by Selena Kitt
While I wait for room service I decide to pick up my iPad and head for the sitting room. The overstuffed, oversized chair that could probably put me to sleep if I sit still long enough is calling my name. With the iPad in hand, I sit and stretch my legs out to the table and pull up Safari and Google. I enter two words into the search line: Tristan Michaels.
Ten minutes later I realize I’ve been staring at various images of Tristan. There is a beautiful combination of posed and candid paparazzi shots. The ones of Tristan on the red carpet at various premieres and award shows are stunning. It appears that he doesn’t even have a bad side to be photographed.
What I find to be oddly painful are the images of him with Layla Brook. “Dammit! I forgot that he’s with her,” I grumble. But if he is still with her, then why buy me a drink? Why would he say some of the things he said to me on the beach? I start trying to rationalize the emotions I’m feeling toward Tristan and how I’m going to manage the fact that he’s with Layla.
“What am I thinking? There is no way that Tristan Michaels is even slightly interested in me.” I’m talking to myself again. “The only reason he bought me that drink was to see if I would reject it like I rejected every other man that tried to buy me a drink. Dammit. Why in the world would he be—”
Just then the high-pitched ring of my BlackBerry shrieks from the bedroom. I jump up and mutter, “Bloody hell.”
I take long, slow strides across the room, silently hoping that I will miss the call because the BlackBerry means business – Bold business – and its ringing usually means something is going on and not in a good way. As I reach the phone it falls silent once again. Not looking at the display to see who I missed, I grab it and return to my chair.
As I pull my iPad back onto my lap, I decide that looking at images of Tristan and Layla are doing me no good. So I click on “Web” and look for recent articles instead.
I find Tristan’s IMDB profile and am surprised by his short filmography. Love is Burning is his only released work. He has a release coming up in three weeks for Conjure, a fantasy about a girl who casts a love spell on the man of her dreams, but a different man falls in love with her. Seems kind of cute, but there’s nothing else listed.
“Based on his level of fame and Trinity’s obsession with him, it seems as though he’s done pretty well for himself.” I wonder why, prior to the Love is Burning movies, he has no history and why the bio portion of the biography is limited and incomplete. I should ask Trinity about it.
Just as I’m about to go back to the search page to look for news articles about him, the wretched BlackBerry starts to ring again. This time I pull the BlackBerry off of the cushion and read the display. It’s Trinity. What the hell?
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cami. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning.”
Considering it isn’t even six in the morning. “It’s no problem, Trinity, I was already awake. What’s going on?”
There is a silence that stretches for more than a casual pause. “Trinity?”
“Yeah…I ah, I’m here. Sorry, Cami, I know that there isn’t a whole lot you can do about this, but I felt it was important for you to know that we have an issue with my biggest client.”
“Are you talking about Tristan?” I ask. I’m only guessing because of the size of the photograph in her office. All the other images are pretty small in comparison.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Trinity, hold that thought one second. Room service is here.”
“Room service? Oh, that’s right. You didn’t go back to Phoenix. I forgot. I’ve been so crazy trying to track this guy down. Where are you?”
I open the door and turn to walk back toward the bedroom without looking at the waiter. “Just leave it on the table, thank you.”
“Sorry about that, Trinity. What exactly is going on?”
“Where are you, Cami?” Trinity is much more insistent this time.
Not wanting to go into details with her, I simply say, “I’m on vacation in Tahiti.”
A small laugh crackles across the line. “Well then I really do owe you an apology for calling so early.” There is a small pause followed by another little giggle. “As if I needed to feel any worse about calling you. Isn’t it like four or five in the morning there?”
I laugh. “No, try six. But forget it, I was up anyway. Spill it, Trinity. Why are you calling me at six in the morning?”
I hear her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wow, it must be really bad. My stomach starts to twist.
“You remember I told you about that client who disappeared from the premiere last Tuesday? Well, I’m still looking for him. There was an argument with his girlfriend that no one seems to know anything about, and as of Wednesday morning his head of security has gone missing as well.”
Now it’s my turn to take a deep breath. Something is weird and out of sorts about this. Just as I start to mull this over, I hear another knock at the door. That’s weird, who can it be now?
“I think she wants it on the table,” says a now-familiar male voice. I poke my head out into the sitting room to see a waiter enter my suite, followed closely by Tristan. My jaw hits the floor with a thud. Bloody hell.
“Cami! Cami, can you hear me?”
“What? No, I didn’t hear you. Sorry, there seems to be some confusion over my room service.”
“Cameron, Tristan Michaels is missing. No one can find him, and he is due in New York in two weeks to do some post-production work for his last movie, Conjure.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from busting into a fit of giggles. At least it’s nice to know I was right, even though Trinity doesn’t seem to have noticed. And I know exactly where Tristan is: he’s standing across the sitting area from me, appraising my legs, my hips, my breasts. Yeah, definitely lingering on my breasts. Finally his eyes meet mine.
I could solve this problem right here and now, but I’m fiendishly enjoying Trinity’s discomfort. “If he’s not due for two weeks, why are you completely freaking out right this minute?”
