Beresford Empire - Book 1 - The Unknown

The reflection in the mirror was a blur. But Lina could still make out the eyes staring back at her. Tired eyes. Hers.

She couldn’t just stand here doing nothing. She couldn’t. There was no time to think, let alone second-guess herself — not with everything she still had to hold together. A future to build. Dreams she hadn’t let go of yet.

But the voice at the back of her head wouldn’t let up.

It’s him… it’s him…

The one that only ever whispered the things she was afraid of — the ones she kept refusing to hear.

“No! It’s not him! Never!”

The words snapped out before she could stop them, too loud for the empty room.

Breathe, Lina. Don’t you dare fall apart.

Her phone buzzed against the counter and Lina flinched. And this time, she knew. She couldn’t keep running from the truth.

Everything she’d built had just come down around her. How the hell had it come to this?

She closed her eyes, and despite herself, it all came rushing back — every last piece of it, right from the start…

The Midtown Hilton’s ballroom was built to impress. Crystal chandeliers, silver polished to a mirror shine, tables set with military precision, a string quartet playing softly beneath the hum of voices and laughter. Outside, the last of the daylight went gold across the windows.

Lina Cap tugged her apron straight and sucked in her stomach — the few extra pounds she kept swearing to lose tomorrow. Her life was no fairy tale, but she was happy.

Her proudest achievement? The little studio she’d just bought. A real cocoon — at first, anyway. Under the fresh paint she’d found all the joys of home ownership: a crumbling wall, a pipe with a flair for drama. Lucky for her, Tom — one of her two best friends — always had a “connection” to score her catering gigs on the side.

“You see what they’re serving?”

Eloise, Lina’s other best friend and living proof that nature plays favorites, was glowing, like always. Usually her long red hair hung loose down her back; tonight, because of the dress code, she’d twisted it into a sleek updo that suited her just as well.

For Lina it was the opposite. Every morning meant war with her curls — hair with its own anarchist streak, dead set on ruining her life. Tonight, a miracle: it had agreed to a truce. A flawless updo, occasion-worthy. Well… almost. Two strands kept staging a rebellion.

Eloise had the kind of confidence Lina badly lacked — level-headed, ambitious, both feet on the ground.

Different as they were, they always agreed on one thing: a good party. Lina’s apartment doubled as their drinking headquarters, the bathroom long since renamed the comfy corner — because their nights out had a way of ending in a lost fight with the bottle. Their motto said it all: a real best friend is the one who holds your hair back while you throw up. But it ran deeper than that. They’d covered for each other with more than one clingy ex, talked each other off the ledge more times than either could count.

Eloise had come up through the same grind — the odd jobs, the tight months. But things were finally turning. She’d just signed with a communications agency; entry-level pay, but the first real door into what she’d been chasing for years. The catch: the agency was moving to Portugal in a few weeks. Eloise had said yes on the spot. To her the distance was nothing — a chance, even. After all those years under her parents’ roof, leaving tasted like freedom.

For Lina it was another thing entirely. The thought of her best friend leaving tightened her throat, so she made a point of not thinking about it.

“Personally, I was expecting caviar and stuff for a party this insane,” Lina said.

It was a front, obviously. The size of the thing rattled her as much as it did Eloise. They’d worked fancy parties before, but catering an R.B.H. event — one of the most powerful companies on the planet — was a different league. Lina wasn’t about to show it.

“Plus, I already tried the food. Honestly? Not even that good.”

Eloise raised an eyebrow, half amused, half not buying it.

“Cut the crap, Linou. Remember where we are.”

“Relax, Elo — what, is security gonna tackle me and make me spit out my hors d’oeuvre?” she said.

A smile got away from Eloise. Then she slipped right back into big-sister mode — and the warning landed. Maybe Eloise had a point. Lina nodded, falling into line, and got back to work.

A Mr. Hocq, the floor manager, was in rare form tonight, on alert for the smallest slip. So Lina followed protocol to the letter.

The night wore on before she finally grabbed a break. She slipped out the back of the hotel. The cool air was a relief after the heat of the room.

She stared at the ground without seeing it. Her birthday had just come and gone, and she couldn’t manage to feel good about it. The age when things are supposedly meant to settle.

