by K. M. Scott
I wiped my tears and hung my head. "He had all of them made for me," I admitted.
"See? I know it hurts now, but give him time. Maybe there's something you don't know about and he's not trying to be hurtful or cruel."
"Some best friend you are. I think you're supposed to tell me to dump his ass and that I can do better," I joked.
"You want that? I'm on it. You know I think you're one of the best people I've ever known, so if this is something you can't handle, you need to end this thing now."
That was easier said than done. "I have a contract, Jordan. I can't end it."
"You have a contract to work for him. That's it. If you don't want to be anything more than an employee, then I say you stick to your guns and be just that. An employee."
Jordan always knew what to say to make me feel better. Sitting up straight, I took a deep breath in. I could do that. There was nothing in the contract that said I had to sleep with him. Well, at least I hoped there wasn't.
"I could do that, couldn't I?"
"You could. But be careful, Nina. You may just get what you wish for and there will be nothing between you and Tristan but work. Is that what you really want?"
That feeling of something heavy pressing on my chest came back with a vengeance at the thought of Tristan being nothing but my boss. I didn't want that, really, but I didn't want to feel like I was something to be ashamed of anymore either.
"I don't know what I want, but I do know I hate feeling like this. If he can't be proud of being with me among people he socializes with, then we shouldn't be together. Maybe if I stop being his whatever I am, he'll see that."
"I don't know, Nina. I think you need to be very careful. I think there's something you don't know and if you do this, you could lose him."
"I'm not sure I have anything to lose, Jordan."
We sat silently for a long moment before she said, "Just take care of yourself, okay? And call me whenever you need me."
"Okay. I will. Oh, and don't call this number again, though. I'm not sure I'll be around to hear it."
"I won't. Just be careful and don't do anything without thinking it through first. Promise me you'll at least do that."
"I promise. I'll talk to you soon."
I hung up the phone and closed my eyes to calm the nervous energy that was already taking over my emotions. The mere thought of ending things with Tristan made my body shake, but I had to take a stand. I couldn't live like this, hoping that what he felt in private would someday be how he'd act in public.
Armed with a plan, I left the attic without looking for more details about Tristan and his family. My mind was intent on keeping strong and focused on what I could do about this. I may not have been able to control what he did, but I was able to control how I reacted.
I awoke from a good night's sleep ready to tackle my problems and the world. Stretching my arms above my head, I focused my eyes and there on the table near the window stood the biggest bouquet of roses I'd ever seen in my life. There had to be fifty long stem roses in the tall glass vase if there was one. Deep red, they looked like they were made of velvet, and their sweet fragrance filled the room.
They were beautiful and screamed of guilt. A tiny flicker of satisfaction ignited inside me at the thought that Tristan had felt bad about not taking me with him. Smiling to myself, I saw a note tacked to the large red bow around the roses. As always, he'd chosen to say what he needed to in a letter. It was very Tristan.
Rolling out of bed, I padded over to the gorgeous gift he'd left me—with a tiny nagging question in my mind of when he'd put them there—and buried my nose in the flowers. They smelled heavenly. I gently touched one of those blood red petals and felt its silky smoothness between my thumb and forefinger. As with everything else Tristan did, they were extraordinary.
The note was folded and in an envelope. I pulled it out and held it up to see a short message that left me speechless.
Dear Nina,
A great job deserves a great reward. Keep up the terrific work!
Love,
Tristan
I felt like a balloon whose knot had been untied. All the good feelings I'd had about the roses and how things stood with Tristan left my body in a huge whoosh until I felt totally empty. This gift was merely an attaboy, a pat on the back for a job well done.
Disgusted, I wrapped my hand around the thick bunch of stems and yanked the entire bouquet out of the vase, spraying everything including myself with water. Thorns stuck into my palm, making the whole thing even worse. There was no garbage can in my room, so I marched the dripping flowers down the hall to the kitchen and threw them away, feeling as if I had struck some kind of blow for women everywhere.
And then as I rejoiced in my newfound strength I turned around and saw Tristan standing there looking hurt, of all things. Those deep brown eyes stared past me at the garbage can with all those flowers sticking out and then at me. I wanted to say something, but no words came to my brain. What had seemed such a triumph now turned into a weird sense of guilt that poked at my gut.
He said nothing as we both stood there staring at one another, and the need to flee suddenly came over me. With all the bravado I could muster, I stomped past him through the doorway and bolted down the hall, sure that if I didn't go as fast as my legs would take me that they'd begin shaking uncontrollably and give out from underneath me. By the time I reached my room, I was out of breath and so confused I didn't know whether to congratulate myself or feel bad for hurting his feelings.
As I stood there, my back pressed against the closed door, I told myself I was doing the right thing. Don't forget how you felt when he walked out that door last night.
And then an idea hit me. If I could just remember that feeling for another twenty-two weeks, everything would be fine. That was easier said than done, though.
I took my time getting dressed, part of me dreading the fact that I had to face him at some point and he might have that wounded puppy look in his eyes. Another part of me worried that I wouldn't be able to keep up my strength when he touched me or did any of the dozens of things that made me crazy about him.