“Because, Cami, that’s my job. It is my responsibility to know where my clients are at all times, and at this point I have no way to reach him. I tried to get ahold of his head of security, but I can’t reach him, either.” The panic in her voice is evident, on the verge of crawling through the phone.
“And what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Tell me that I’m not going crazy, that he’s just off on some remote island somewhere with some beautiful woman. Tell me that he will show up in New York in two weeks. I don’t know.”
I’m biting my lip harder because I want to ease her guilt about his disappearance, but at the same time, Tristan’s reasons for being on this island – away from Trinity – are his business, and he needs to decide when to tell her where he is and why he’s here.
“Listen, Trinity. I’m sure that wherever Tristan is hiding is for his own benefit. I would imagine that if there is a problem, you will be the first to know. Maybe his fight with his girlfriend has him upset and desperate to get away. Whatever the reason, when the time is right for you to know, I’m sure you will.”
Taking a deep breath, I watch as Tristan’s face goes through a flood of emotions, finally landing on awe.
“All right, Cami, I will calm down. If you hear anything, will you let me know?”
I chuckle. “Not likely, but keep me posted if he pops up. If you’re really concerned about his safety, why don’t you get in touch with someone that knows his head of security? Find out if they’ve heard from him and go from there.”
“All right, I can do that. Thanks, Cami.”
I’m too busy watching Tristan to answer Trinity. He is standing near the dinning room table with his nearly six-foot, four-inch, muscle-toned, slightly tanned, sexy-as-hell, tattooed body. He’s wearing a black muscle shirt and swim trunks that cling to his body in a way that leaves little to the imagination. I can see the tail of his dragon tattoo on his leg, and I remem
ber what he looked like last night shirtless on the beach. Desire, hot and rapid, starts to pool deep down inside. I get a sudden idea.
“Why don’t you send me all of his contact information – address, phone and email – and I will try myself to see if I can reach him,” I say to Trinity.
“All right, Cami. Will do.” Trinity sounds a little surprised that I offered to help. “I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything further. Call me if you hear back from him?”
“Thank you, hon. Will do. ’Bye.” I hit the end button without waiting to hear her goodbye.
The waiter is finished setting up my food on the table and is waiting for me. I walk toward him, grabbing a twenty along the way. But before I hand it to the waiter, I turn to Tristan. “Would you like anything to eat?”
“Uh, sure. I think you have plenty here, though.”
With a small giggle, I say, “Um, no I don’t.” I turn back to the waiter. “Can you place a duplicate order and have it brought up as soon as possible? Please.”
“Yes, ma’am, right away.”
“Thank you.”
The waiter nods and quickly leaves the room.
I turn to Tristan, pausing a moment to take in the fact that he is standing in my room. “Good morning, Tristan!” He smiles at me, bright pearly whites appearing behind his lips. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
He smiles wider, if that’s even possible. “I saw you out on your balcony. I figured you were still awake because the lights were still on. Imagine my surprise when I knock, you let me in, then walk away.” He cocks his head to the left slightly.
I blush bright red. He continues, “It wasn’t until you said to set it up on the table that I realized you hadn’t even looked into the peephole.” He is nearly whispering by the end, and I blush an even deeper red. I begin to turn toward the bedroom. He grabs me gently by the elbow. I flinch at the electric contact between us.
“Where you going?” I try to pull my arm from his grasp. At first he resists. Then he lets go.
“I’m just going to put some real clothes on.”
I complete my turn and start walking toward the bedroom. “By the way, that was Trinity on the phone. Care to explain why it is that you’re ignoring her?” I say as casually as I can manage. It feels like lightning is running a race from where he touched my elbow through my body straight to my now rapidly beating heart.
Once in the bedroom I take a few deep breaths. Search for and find my favorite pair of pajama shorts and a different, less revealing t-shirt. Not exactly attractive by any means, but I feel it’s the respectable thing to do. It’s bad enough that my mind is running wild with sexual desire and tension.
Once I’m dressed, I walk back into the main room. He’s moved over to my oversized chair, leaning forward, his elbows pressed into his slightly parted legs. God, those muscles. Then I realize he is looking at my iPad. Oh, please, please don’t let him be actually looking at the screen.
I look at his face then. He’s all tension. His face is tight, jaw straining, almost like he’s literally biting his tongue. I need to say something to try and break up this tension.
Just as I open my mouth to say something, there is yet another knock at the door. I make a move to get the door, but Tristan is faster. He walks quickly and purposefully. I hear some chatter in the hallway, and just like that, Tristan is back. His hands now full with a silver tray. His breakfast.
I smile. “Boy, that was fast. Wish I could have gotten my breakfast that fast.”
He chuckles. “They usually aren’t this fast.” He slowly makes his way to the dining room table and places the tray in front of one of the chairs. “Are you going to join me?”
As he turns toward the chair, I’m momentarily lost to the thought of eating with Tristan and to the view in front of me. Tristan has one of those backsides that most women I know would kill to have attached to their own bodies.