Apparently not for everyone. Catering shifts, a dry spell with no end in sight… At this rate she’d adopt a cat and complete the cliché — a hairless one, good and ugly, alone and frustrated in the apartment right alongside her.

The party came back in pieces: laughter, a cake, and — no, more like a solid dozen drinks too many. And that awful off-key “Happy Birthday.” She winced.

Time to grow up, Lina. Her mother’s voice, sharp in her head. Their last phone call, still lodged there. Always ready to point out that a good degree and a wasted life can go hand in hand — and in her mother’s eyes, Lina was Exhibit A. A walking failure.

Thanks, Mom.

She set her jaw and shoved the thought aside. She pulled out her phone and fell into the mindless scroll. Leaning against one of the service doors, thumb swiping, cigarette in her other hand. Workout videos slid past. Getting back in shape — a start, at least. Well… mentally. She’d already paid for the gym, which proved she was thinking about going.

Actually walking in was the hard part. For now, ogling the workouts — okay, the guys doing them — counted as step one. Her eyes kept drifting lower.

God, I need to get laid.

Something moved.

A figure came out of the shadows. Tall, built like an athlete — and in jeans. Jeans flecked with paint, white and blue and a dark red, like he’d rolled a ceiling with his thighs. At the fanciest gala of the year. He was heading for the door fast, but she still had time to clock him: messy brown hair, breathing hard, like he’d just been running.

For once I’m not the last one in… Not bad at all, this guy… but God, he’s filthy.

“You’re super late. Go around that way or Hocq’ll be all over you,” she said, nodding toward the other service door.

He kept coming, no slower. Maybe he hadn’t heard. No look, no flicker of interest — nothing, even as he passed right by her.

“And, hey — what, are showers optional now?”

He stopped dead. Not offended. Just… somewhere else, like he was actually running the numbers on whether she had a point.

Lina rolled her eyes.

“YOU STINK.”

He turned and looked her over. The stare was direct, invasive, and it hit her full-on. No contempt in it — just a cold, methodical read.

What’s his problem?

Lina took a step back.

“I don’t believe that’s the case,” he said, calm.

He paused, then went on in an almost clinical tone.

“Technically, body odor doesn’t track with how much you sweat. It comes from bacteria breaking down apocrine secretions. Until the skin flora metabolizes the lipids, there’s no smell. So even though I’m sweating, I don’t smell. Not yet.”

Huh?!

His eyes moved to the cigarette between her fingers.

“Smoke, though — a few hundred volatile compounds that soak into fabric and stay.”

Lina blinked.

“And I’m not a server,” he finished.

How is someone this hot and this weird at the same time?… Wait — what? What does he mean, “not a server”?

“What are you, then?”

No answer. Just a silence that ran a beat too long. Then he looked away and walked on, like she’d already stopped existing.

Is this guy screwing with me?

Her fists tightened.

“I was only trying to help, you know — asshole!”

He barely slowed, ran a hand over the back of his neck, and kept going until he disappeared inside. Lina stubbed out her cigarette hard.

Idiot.

Back in the hall, she tried to get back in the groove. The guy had gotten under her skin.

“Oh, by the way, babe — apparently I’m not the worst one here today,” she said, with a crooked smile.

“How so?” Eloise said, collecting empty glasses.

“There’s another server who just rolled in.”

She paused for effect.

“Guy shows up in trashed jeans, covered in paint, three hours late, no big deal. I tell him to dodge Hocq. And the jerk gives me the brush-off of the century.”

Eloise shook her head, amused.

“His loss. Not our problem if he gets tossed out.”

“Right?!” Lina said — a little too into it. Part of her honestly hoped he would. Petty, she knew.

She went back to weaving through the guests, tray up, smile fixed, her head somewhere else.

He really wasn’t bad…

She bit her lip, annoyed. That guy, with his superior air and that look. That look.

She shook her head to get rid of the image.

He didn’t even notice you. Get over yourself.

She breathed out through her nose.

And I call them friends. If they’d just gotten me that damn Womanizer, I wouldn’t be standing here daydreaming about some guy who couldn’t care less.

Then, out of nowhere, the room went quiet, a ripple of excitement moving through the guests. Every head turned to the stage.

Lina felt the shift and glanced over. A stunning woman stood at the mic. In a smooth, practiced voice, she introduced the guest of honor.

That’s when he walked out.

