And my heart thumped. This was seriously deep and I hadn’t meant to go in this direction. I’d just had some lighthearted questions about his tattoos, figuring it was just idle chitchat, and now he was telling me that I helped him reclaim a part of himself? I was silent in my seat, tongue-tied.
“Now that I’ve made you uncomfortable,” said Tristan wryly. “Why don’t you tell me about where you’re headed? What’s new on the plate for you? What are you hoping to do in your next four years?”
And I smiled, relieved to be moving on. Things were happening so fast that I seriously needed a week on my own just to figure things out, work them over in my head. So I smiled at him shyly.
“I have a spiel all planned out for the Dean so that he has to admit me,” I said tongue in cheek. “Despite what my guidance counselor says, it still helps to make a good impression.”
And the big man grew silent.
“That’s true,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s very true. So what are you going to say?” he teased. “That you want to be a vet? That you’re going to be a public interest lawyer, saving the world?”
And here, I grew quiet again.
“Actually, yes,” I said quietly. “I was thinking about going to law school someday.”
But Tristan just laughed.
“But not for public interest, surely? Honey, you know that stuff takes the heart out of you, it’s working with the destitute, people who have few resources and even fewer options. Don’t you want an easier job? Take it from me, I work with dollars, and they’re a shit ton easier to control than people,” he said wryly.
But I shook my head seriously.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to do something to help older people in the United States. Have you heard of Elder Law? It’s kind of new, doesn’t get a lot of attention, but it’s growing in leaps and bounds as Baby Boomers age.”
Tristan’s brow creased for a moment.
“Honey, of course I’ve heard of Elder Law,” he said gently. “I knew Mrs. Astor, I watched as that shitshow unfolded from the newsroom and it was heartbreaking … for everyone, her family, her sons, her grandsons, for New York,” he said.
And I was silent for a moment, realizing that Tristan had a front-row seat to every newsworthy item as head of his company. And what a scandal it had been, covered by a million papers, witnesses from the cream of society testifying in Family Court. Because Mrs. Astor was the Missus Astor of New York society, a grand dame celebrated for her wit, her scrappiness, her generosity as a philanthropist, and her late-in-life marriage to Vincent Astor, a curmudgeonly old geezer who left her billions upon his death.
But it had all gone wrong when she hit 100. Suffering from dementia, Mrs. Astor’s son took advantage of the old lady, diverting countless assets while neglecting her care, leaving the socialite sitting in her own feces, unbathed, unwashed, uncared for in her penthouse apartment on Park Avenue.
And so it had hit the courthouse and then the press. Mrs. Astor Living in Filth! The headlines screamed. Mrs. Astor Betrayed By Her Own Son! Because sadly it was true. Her closest relation had let his mother live in deplorable conditions while pilfering assets from under her nose.
And this was exactly why I wanted to practice in the elder law arena. With so many Americans aging there was a cohort that was inevitably moving towards vulnerability, both physical and emotional. It wasn’t just the disintegration of aging bodies, but there were aging minds that were easily influenced, whether from dementia, depression, or sheer loneliness, having watched friends and family pass on. And I wanted to be there, to help lift these older souls, help them navigate the world in a safe and sound manner, however small my contribution might be. So I’d resolved to specialize in Elder Law with a sub-specialty in Trusts and Estates, to protect the aged and infirm to the best of my abilities.
“I know Elder Law doesn’t seem glamorous,” I said hesitantly. “But I think I could really be of use,” I said slowly. “Most people want fancy corporate jobs, they’d probably love to get an in-house position at Marks Holdings,” I said wryly, shooting Tristan a glance. “But it’s just … I dunno, my mom passed away when I was young, so I guess I have a lot of opinions on this subject.”
And we were silent for a moment.
“Carolyn loved you,” rumbled Tristan quietly. “That’s why she asked me to take care of you, she wanted you to be okay and knew that I could handle the responsibility.”
