.

It rang twice before the words, "What the hell do you want?" came through the other end of the line.

Beverly grinned. "Hello, dearest Deborah. How are you?"

The other girl released a string of grumbled curses. "I'd be better if you could learn to leave me alone. What is it?"

"I need a favor . . ."

***

"You don't have to come with me," Beverly assured Deb only an hour later. They were settled in front of Silvertone, and Deb was drumming her fingers against the steering wheel anxiously.

Beverly had yet to see Francis in person since the incident, as he hadn't wanted to bother Cynthia. In their several phone conversations, Francis had confessed to Beverly that the older woman had yet to contact him, regardless of what she'd told Beverly about contacting him soon. As much as Beverly wanted to help, she'd learned her lesson; she wouldn't get involved in Francis's and Cynthia's business again unless she absolutely had to.

Ignoring that issue, however, Beverly had been aching to see Francis since she'd been released from the hospital and, with school quickly approaching and Griffin's near-constant hovering, her chances to do so were limited.

Deb spoke up, tearing Beverly from her thoughts. "I think I will. Just to thank him, at least." The other girl blew out a weary sigh, and Beverly squeezed Deb on the shoulder encouragingly.

"That's a great idea," she supplied, climbing out of the car carefully and waiting until Deb was beside her before heading into the large building. Once inside, she let her eyes settled on the receptionist, a woman in her early fifties named Mary, according to the name tag.

"Where's Frieda?" Deb hissed in Beverly's ear as soon as they had made it past the receptionist (thankfully, Mary was much kinder to Beverly than Frieda had been; of course, Beverly's name had been placed on the 'Always Allow Entrance' list, but still).

"You didn't hear?" Beverly asked as they waited in front of the elevator. "She got arrested." During one of her phone calls with Francis, the older man had informed her of Frieda, and all that had happened to the woman. "She claimed she was being blackmailed, but that turned out to be a lie; she just wanted the money Harris offered her."

One of Deb's sparkly black heels clacked against the ground nervously. "God. How long will she be locked up?"

Beverly shrugged. "I'm not sure, honestly, but I think she's giving them information in exchange for a lesser sentence." Neither one of them mentioned that, had she not been a college student suffering from debt who had helped bring Harris's operation crashing down, Deb could have ended up in the same prison as Frieda.

"It's twice as stupid when you think about how much she probably got paid working here," Deb snorted after a moment, gesturing at their surroundings.

Nodding in agreement, Beverly sighed with relief when the elevator opened. The sooner she could get to Francis's office, the sooner she could sit down—her side was starting to ache again. "True enough. Of course, Harris got paid an even heftier salary, and he was in charge of the whole thing." As is had turned out, Silvertone's now-former CFO had borrowed six million dollars from the company approximately seven years ago to start his drug ring and had slowly been paying Silvertone back, all the while covering his tracks and abusing Francis's trust. Harris still owed the company a quarter of that, but there was no telling when Silvertone would get it; after all, Harris would probably be in a jail cell for the rest of his life.

When Francis had first told Beverly this information, she had realized that he wasn't hurt by the fact that the money had been stolen and would never be fully returned; instead, he was hurt that a man he had considered a dear friend had gone behind his back and committed such a heinous crime. Beverly wouldn't be surprised if Francis struggled to trust new employees and supposed friends after the mess—he'd already suspected that most of the people he knew were only around him because of his wealth, but this catastrophe would take that to an entirely different level. Beverly was lucky she'd met him before the whole thing had happened, otherwise she—

"Jesus, Beverly, did the accident affect your hearing, too?"

It took Beverly's mind a minute to catch up with Deb's words; when it did, she shot the girl a disgruntled look. "My hearing is just fine, Deborah, though I appreciate your concern. Really. What is it?"

Deb waved at the open doors in front of them, leading out to the second floor of Silvertone. "Sorry, Your Highness. Just wanted to let you know we were here. You good, or do I need to bring you back to the hospital? God knows your head was messed up enough without the concussion."

Beverly rolled her eyes and traipsed past Deborah, leading her former roommate down the hall until they were stopped in front of Francis's office door. "Wait," Deb blurted when Beverly's hand hovered over the doorknob. "I'm not so sure about this."

Sparing the other girl a glance, Beverly let her hand drop from the knob when she saw the conflict on Deb's face. The poor girl looked terrified. "Hey," Beverly's voice was soft and soothing, "nothing bad is going to happen. This is just Francis, and he's a nice guy, I promise. He gets it, otherwise he wouldn't have helped you out in the first place, you know? You don't have to stay the whole time, either. Once you say your piece, you're welcome to leave; I'll get Francis to take me home."