A man in his early thirties, his expression closed off. His gaze held steady, like he was reading the room without really seeing anyone in it.

The black suit was flawless and gave him presence, but that wasn’t the first thing that got her. It was the calm. That intensity that pulled the room quiet without any effort. No wasted motion, no trying to charm. Just… him.

Lina watched him for a second. He didn’t have the easy charm of a man who knew he was wanted — he didn’t seem interested in being wanted at all. Somehow that made it impossible to look away. He was gorgeous, sure, in a way he didn’t seem to notice himself.

Then it hit her. It was him. The guy in the paint-stained jeans.

The blood left her face and she spun to Eloise.

“It’s him,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“Him who?” Eloise asked.

Lina couldn’t look away from the stage.

“The guy in the paint jeans,” she breathed.

Eloise gave her a puzzled, half-amused look.

“No — that’s Daniel Beresford.”

“Beresf—”

She couldn’t get it out. Daniel Beresford. Beresford as in Robert Beresford Holding.

“He’s the CEO of R.B.H.!” Eloise added, like Lina had missed something obvious.

The floor tilted. Lina put a hand on the table to stay upright.

“What did I do this time?” she muttered, cold pooling in her stomach. “Why can I never just shut up?”

She looked back at the stage, praying it was a bad joke.

God… it really was him.

Her heart slammed while Daniel Beresford kept talking, the whole room hanging on his every word.

Eloise caught the panic on her face, more worried by the second.

“Wait — you actually talked to him?”

Lina didn’t answer.

“What did you say that’s got you this worked up?” Eloise pressed.

Lina chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d have given anything to rewind and delete the whole thing.

“Nothing bad, don’t worry.”

Eloise wasn’t buying it.

“Lina. What did you say to him?”

“I— nothing, I swear—”

Her voice gave her away. Eloise held her stare until Lina caved.

“I told him he stank. And… maybe kind of called him a… jerk,” she admitted, burying her face in her hands.

“Excuse me?! You ‘just’ told him he stinks and ‘kind of’ called him a jerk?”

Eloise stared at her in disbelief, and Lina’s panic climbed a notch.

“How was I supposed to know who he was?!”

Eloise just looked at her like she’d lost it.

“Besides — isn’t he supposed to be old?!” Lina shot back.

A few guests were already shooting them annoyed looks. Lifting her head, Lina caught sight of the woman from the stage, deep in conversation with a blond man. She was smiling — and for a second Lina thought their eyes met — but Eloise pulled her right back to the crisis.

“Old?!” Eloise said. “That’s Robert Beresford. His grandfather.”

“His… grandfather?”

Whatever nerve Lina had left was gone. Eloise saw it and pulled herself together.

“Lina — ask Hocq to put you in the kitchen,” she said. “Then you won’t risk running into him again.”

Lina nodded. Best plan she’d heard all night.

After an hour talking to Noah — a pastry chef putting the finishing touches on the desserts — she finally loosened up, her heart rate back to something human. She’d almost put the Daniel Beresford thing behind her. She just wanted her shift to end so she could go home with Eloise.

Then a murmur caught her ear. Low voices, tucked under the clatter of pans.

“Did you hear? Daniel Beresford’s in the kitchen, thanking everybody.”

What the fuck.

Lina froze. She prayed she’d misheard. But she looked up and there he was: Daniel Beresford, in the kitchen doorway, his back to her, talking easily with Mr. Hocq. Her heart jumped.

No…

Too late.

She stepped back too fast and hit the counter, knocking a tray off the edge. It caught the tile on its rim with a ringing crash — then kept going, ringing and ringing, refusing to die.

Lina held her breath.

At last, after what felt like an eternity of clattering, the tray gave one final wobble before falling flat with a heavy, resounding clang.

Can I just die now?

The room went dead silent. Every head turned toward her.

But only one stare cut through her like a blade.

Daniel Beresford.

There was no hostility in his expression, but no sympathy either. Lina stood there, burning with embarrassment and barely able to breathe, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

Then, without a word, he looked away and headed back into the dining room, Mr. Hocq right behind him.

Lina remained frozen where she was, her hands shaking, her thoughts crashing into one another. She slowly drew in another breath and reminded herself that the evening was almost over.

Soon, she would leave.

And she would never have to see that man again.