“And Mr. Marks,” I said gently, taking his hand once more. “You’ve done an amazing job. But I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a woman with my own thoughts and feelings, my own free will. It’s time to recognize that I’m an adult. Besides,” I added with a gentle smile, “the minute I turned eighteen, you were no longer my guardian.”
A flash ran through the big man’s eyes.
“Don’t I know it,” he said softly, his eyes hungry. “I counted the days until you turned eighteen.”
And my body coursed with awareness of him, that big form in the driver’s seat.
“So you know that we’re two equals now, man and woman, right? There’s no guardianship anymore, I’m free to do as I like.”
He nodded.
“I know,” he said in a tortured voice. “I just want to make sure that it’s okay. I’m twenty years older than you baby, and I was supposed to be your support, your backbone, the safety net that caught you in times of need.”
“You were all that,” I breathed, taking his hand again and giving it a squeeze. “You are all that, still, just in a different way.”
Tristan took a deep breath, his gaze moving first to our clasped hands and then out the windshield.
“I am, aren’t I?” he said under his breath. “And we’ll make it work,” he said determinedly.
“We will,” I agreed with a soft smile.
At that moment, we pulled into a circular driveway before a neat, tidy home, the hedgerows trimmed, a compact Prius out front.
“Where are we?” I said, nonplussed. “I thought we were headed to the Dean’s office.”
Tristan was a powerful alum so I wasn’t surprised that we were meeting up with the Dean of Admissions, but I was surprised to be pulling up to someone’s private home.
“This is the Dean’s house,” he grinned. “Barry’s a friend of mine from way back,” he added. “Come on, we don’t want to be late, a would-be admit’s gotta make a good impression,” he winked.
And I had to smile at that. The entire car ride, no the entire morning, had been impossible to predict, filled with ups and downs, heartfelt discussion mixed with light conversation, flirtation and seriousness all in one. What was next? A declaration of sorts? A confession that he loved me? All I knew was that Tristan was torn still, conflicted by his role as my guardian cum lover.
As for me, I loved being Mrs. Tristan Marks … even if it was only pretend.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tristan
The little girl is amazing, and the revelations in the car astounded me. I’d always known that Daisy was smart but I had no idea that she was so intelligent and ambitious, determined to make a mark on the world. Elder Law? How many people decide to pass up a lucrative corporate career in favor of helping the aged and infirm?
But I respected the brunette all the more for it. I loved that she would put herself out there for people she didn’t even know, people who would never be able to repay her good deeds. My girl was giving and generous, so different from my cold, calculating heart.
And that just made me hate myself more. Because there were chasms between us, Daisy was sweet, warm and loving while I was a cold-hearted bastard, not to mention her former guardian. So how was this going to work? There was no clear path with the brunette headed to college next year. Just the thought of the crowds of dudes who’d be more than happy to get a bite of my tasty girl made me sick, made the vomit roil in my stomach, bile rising in my throat.
But I pushed it out of my mind. However much I wanted promises from the little girl, assur
ances that there was some place for me, for us, it was way too early. Back the fuck down, I reminded myself. Daisy’s eighteen. Of course she doesn’t know what she wants, she’s figuring it out, spreading her wings. What, you think you have all the answers because you’re forty? You’ve got twenty years on the girl, you think that makes you a genius?
But that was the thing. I did believe I had everything she needed, that anything she wanted I could provide. I did believe that Daisy would be better off with me, living with me, finding her way with me by her side, a guiding hand, a steady oar in the water with her, around her, inside her. But there was no sharing my feelings because I’d already done enough, introducing her to the physical in an overnight storm of sensations. It’s just that … fuck, I needed some guidance when it came to the emotional and I was floundering, seriously walking around like a clueless shit, totally mixed up.
So I did what I always do. I ignored it, my brow drawing down in a frown before I realized she was looking at me, taking me in with those wide brown eyes.