Finally, though, I do find my voice. “That depends, are you going to tell me why Trinity can’t find you? Obviously you’re here with me, but she made it sound like you’ve fallen off the face of the earth.”
Gripping the back of the chair, he drops his head, looking at his flip-flops. “Why would she be calling you about me anyway?”
Oh right. I guess I’d forgotten to mention that part. “So…remember last night when I told you I’m Cameron Enders? Daughter of the deceased Robert Enders? Well, since his death, I’ve become the CEO of Bold International. The firm that represents you.”
There is a very long pause. Tristan tenses multiple times, and at one point I think he is going to bust the chair in two. But he finally releases his grip and starts to pace the room.
I take my seat at the table. “Tristan, are you okay? What exactly is going on?”
While he continues to pace he starts ranting. “How perfect this is? Of all the corners and hiding spots in this world, I just so happen to pick the one that is currently inhabited by the CEO of the one company that I was desperately trying to avoid. The company that holds my career in their hands. Not that the said career is much at the moment, and I’m not sure that I want it to be much more than what it is, yet here you are, on the phone with the one person whose insistence on knowing all the details is capable of driving the sanest of people into the nut house. And here I am in your hotel room – the hotel room of the CEO of Bold International – having highly inappropriate thoughts…” He pauses and looks directly at me. Of course I blush like a school girl. He smiles. “Seems that I’m not the only one having improper thoughts.” His grin is tight, but at least he’s trying to sport a smile.
I blush a little deeper, but I can’t help the smile that makes its way to my lips. HA! I’m not the only one. “Tristan, please, it’s all right. Trinity was calling because she felt it important that I know that her star client has gone missing for nearly four days. She’s concerned for your well-being. She became increasingly concerned when she was trying to reach your security detail and he too seems to be missing.”
“No, I know right where he is. He is standing outside the door to this very room.”
Oh shit, are you kidding me? “Why is he standing outside of this room?”
“Because I’m in here and, well, he won’t go anywhere without me. I wanted to come here to see you.” He pauses. “Now I’m not so sure this was a good idea.”
The disappointment swells inside me. Why would being in my room not be a good idea? Is the fact that I have controlling interest in a company that he is involved with going to ruin whatever chemistry seems to be brewing between us?
Please, dear God, no. The fear of whatever has been building threatens my tear ducts. I finally have the man I’ve fantasized about for years within my reach, and he wants to go. Is he concerned because he has similar feelings to mine? Is he attracted to me? The thought of him wanting me has my heart beating harder and faster.
I can’t help but wonder what has him so spooked. I think back to what Trinity told me and start to put it together. “Trinity said that the last time you were seen was Tuesday night at a premiere. She says that you were seen fighting with your girlfriend, though no one seems to know what about. Then you arrived here on Wednesday, or at least that is what I gathered from my conversation with Jessie last night. Right now, I can only imagine that she is the reason that you left L.A.…” I trail off. God, this sounds all too familiar.
Tristan goes back to pacing. “Fucking hell! I really don’t want to talk about this. I’m sorry, Cami, but the reason why I’m here is because I needed to escape life in general. I left without telling anyone because I need to be able to organize my own thoughts on how to deal with all of this. So please, give me a minute. I’ve said more than I should have already.” He stops and looks around. “Do you have a cigarette?”
I get up quickly from the table and grab the pack I had put on the mantle after Tristan found me on the balcony. As I hand him the pack and my lighter, he continues, “But now I’m guessing I really have no choice, and I
know that I’m running out of time.”
He continues pacing, and the silence grows between us. I pad quietly back to the chair at the table and sit down. I watch him with my eyes only as he paces, taking long drags on the cigarette he took from my pack. After a couple of minutes I grab the pack and light one myself. His tension is starting to rub off on me and I haven’t the first clue why.
I don’t press him to talk to me. Mainly because I’ve learned from my father that once a question is asked, you stay silent until the other person breaks the silence. Gradually his pacing slows. I finish my cigarette, ignoring the food in front of me.
Finally he breaks the silence and starts to talk. “Why are you not eating your breakfast?”
“You asked me to join you. I figured it would be best to wait. To be honest, my appetite is on a mini vacation back in the States.” I try to smile, but it’s a strained attempt.
He ignores my joke. “I—I can’t. I am trying to figure out how best to explain this to you.” Finally he stops pacing and sits down in my overstuffed chair, elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor again. With his head in his hands he explains, “Layla cheated on me. From my understanding, it was with half of the staff from the movie she just finished filming.”
The angst I felt earlier about seeing the pictures of Tristan with Layla dissolves in an instant. They were obviously having some major issues and are no longer together. Hope blossoms in my heart that maybe, just maybe, this can be more than a professional relationship.
“That’s not a reason to go running,” I whisper. God, what kind of hypocrite am I? “Though, I, um, ran for a similar reason. I actually caught him in the act.”
His head pops up. His eyes, which are normally so light as to be almost translucent, grow dark and hard. “Well, at least we figured out the first true thing that we have in common. Though of course your sex life will not be plastered all over the headlines of magazines and newspapers.” He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair so violently that I’m afraid he’s going to pull it out at the root.