Jesus, if he got close enough for me to smell his delicious cologne, I knew I'd likely be lost. And if he gave me one of his sweet smiles, I didn't know if I'd be able to remember anything, much less how I felt the night before.
It was going to be a long six months.
"Nina, we'll be leaving early tomorrow morning and we'll be gone for two days and nights, so feel free to take today to get anything you need done."
His tone was decidedly cool, which in a strange way made me feel better. Now he got to feel how I did. Plus, if he stayed upset with me, it could make staying away from him much easier. Things were looking up.
How I was going to handle the sleeping arrangements in Dallas was beyond me, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.
"Fine. I have some laundry to do. If that's all, I'll see you tomorrow."
I waited for him to say something, but he just stared vacantly at me and proceeded to begin typing on his laptop. If he had any thoughts on what had happened to the flowers, he wasn't saying and I wasn't asking.
Rebuffing Rogers' offer to wash my clothes, I loaded up the machine and returned to my room. While my laundry did its thing in the washer, I checked my email and found a message from Jordan. All she'd typed was a link so I clicked it, looking forward to some cute pictures of kittens or even some lame chain letter. Anything to take my mind off Tristan.
As the page opened, I sat stunned at what appeared on my laptop's screen. There he stood in his tux looking like he was some marble statue of himself, a blonde on his arm, and other beautiful people around him at some event. I read the caption, needing to know what he'd done the night before.
"Stone Worldwide Charity Benefit at the Fairview Grand Hotel"
My heart sank at the sight of him holding the woman's arm. Some gorgeous blond woman's arm. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen, first analyzing
every last inch of his date and then fixating on him. Her hair was the pale color blonde that appeared naturally on Scandinavian women and for a price on anyone who could afford a Fifth Avenue salon. I couldn't tell what color her eyes were, but I was sure any description of them would include the word sparkling. Perfect, brilliant white teeth sat in a mouth with bee stung lips that made me think of those bright red wax lips I used to buy at the candy store as a child. Worst of all, she looked genuinely happy and at home on his arm as they posed for the camera.
He looked less comfortable, which at least was one saving grace. In fact, he looked just as he had in the last picture Jordan had shown me of him on the gossip page and the ones I'd seen of him online back at the apartment. His eyes were cold, and that smile that never failed to melt my heart was nowhere to be found. He was just as gorgeous as always, but he seemed like a shell of the person I'd grown to know.
I so wanted that to make me feel better, but it was fleeting and it didn't take long before that horrible feeling like someone had carved out my insides was back. He'd left me behind to go to some charity event with some blonde bombshell, and there was no denying that. The proof was sitting on my laptop screen staring at me, mocking me.
Closing the tab, I hung my head and willed the tears to come. At least if I cried there was a chance I'd feel better eventually. Crying was useful for that. But nothing came. My emotions were telling my eyes that it was time to do the crying thing, but they didn't seem to get the message. They simply continued to stare at the screen, as if something was going to pop up to make all the emptiness I felt go away.
It was no use. I officially felt like shit and had the photographic evidence to prove that the man who I'd thought was my boyfriend was actually someone who didn't care for me enough to take me to his fancy society function so he'd found a gorgeous woman to go in my place.
And it wasn't even noon yet.
I checked my email once more with the hope that maybe Alex had sent me a message. At moments when a girl felt like nobody loved her, it was always nice to hear from a guy who liked her, even if she wasn't crazy about him. I didn't dislike Alex, but I wasn't really interested in him either. For what it was worth, he was beginning to look like a very good prospect after the whole Tristan thing, though. There was something to be said for a man who was straightforward.
Alex hadn't sent anything, but just as I went to close my laptop, I saw an email come in from Tristan with the subject "Hi." Unsure I wanted to know what it said but unable to stop myself, I opened it and began to read.
Dear Nina,
I'm looking forward to our trip to Dallas tomorrow. If you'd like to talk about it, I'll be back at five. Rogers hung your picture up this morning. It's perfect and exactly what I want to see when I open my eyes.
Love,
Tristan
Love, Tristan. It should have read as a command, Love Tristan, since that was what it seemed like. I closed my laptop and decided then and there I wouldn't be available to talk at five or any other time that day.
I'd made the decision to go down this path and I was damned if I was going to be swayed from it by his soulful eyes, sweet words, and every other weapon in his arsenal of seduction. If I wasn't good enough to be seen with in public, then he wasn't going to see much of me in private either.
Chapter Twelve
It's amazing how being stubborn always made situations so much worse. I quickly found that I was playing in a much bigger league with Tristan than I was used to. After avoiding him all the previous day, if I was thinking that a new day would make everything better, I was sadly mistaken. It seemed that Tristan Stone could be very much the personification of his last name at times and quite able to deal out the silent treatment as well as he took it.