“Something wrong, Tristan?” she asked lightly, smoothing her skirt as we stood on the doorstep, the bell ringing faintly indoors. Her clothes were completely appropriate, sexy co-ed without being too revealing, brown hair gleaming.
“Nothing’s the matter,” I ground out before plastering a smile on my face. Just then the door opened.
“Tristan!” a voice boomed. “Good to see you again man.”
A fat dude stepped out, one whom I almost didn’t recognize. Because Barry and I had been lacrosse teammates back during undergrad, running up and down the field, swinging our sticks while chasing the ball, beating the competition to a pulp. But shit, this guy was a walking whale now, a man mountain with loads of flesh and a florid complexion, blonde hair almost white.
“Hey hey hey,” he said jovially, clapping me on the back. “Long time no see Tristan, it’s been a while.”
And I nodded. I’d been up for reunion last year but hadn’t had a chance to catch up with my old buddy. But then again, last year I’d had no idea that I’d have a ward interested in attending Hudson. Back then, Daisy had just been a blip, less than a blip, just an afterthought on my radar.
“Good to see you,” I said smoothly, shaking the big man’s hand. To be honest, I was kind of surprised Barry was Dean of Admissions because way back in the day there’d been a brouhaha about some sexual misconduct, charges that were pressed against him either by the Academic Committee or the Ethics Committee, I couldn’t remember. So it was bizarre that Barry was now a major figure with respect to the student population, someone with sway over who got in and who stayed out. But I shrugged my shoulders. Nothing had come of the investigation as far as I remembered and the university vetted all job applicants like they were the NSA. Whatever happened must have been nothing.
So I just smiled, giving no clue as to my thoughts.
“Hey wassup, good to see you again. This is my former ward Daisy,” I ground out, turning to the girl by my side.
“Hi Dean Lang, Tristan was just telling me how much he adores his alma mater,” Daisy said with a genuine smile. “Ithaca is gorges,” she quipped.
And Barry laughed at the pun on gorgeous. Our campus has steep gorges in its ravines, there are kayaking classes for the students, the white water frothy, choppy and tumultuous at times.
“’Ithaca is Gorges’ is our best-selling t-shirt, our best-selling logo blanket, our best-selling baseball cap,” chuckled the big man, enormous belly heaving. “But don’t tell anyone because our gorges are also the site of a lot of sadness. Did you hear about the Hendricks kid?” he asked, turning to me.
And I sighed. Unfortunately, I’d heard and had wish it hadn’t happened.
“Yes, and shit, that fucking sucks,” I ground out. Every few years a student in the depths of despair threw himself into the gorges, thinking life was no longer worth living. It was terrible, my heart went out to these kids, the way they thought life was over because of one bad midterm, one bad interaction. The administration had seriously considered roping off the ravines, putting all that property under 24-hour surveillance as a deterrent. But ropes and cameras can only do so much, and a determined kid is a determined kid.
I sighed. This conversation was going nowhere, so I ignored Barry’s implicit invitation to dive deeper and instead switched subjects.
“Daisy here’s interested in a pre-law program,” I said smoothly, indicating my ward. “We thought you were just the guy to bounce ideas off of.”
And Barry laughed, stepping back to let us into his living room.
“I sure am, I see a ton of pre-law hopefuls every year, they come to Hudson and thrive,” he chuckled. “Did I mention that Hudson also has a law school? A lot of our undergrads love it here so much that they stick around for another three years to get their JDs. I swear, I don’t even have to sell this place, it sells itself.”
And I knew then that Barry was likely an excellent Dean because instead of Daisy feeling like she needed to prove she was a stellar applicant, he was selling the school to us while giving Daisy the space to open up, express herself. And so the conversation flowed, Daisy sharing her aspirations to be a public interest lawyer, her interest in the judiciary, in the academic study of law, in law practice.
“That’s something we like to hear,” said Barry, nodding approvingly as my little girl gave a brief sketch of her aspirations. “A lot of kids say they want to learn for the sake of learning, but law is a professional degree. The admissions committee likes to hear from people who want to practice.”
