Hard Pack (Ridden Hard Book 2)

by Allyson Lindt

  When she reached the office, she made a stop by her desk long enough to drop her coat and purse off. She turned toward Malory’s office, and Gemma, the girl who sat across from her, rolled away from her desk.

  “How’d it go?” Gemma asked.

  “Wonderful. Everything’s where it should be.”

  “Good.” Gemma’s smile was warm and friendly. There were days Victoria envied her ability to just be her. “There was a guy here for you. Tristan?”

  “Malory left me a message about it.”

  “Oh, yeah. He said something about the rec center and tax documents.”

  Victoria edged her way toward Malory’s office, trying to be polite about cutting the conversation short. She didn’t mind the casual chat, but the vague we need to talk messages had her on edge. Answers would help with that. “Thanks. I’ll get back to him.”

  “Oh, and...” Gemma frowned. “He was asking questions about the baby and the father. I didn’t think twice about answering until he got a little weird. I’m sorry if I gave him too much info.”

  Nausea surged in Victoria’s gut. Not unusual these days. So much for the question of how do I broach the topic with him? “It’s not a big deal. I have to talk to Mal, though.” She nodded in that direction.

  “Sure. Good luck.”

  Victoria forced her feet one in front of the other, toward the office at the far end of the room. Confusion caused by too many questions with no answers jumbled in her head. She boxed up the ones about Tristan and knocked on Malory’s open door.

  Her boss looked up from her computer, then nodded to the chair across from her. “Come on in. Close the door.”

  Not a good sign. Victoria wasn’t worried about her job, but she wasn’t comforted by the need for a private conversation. “What’s up?” She took a seat.

  “We got notice from the IRS today. A subpoena for our paperwork around the donation of the rec center. We’re looking at an audit.”

  “Fuck.” Victoria scowled.

  “Exactly. There’s a possibility we could lose our tax-exempt status over this. Or worse.”

  Everything else slid to the back of Victoria’s mind. She couldn’t let that happen. This was one of those things she believed in, and she didn’t give out a lot of faith. She’d poured thousands of her own money into the organization. She wasn’t letting a little misfiled paperwork destroy something good. “What can I do?”

  “I’ve got our lawyer sifting through everything on our side, figuring out if we’re going to have any issues with the offer we extended to Mischa. I think we’re all set, since he’s going to be working in an unpaid volunteer position, unless you can think of anything that seemed off about the deal.”

  It would be easier to say what wasn’t off about it. “Besides the fact my ex-boyfriend gave us a multi-million-dollar building, and helped fund the extraneous cost with his own artwork?” Because he wanted to piss off his current fiancée’s estranged father, and in the process sold his half of a lucrative commercial real estate firm, to cover the remaining cost? That was all perfectly normal, and not at all odd.

  “Besides that.” Amusement tinged the stress in Malory’s reply.

  Victoria shook her head. “Nothing that hasn’t been disclosed.”

  “Well, if you talk to Tristan Hough, maybe dig for a little info?”

  Speaking with Mischa was still uncomfortable, but it was getting easier. Tristan on the other hand... She gave Malory a thin smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  They chatted a little longer, and Victoria excused herself back to her desk. She had calls to make. People to kiss up to and money to collect. The country club event was a good boost for the charity, but it wasn’t all cash, and the months that fell between fundraisers tended to be the tightest on cash flow.

  People gave in force when they were reminded there was a cause, and that kept the lights on and the kids provided for the rest of the time.

  The Missed Call light blinked on her desk phone, and she pulled up the info. She shouldn’t know from a glance that was Tristan’s number, but she did. The news about a pending audit, combined with thoughts of him stayed forefront in her mind.

  Her gaze fell on her cellphone. Screw it, she was making the call. She grabbed the device, pulling up his number as she walked toward the break room. She sat at one of the two chairs next to the single table in the corner. The nervous energy spilling inside, as she listened to the first too-loud ring—forced her to stand again. She paced the couple of steps to the soda machine.

  “This is Tristan.” His tone was as cool and professional as she expected, but it still sent heat flowing over her.

  She spun and walked in the other direction, only needing a few more steps to reach the far wall. “Hey. I saw you called. And heard you stopped by.” And so many other things she could list, but she refused to ramble.

  “I did. I was looking for information about this IRS thing.”

  “Are you free tonight for dinner?” She refused to cave to the impulse to explain to him it was just business. She made offers like this all the time, to woo perspective donors. Besides, the nice thing about a public place was he probably wouldn’t make a scene. Manipulative? Yes, but it would get the job done.

  “If it’s early. Six at Christian’s?”

  Not the highest end place he could have chosen, but her wallet still winced. She couldn’t charge a meal like this back to the organization. It was the reason she had to be more frugal when the meals were for herself. “Sounds great.”

  She just had to keep herself occupied and ignore the gnawing in her gut until then.

  The next several hours dragged like molasses, and when the clock hit five, she had to force herself to stay in her seat. The problem with the six o’clock dinner was that it didn’t give her enough time to go home and change, but heading there straight from the office meant arriving more than half an hour early.