Unfortunately for me, I was more big talk than anything else and the plane ride in his private jet nearly broke my resolve. I'd only been on a plane twice before and never anyone's private jet, so my excitement made the words want to come bubbling up out of my mouth. What stopped them was Tristan's icy demeanor as he sat across from me, only rarely acknowledging my presence with a knowing look and never saying a thing to me the entire three and a half hours it took to get from New York to Dallas.
If I hated the feeling I'd had that night when he'd left to go to the charity benefit, I hated this more. It was like torture to be so close to him and know that he could basically ignore me even as I sat less than three feet away.
He even did the silent treatment well. I sat there across from him admiring how good he looked and wondered if there anything this guy wasn't incredible at.
By the time we arrived at the hotel, I was chomping at the bit to say something, anything, but his hard expression made it clear he didn't feel the same urge. So I remained silent.
The Richmont Dallas was every bit as luxurious as Tristan's New York hotel, even if it had a more distinctly western feel to it. I had no idea what suite I'd be working in and followed his lead as we made our way to the rooms on the ninth floor. When he finally stopped at a door at the end of the hallway, I hoped that now I could at least get lost in work.
Two steps in and I understood his joke from the restaurant. Whoever had designed the Presidential Suite at the Richmont Dallas had been in love with the color gold and all its varied golden hues. From the draperies to the upholstery to the carpet, the color gold was everywhere.
"Golden opportunity," I mumbled accidentally. "Funny guy."
I realized I'd broken my silence and turned to see him smiling at me. There was that warm smile that had a way of breaking down the walls I'd tried so hard to build around my heart. It went all the way up to his eyes, making the skin around them crinkle slightly at the corners.
"I have faith in you, Nina. All you have to do is find art that will make this room appear less gold."
Looking around, I wondered if he'd given me an impossible task. "Wouldn't it just be easier to redecorate?"
His smile grew wider. "Probably, but then I wouldn't have had any reason to bring you here to Dallas."
And with that he rendered me speechless again. I didn't want to be a slave to his charms. I just didn't have a choice.
Swallowing hard, I tried to keep myself all business. "Must I keep to any particular style or period?"
He shook his head. "No. Make your choices based on what you believe will complete this suite and take the attention away from all this gold."
"How many pieces can I choose? This suite is four rooms."
Tristan scanned the rooms in front of us. "As many as you like. My faith is entirely in you."
"Will we be staying here? There are two bedrooms, I see."
He moved around me and walked over to the bar. Pouring himself a drink, he lifted his glass in the direction of the two bedrooms. "So we're to continue our living arrangements from the house?"
His voice had an edge to it. He was unhappy about my insistence on making him understand how much he'd hurt me. I imagined he didn't have many people in his life who dared to do that. I also sensed he wasn't a man who liked being made to do anything.
"I better get going. I've got my work cut out for me," I said with a forced smile.
Tristan took a sip of his scotch. "Dinner is at six, Nina. I hope I'll see you there."
Nothing in the way he said that told me he hoped anything. It was a clear command that I join him for dinner. What wasn't clear was if I'd obey.
Just a few hours later, I'd found some great pieces and was hungry, despite my wishing I wasn't. Tristan hadn't bothered me while I'd worked, but now as six o'clock loomed, I heard him in the outside room pouring himself another drink. The aroma of the dinner he'd ordered in wafted through to where I stood looking at myself in the mirror.
I would have known that delicious smell anywhere. He'd ordered roast beef.
A peace offering?
I stared into the mirror at the face that looked back at me and asked her, "What do I do? Do I let him back in?"
My reflection didn't h
ave the answer either, and I walked out to find Tristan standing in the middle of the main room in a tux. My heart sank. He was going to do it again. I'd sit there alone in that room eating my roast beef he'd so graciously given me while he spent the night out on the town in Dallas with another gorgeous blonde or brunette.
Before I could say all the terrible things that were begging to be let out of my mouth, he took my hand and kissed the back of it. "I seem to be a little overdressed. Perhaps you should change so I'm not all alone in this getup."
"Why? So you can go meet up with your blond girlfriend and I can sit here like some teenage girl stood up for the prom?" I snapped.
"Blonde?" he asked, looking genuinely confused as to how I knew who he'd spent his time with the night before.
"I saw your girlfriend. Nice lips. Does she mind that you look like a statue when you're with her? I think I have it all figured out, Tristan. You want someone who looks like her for in public, but you want someone who makes you smile like I do in private. Well, sorry. Maybe you should figure out how you can make her do the things that make you happy because I won't be some in-house concubine you keep hidden from everyone but your fucking butler and other household help."
My outburst surprised him for a moment, but then he just smiled. "Oh, you mean Janelle. You misunderstand. She's not my girlfriend. She's paid to be with me at those affairs."
"Paid? You pay a hooker to go with you instead of taking me? And this is supposed to make me feel better?"
A look of distaste crossed his features. "No. She's not a hooker. She's a..."
Waving my hand, I cut him off. "Fine. You're too wealthy for a hooker. What do they call them for someone like you? Call girls? Escorts? Either way, it's still you paying someone to be there instead of being seen with me."