“Oh I get it,” said Daisy flushing. “I totally get it, some people are real nerds and I am too,” she said quickly. “It’s just that I want to put my skills to work, really make a difference, and I think I could do better as a practicing lawyer than if I were just learning for the sake of learning. I mean it’s fun to learn, I appreciate the opportunity, but I want to really make something of myself.”
And Barry let out another belly laugh, leaning back on the overstuffed couch.
“Well, that’s always refreshing to hear. So many kids these days have no direction, no idea what they want to do. You’ve got a good one, Tristan, you’ve got a really good one.”
And I merely nodded silently. I’d been astonished again by how eloquently Daisy had expressed herself, like she’d done real thinking about her career, her life. In fact, the only person at that age who’d done just as much introspection was me. When I was eighteen, I too had been hungry, determined to make my mark and so I knew how bright the fire could burn, how hot the flames, the little girl’s desire to impact the world.
And after the discussion was over, Barry stood up.
“You got a good one,” he chortled again. The jolly man looked me straight in the eye and winked. “A real good one.”
What the fuck was he saying? Was he implying something illicit between my ward and I? My hackles immediately rose even as I schooled my face in impassiveness. But the fat man just shook his head, letting out another big belly laugh and said, “I’d love to show you around myself but my gout’s been acting up and I can’t walk worth crap these days. Instead I’ve asked my son Lance to give you guys the campus tour. Lance!” he called into the back of the house. “Come out here and meet our guests.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” said Daisy quickly, “Tristan, I’m sure you still remember campus well, right? No need for a tour guide.”
And I growled.
“Absolutely, I know where all the buildings are. They haven’t changed locations, they don’t get up and walk,” I rumbled. I wanted some more alone time with the brunette, I wanted to show her the special nooks and crannies where I’d become a man so long ago.
But it was too late because a handsome son-of-a-bitch burst into the room, tall, athletic, filled with youth and energy. And fuck, but Barry’s son was like a version of him from twenty years ago, handsome and fit, with a shock of white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes.
“Sure Pop
,” said the boy, “Is this the guy you used to play lacrosse with?” he asked, nodding my way while popping a stick of gum.
“Sure is,” replied Barry jovially. “Lance plays lacrosse for Hudson too, just like we did long ago. Thought you might like to meet finally, Tristan’s CEO of Marks Holdings, isn’t that right?” he said, squinting at me.
“That’s right, I’ve come a long ways,” I said smoothly. “A long ways from being a bench warmer on the lacrosse team while your dad ran up and down the field. But times have changed, haven’t they Barry boy?” I said with fake humor, clapping the Dean on the back. “Let’s go,” I said shortly.
And before anyone could say another word, we were out the door and into the car. I knew exactly why I was suddenly grouchy. The stupid boy in the backseat was a gnat, a smear on an otherwise perfect day and I silently cursed my old friend for saddling us with his son.
But then again, Barry had no idea that Daisy and I were an item, no reason to suspect, I assured myself. And it was only natural that he wanted Lance to come with us, after all I was a powerful man with powerful connections. I could hook Lance up with an internship, sure, so long as he kept his eyes off my ward and his dick in his pants.
Grumbling impatiently, I pressed my foot on the accelerator. What the fuck. I’d wanted to have a beautiful day with my best girl, and now I was fucking dragging around a man-puppy, a half-ass adolescent with us who was gazing at Daisy like she was a piece of tasty, juicy candy. But fuck that … because she was mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Daisy
It was kind of funny how grumpy Mr. Marks got when Lance bounded out. I mean, Mr. Marks is a handsome man, all tall, dark and gorgeous but Lance is attractive too, just in a completely different way. Lance is blonde and thin with some acne on his chin and neck but it’s okay, it’s not super-gross or anything.
My Mom's Fiance: A Dark Bad Boy Romance Page 28