  So she wished her co-workers goodnight, and refreshed social media on her phone, as the seconds ticked away. At five-thirty she couldn’t sit still anymore. Not here. She’d lurk in her car at the restaurant, like a needy date, instead.

  No. She refused to do that. She forced confidence through her veins, then left for dinner.

  Tristan was already there when she arrived, and she couldn’t help her tickle of satisfaction. He looked good. Then again, that was par for the course with him. Slacks, button-down shirt, no tie. She pasted on her business-smile as she approached.

  He met her with an outstretched hand. “Ms. Small.”

  That was bullshit. No one used last names that way. But she’d play along. “Mr. Hough. Thank you for fitting me into your schedule.”

  “It was a pleasant surprise to have you make an appointment.”

  She searched his face for a hint that he was being passive aggressive. A mask stared back. “I was grateful you took my call,” she said.

  There was the twitch, but she couldn’t read him. He gestured toward the door. “Shall we?” He rested his hand on the small of her back.

  Though she knew it wasn’t possible, she swore the simple touch seared through her winter coat and the clothes underneath. It nearly unraveled her composure, but she wasn’t letting her defenses down around him.

  TRISTAN’S MIND REVOLTED when he saw Victoria walking toward him, and he was still fighting to put his thoughts back in order. They were a jumble of wondering if she was keeping things from him, demanding answers about the looming audit, and she looks incredible.

  He was out-of-sorts enough, he didn’t think about dropping his hand to guide her inside. But the sharp breath she sucked through her teeth jolted through him like a live wire.

  He asked the hostess for a booth, grateful for the excuse to smother more instinct. He slid into the spot across from her.

  “I assume you have your attorney and accountant fixing this thing?” she said, overlapping his, “Congratulations on the baby. You’re what? Three months along?”

  She stared at him, h
azel eyes hard, as if she hoped to bore a hole through his skull.

  The waiter interrupted, smiling and chatting, as if oblivious to the cloud of tension hanging over the table. He took their drink and appetizer orders. Victoria tried to tell him they needed two checks, but he was already gone.

  “Dinner is on me,” Tristan said.

  “The baby isn’t yours.”

  “Didn’t say otherwise.” That summoned a new round of mental chaos. She wouldn’t lie about that. He’d quell his disappointment and move on. “Ash did.” Fuck, he didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t want to pull Ash into his issues.

  Victoria never flinched. “She didn’t, because there’s nothing otherwise to say.”

  “No, she didn’t. But she squirmed a lot when I brought it up, and was very relieved to have the subject changed.”

  “So the first thing you did was sacrifice her honesty for your answers?” Irritation slid into Victoria’s voice.

  He did feel bad about that, but he owed Ash an apology, not Victoria. “If it’s not mine, it doesn’t matter. Conversation over.”

  “I lied. It is.”

  He wouldn’t ask why the run-around. The situation wasn’t exactly friendly. He also wasn’t going to be the asshole who asked are you sure? “Were you going to tell me?”

  “Eventually. You’re not going to pull some sort of it’s mine, let me be involved in its life thing, are you?”

  That hurt. Her tone. The automatic assumption he wouldn’t be part of this. “I planned on doing exactly that.”

  “Can you imagine how bad that would look, on top of the pending investigation?”

  The rapidly flipping subjects made him grit his teeth. He needed to get answers about the audit, but he wanted to talk about the baby. His baby. “All right, we’ll cover that first. Yes, my accountant and lawyer are on it, but I did everything by the letter. Especially considering I didn’t make the donation. So assure me your people are looking at it, too.”

  “We’re a fucking charity. We know how to file the paperwork around a donation.”

  “Obviously not.” He wasn’t handling this well.

  Her hand rested on the table, near her water glass, but she didn’t pick up the drink. Instead, she clenched and unclenched her fist. “Did you talk to Mischa? Stupid question. Of course you did.”

  “I called you first. I only went to see him when I couldn’t get a hold of you.” Tristan wanted to scale this back. He didn’t mean the evening to be confrontational.

  Her scowl didn’t vanish, but some of the lines on her forehead softened. “Any idea what triggered the whole thing?”

  “You mean besides the whole... all of it?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched in an unformed smile. “The entire situation is fifty shades of fucked-up.”

  He chuckled. “It really is. And if I had any idea what caused it, I wouldn’t have let that thing happen.”

  “Same on our side. What are you doing about it?”

  “Giving them everything they asked for and crossing my fingers truth will win out.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “How likely do you think that is?”

  He didn’t have Mischa’s luck, but he was good at what he did, and fatalism was an early death. “Fifty-fifty?”

  “You’re such an optimist.”

  “Pretty sure you’d be the first person ever to call me that.” He kept his tone light. This was so much better than guarded hostility.

  The waiter returned with their drinks and appetizers, and Tristan realized he hadn’t glanced at the menu. He looked at Victoria. “Do you know what you want?”

  “Whatever’s good? Something with steak in it?”

  Tristan looked at the waiter. “Two of whatever the special is.” The man had explained, but Tristan had been too ensnared in the conversation with Victoria.

  “You don’t have to pick up the tab,” she said when the waiter was gone.