Deb absorbed the words, thinking them over for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah." She blew out a breath. "Okay. What are you waiting for, Beverly? Open the goddamn door, unless you lost the ability?"

Well, at least she's back to normal, Beverly thought with an inward sigh, bringing her hand back up and twisting the knob before pushing open the door.

Francis sat inside, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose as he scanned over a pile of papers scattered over his desk; one hand held a cup of coffee, while the other spun a pen around wildly. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn't even realize he had visitors, until Beverly cleared her throat, laughing when he jumped and dropped his pen.

He blinked at her several times before a wide grin overtook his features. Setting the coffee down and forgoing the retrieval of his pen, Francis hopped up from the desk and rushed over to her, pulling her into a tamed bear hug. "Beverly!" he cheered, pulling back so he could analyze her features. "How are you?" his eyes expressed concern. "Are you feeling alright? Should you be up and about yet?"

Beverly just pulled him back into a hug, smiling into his crisp button-down when he returned the embrace quickly. The comfort he supplied wasn't nearly the same as what she got from Griffin, but Francis was still part of her makeshift second family, and it had been far too long since she'd seen him. "I'm fine," she reassured him when they parted. "It still stings every now and then, but I promise I'm doing much better." Her gaze shifted to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and she smiled sheepishly. "Though I wouldn't mind sitting down." This was the most activity she'd gotten since the accident, and she needed a rest.

Francis ended up leading her to his own chair, insisting it provided better back support and comfort, and only after he'd ensured she was comfortable did he take notice of Deb, who had remained by the door with an expression of discomfort on her face.

"Deborah," Francis said, his tone colored with surprise. "Hello; I wasn't expecting to see you, though I admit I'm glad that Beverly didn't attempt this trek by herself."

Deb managed something that vaguely resembled a smile, stepping forward to take Francis's proffered hand. They shook and then Francis gestured to one of the chairs, "Please, take a seat."

Shaking her head, Deb declined. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Knott. I'm not staying, so long as you promise to take Beverly home." At Beverly's groan, Deb shot Beverly a look that said, I don't trust you not to get in trouble, which will then get me in trouble, so shut up.

Francis had the grace to chuckle. "I'm also glad you realize just how troublesome Beverly can be. Don't worry, Deborah, I'll take her from here."

"Okay, good." Deb bobbed backwards slightly, clearing her throat before saying softly, "I also wanted to say thank you. I wouldn't be walking around freely or enrolled in another school if not for you."

An empathetic smile softened Francis's features. "You're welcome. Trust me when I say that I understand what it's like to make mistakes, Deborah. Forgiveness is all we can count on—both from others and ourselves. Don't beat yourself up over it, but don't forget it, either; use this as a learning experience, and go from there." When Deb nodded and agreed, Francis continued. "Which school will you be attending?"

"Just the community college for this upcoming semester, but then I have plans to move to a school in the next state over."

"Excellent news!" Francis cheered, reaching out to shake Deb's hand one more time. "Stay true, Deborah, and keep your head up."

Deb did, raising her chin and nodding solemnly. "I will, Mr. Knott." She shifted, eyeing Beverly over the man's shoulder and waving briefly. "Stay out of trouble, Beverly. I don't want Griffin to kill me. Goodbye, Mr. Knott." And then the girl was gone, her fancy heels clicking across the floor as she traipsed back down the hall.

Francis eyed the now-closed door for a moment. "Well, she's quite something."

Beverly snorted, taking advantage of his swivel chair by spinning around in circles like a small child. "You could certainly say that." She stopped spinning, catching Francis's eyes and sending him a somber look. "Thank you. If not for you . . . I don't want to think about what would have happened to her."

Flopping down in the chair across from her, Francis blew out a sigh, managing a small smile. "She's a bit . . . rough around the edges, that much is clear, but she's young. If there is anyone who understands what it's like to be young and make a horrible mistake, it's me. All we can do now is hope that she learns from this incident—that's the most important aspect of making a mistake."

Beverly hummed thoughtfully, letting her gaze wander over the older man in admiration. He'd made some bad mistakes of his own, that much was clear, but he had done his best to correct the errors made, and Beverly didn't doubt his wisdom had come from said mistakes. She was truly honored to know the man.

"But that's enough of that," Francis declared, hopping up from his seat and clapping his hands together. "It has been far too long since I've seen you, Beverly, what say we treat ourselves to a greasy pizza? If I remember Cynthia well," they both knew he'd never forget a single detail related to the woman, "she doesn't care for takeout pizza."

He was, of course, correct. As much as Beverly loved homecooked meals (especially Cynthia's, because by God that woman could cook), there was something sinfully delicious about a relatively cheap, chain restaurant pizza.

And Cynthia had mentioned off-handedly while watching Gordon Ramsey annihilate a pizza restaurant owner that she too found most pizza to be a "disgusting pile of grease. Unless I make it, of course."

Pulling herself from her chair cautiously, only grimacing once when her stitches tugged at her skin awkwardly, Beverly followed the older man out of his office, a content smile on her face as he chattered on about Silvertone's latest software advancements.

***

Beverly released a happy hum when she took a hefty bite of the large cheese pizza they'd ordered, grinning through her food when she saw Francis looking just as pleased.

"Perfect," he muttered, dabbing his oily hands on a napkin. "Just perfect."

They ate in silence for about ten minutes, before Francis cleared his throat, set his clean plate aside, and leaned his elbows on the table. "How are you doing?" he asked for the second time. "Truthfully."

Beverly had known their talk would grow serious eventually, and she took a swig of her water before matching his pose and blowing out a noisy breath. "I'm . . . recovering," she declared after a long beat. "I've been having nightmares, but they're getting better." The nightmares weren't too terrible, but waking up with the feel of a knife against her neck was quickly growing old, especially since any sharp movements from thrashing in the sheets caused her injury to act up. She hadn't informed Griffin, yet, but she was considering it; sleeping next to her comfy giant would definitely help reassure her that Dennis wasn't about to jump out at her from the shadows of Cynthia's guest bedroom.

"Nightmares?" Francis echoed, his brows furrowing with concern. "That's not good, Beverly. Have you considered seeing a psychologist?"

She shrugged. She had, but she didn't feel as though she needed one—at least, not yet. The whole incident had barely lasted half a day, so why on earth was it affecting her so much?

"Because it was traumatic," Francis answered solemnly, his words informing Beverly that she had spoken out loud. "It's understandable that you're having nightmares, Beverly, and no one is going to judge you for it. I'm just worried that with school coming up, you'll try to shove this down, and that won't help."

Absorbing his words, Beverly nodded slowly. He had a point, after all; shoving down her problems would only make them worse later. "You're right. I'm not sure I need to see a psychologist, but . . ." she sucked in a breath, "I'll let you know, if that's okay? I don't want to see one unless I absolutely have to, not because I'm ashamed, but because I genuinely don't think I need it."

Francis didn't seem too sold on the whole idea, but nodded nonetheless. "Alright. You'll let me know, though?" At her nod of confirmation, he continued: "How's your family? I'm a bit surprised they didn't drive over, throw you in a car, and cart you off to safety."

It was said with humor, and Beverly chuckled, pleased when her side didn't twinge too badly at the action. "Mom wanted to, but I managed to talk her out of it." Not to mention that calling the woman three times a week had helped reassure her that Beverly wasn't dying. "I'm going to see them over spring break, though."

"Oh?" Francis's eyebrows rose. "Are you taking Griffin? I'm sure they can't wait to meet him. He's such a handsome lad, after all. Your mother will be so proud."

Immediately, Beverly felt her cheeks heat up, and she slouched down slightly in the seat with a grumbled, "Oh, shut up." If she was being honest with herself, though, she had considered bringing Griffin. Her mom was dying to meet the boy, and, if his latest worrying was any indication, Griffin wouldn't want her to go anywhere by herself for a long while.

To turn the tables back on Francis, Beverly pulled herself from her thoughts and shot back, "I'll ask Griffin to come with me if you have a heart-to-heart with Cynthia."

Francis threw his head back with a pained moan. "As much as I would like to," he began when he had halted his dramatics, "the ball is in Cynthia's court now. I'll only talk to her when she wants to talk to me; I've reached out plenty of times, all of which backfired, and I don't plan to keep messing up."

"That's fair," Beverly admitted. "I'm kind of surprised, though—I thought she would have contacted you by now."

Her honorary uncle shrugged, looking more like an uncertain schoolboy than a successful CEO. "I had certainly hoped she would. I've waited a long time for this opportunity, though, so I can wait a bit longer."

"All good things come to those who wait, after all." Beverly chimed in, grinning when the words won a smile from the man.

"That they do!" he exclaimed jovially. They pushed aside any further somber subjects, instead discussing Beverly's upcoming classes and Francis's hunt for a new CFO as they finished the pizza laid before them.

When they stood to leave, Beverly tugged at Francis's jacket sleeve. "Can we go somewhere else?" she asked, her voice soft. "There's someone I'd like to see."