  “It’s true. But I have to keep my baby mamma well cared for,” he teased. God, he hoped she took it that way.

  She cringed. “Please don’t ever call me that again.”

  “What are you going to name her? Him? Are you finding out the baby’s sex?” The questions themselves didn’t seem odd, but knowing he was asking them about a child he fathered... That fucked with his head.

  This wasn’t planned, and he couldn’t simply shoehorn himself into Victoria’s life. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

  “I’ll probably find out,” she said. “But they can’t tell for at least another three or four weeks. You don’t have to be a part of it, or pretend, or feel any obligation...”

  Hurt slipped in and irritation moved to cover it. “No, I don’t have to. Would you be happier if I just sent a check?” He didn’t mean for the words to hold the edge they did.

  She scowled. “That’s not what I said.”

  “You haven’t actually said a lot of anything. It’s been pulling teeth to get the information out of you.”

  “Because it was easier to deal with it on my own than try to guess how you were going to react. This wasn’t highest on the list of do not want, by the way, but it’s certainly not great.” The annoyance was back in her voice, too.

  “You’ve had three months longer than me to process. What do you want me to do?”

  “Maybe not be a dick about the entire thing.” She pursed her lips and gave him the same death glare as earlier.

  Which he was. Knowing it didn’t make it any easier to back down. “You’re not giving me a lot to work with.”

  “Imagine how I felt, staring at that stupid little plus on the stick I’d just peed on, and realizing this was a big freaking unknown in the middle of an otherwise structured life.” She slid from the bench and stood. “On second thought, I have plans tonight. Enjoy dinner.”

  He ground his teeth together and let her leave. At least things were back to normal between them.

  God damn it.

  Chapter Eight

  “HE WAS JUST SO... him.” Victoria fiddled with the edge of the throw pillow she held in her lap.

  Her therapist, Dr. Beck Green, watched her, sympathy in his gaze. “How do you mean?”

  “I guess it could have gone worse. He didn’t ask me if I was sure I wanted to keep it or anything like that.” She still looked back in horror on that almost-made mistake. It might be right for some people, but she was grateful for where she ended up.

  Thank God for shrink appointments. Victoria had been playing last night’s dinner in her head over and over until she was ready to scream. The verbal outlet helped her slide back toward sane.

  “But he kept pushing his involvement,” Beck said.

  Twice wasn’t really kept, but at the time it felt like it to her. “It’s not like I want him to pull some sort where do I send the check, and then walk away. But the alpha dog power play of inserting himself into my life, out of some sense of obligation. It just rubbed me wrong.”

  The conversation with Tristan wasn’t over. He wouldn’t want to leave things unresolved any more than she did.

  “You said that’s not what you want. What do you want?” Beck’s questions were always soft and non-judgmental. They tended to keep the conversation on track, without planting answers in Victoria’s head.

  Most of the time she appreciated that. Today, she wanted someone else to do the thinking for her. “I don’t know. I’ve been so busy thinking about how to handle everything else, and just how to tell him, I never got to the what next part of him. What if he tries to hold this over my head?”

  “Would he do that?”

  He still hadn’t completely dropped the Mischa thing. The reminders she was responsible for that shitty relationship. Could she handle eighteen years of Tristan reminding her he didn’t like this? Then again, what happened with Mischa was her fault. “I don’t know. It’s not as though I did this on purpose, and he’s as responsible for it as I am.”

  “It did take both of you.” Beck offered
a rare opinion. Enough to bolster Victoria and remind her she was on the right track. “Do you think Tristan would be a good influence in a child’s life?”

  She didn’t know that either. There were so many things she couldn’t begin to guess when it came to him. “He has a sister my age, so he was older when she was growing up. He’s as protective as shit about her, but I don’t think he’s got the same knack in general for kids that Mischa does...” She frowned as the words left her mouth. “Not that I’m comparing another man to Mischa.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  He didn’t have to. Victoria knew that was a big flaw. It wasn’t just about the good, either. Every guy who came along, she was terrified she’d fall into the same pit as before. Trip over the same habits. It didn’t matter if she’d recovered. That pit of doubt never vanished.

  “But he’s not another man.” Beck nudged. “He’s the other man.”

  It was true. This was the one place she couldn’t deny that. Tristan was attractive. Fun when things weren’t bad. The one man she’d always wondered what if about... “But what if I don’t want him to be a part of this? If he wants in... he has money and influence.”

  “Would he do that? Force his way into your lives if you told him to stay away?”

  “I don’t know.” So many things she didn’t have answers for.

  Beck leaned forward in his seat, forearms on his knees. The signal he was about to wrap the session up. “Are you sure you don’t?”

  She hadn’t expected that. He didn’t question her responses. Not in that way. “What am I supposed to say to that? Of course I’m sure.”

  “Our time is up, but rare homework for next week. You have a list of the questions. Think about them some more, and bring them back again next week.”

  “Because I haven’t already been doing that?”

  Beck gave her a kind smile. “I promise, if you don’t want Tristan in your lives, he won’t be. See you next week?”

  “All right.” Victoria wasn’t reassured. She said her goodbyes. Her lunch break was up so she returned to the office.