“Ellie,” he said, his tone as sharp as a knife, “meet Sloane, one of my business partners.” His eyes narrowed on Sloane, the look in them commanding his friend to diffuse this situation before he said too much more.
“Ellie, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sloane said, taking the hint and extending his hand and a cordial smile.
“Hi, I’m Ellie Carter, it’s nice to meet you, too,” Ellie responded quietly, even though she reached out and shook his hand without hesitation, maintaining confident eye contact.
Tristan felt his fists clench as their hands touched, an unconscious spasm of jealousy shooting through his.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
He purposefully flexed and released his fingers in annoyance at the unwanted feeling that passed through him. As soon as their hands released, Tristan watched as Ellie’s eyes shot immediately back to him, her brow furrowing in confusion at what was going on.
“I…ahh… sorry, man. I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll just come back later so we can talk,” Sloane mumbled, his face starting to turn red.
“No, it’s ok. I have to get going anyway,” Ellie responded, interjecting before Tristan even had a chance to open his mouth.
This is not the way he had planned the day.
“No, Ellie, you stay. Sloane, I’ll be in touch,” Tristan said sharply, trying to steer the quickly derailing situation back on track.
“No, it’s really ok, Tristan. I have an appointment anyway and I should probably leave now before I’m late,” Elle continued in her normal, awkward style of rambling as she searched for her purse.
Tristan bit his tongue, not wanting to make any more of a scene in front of Sloane, but not wanting her to leave either.
God only knew what the man was already thinking.
God only knew what Ellie was thinking.
He watched helplessly as she put her shoes back on and gathered her things, wishing that he could make her stay. He saw her face just before Sloane’s knock at interrupted them, and then, for her to have heard what Sloane said when he walked in – she must think him some sort of brute. His hand came up to his forehead, putting pressure on his temples in an attempt to calm the helpless anguish that was pounding in his head.
“Ellie,” he said, his voice soft and low, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm, stopping her just as she reached the door, “I’ll call you later, ok?”
“Sure,” she responded pleasantly, but with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Fuck, what had he done.
The frigidness of fear filled him at the thought that this might be the end. With a strength that he didn’t know he had, he slowly released his hold on her arm, letting her walk out of his apartment, maybe out of his life, forever. For a moment, he just stared as the door closed behind her; he stared at the door lost in the debilitating thought.
“Tristan,” Sloane began, his cool voice cracking through the cold shell of dread that had kept Tristan frozen.
Tristan’s head turned slowly back to his friend, the reality of the situation coming back to him; red hot rage burned out of gaze and he saw that Sloane was taken aback by it. “What. Do. You. Want,” Tristan bit out, unmoving lest he sever the last thread of control keeping him from punching a second friend in the face today.
“Hey,” Sloane began, his hands coming up in mock submission, “look, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were with her or I wouldn’t have barged in, you know that. I just figured if you were here, that meant no one else was because we never bring people back to our place…” Tristan listened as his friend trailed off nervously, his tone containing no traces of the anger and frustration that he had entered with.
“Fuck,” Tristan sighed, letting the tension drain from him as he walked past Sloane into the kitchen.
Throwing open the cabinet, he set two glasses down on the counter. Reaching underneath to the display of liquor bottles he pulled out the bottle of Eagle Rare, opening the top and pouring a generous splash into both of the tumblers.
He turned to toss the second glass across the granite island towards Sloane, who captured it with a nod.
“What’s going on, Tristan?” Sloane asked again.
Tristan downed the liquor in his glass, pouring himself another healthy serving before he turned completely to face his friend and face the questions that he knew he was going to have to answer.
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” he began, coolly. “I’m assuming you’re here because of Pierce.”
“Tris, you punched him. So, yeah, that’s why I’m fucking here,” Sloane responded, frustration making its way back into his tone. “You know I’m really fucking hate getting in the middle of you two and your petty shit, but you went too far.
Tristan knew as soon as he had punched Pierce, that it had been the wrong move. Unfortunately, he had made it and now he would have to deal with the consequences; however, he knew it was bad when Sloane felt like he had to get involved. Sloane hated confrontation and hated, even more so, getting in between the two of them and their competitive personalities. In spite of that, Sloane was here to reprimand him, which meant that he had royally fucked up.
“He deserved it,” was all he could find to say.
“Well, no shit. He always deserves it because he’s Pierce, but since when does that mean that we actually act on it; he’s a giant asshole, but that hasn’t changed in the past seven…nine…however many years,” Sloane replied, pissed at Tristan’s poor justification.
“I know. Fuck, I know,” Tristan agreed, running his hand through his hair as he took another swig of his whiskey. “I shouldn’t have punched him. God, I don’t know what came over me.”
“What did he say?”
“You mean he didn’t tell you,” Tristan let out a disbelieving laugh.
“No, of course not; he doesn’t even know that I’m here,” Sloane began. “By the time that I saw him and asked him what happened to his face, he responded, laughing, that you’d taken offense to his one eye. He was laughing about it Tris, that’s not fucking normal.”
Yeah, well, Pierce wasn’t normal.
“Christ, I know it’s bad, Sloane. I fucking know. I don’t know what came over me. I’m dealing with a lot of shit and he just decided to drop in and fuel the fucking flames, which is pretty typical, I know, but this time he said something about Ellie that I’m not even going to repeat and I just lost it. It was like I watched myself punch him or something, like I wasn’t even in control; the next thing I know, I realized what I did and I tried to stop him, but he left livid, obviously.” Here, he paused, taking another sip of his drink, dropping his head down to let it hang between his arms that were propped up on the counter.
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no fucking clue. I need to talk to him obviously, but I don’t know how that’s going to happen before the competition, or if he will even let it happen.”
“You need to figure out a way. You know how unstable he is, especially lately; if he goes off the deep end and does something to torpedo the Guild, it’s going to be all on you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Tristan snapped, “I know, I need to deal with him.”
“Look, I didn’t want to ask, but I have to,” Sloane began hesitantly, finally taking his first, small sip of the liquor in front of him. “I heard the rumors from Morgan and then Pierce. Before, I didn’t care because it was only affecting you and she was your business, but now this is affecting all of us. Who is this girl, Ellie? What is going on between the two of you?”
Fuck. He knew this was coming.
“She’s my model for the competition piece.”
“Then why would you punch Pierce over her? Why would you bring her to your apartment?” Sloane asked, exasperated. “I’m not an idiot, Tris.”
He knew Sloane wouldn’t leave without answers, it was just a matter of what answers to give him that forced him to pause and think.
&n
bsp; “I brought her here because I knew Pierce would be stalking out my studio space and I’m still pissed at that motherfucker for losing my mom’s portrait – the whole reason I had to search for another model in the first place.”
Completely plausible, only partially true – the makings of a successful lie.
“Right. Ok, I get that; I know how it is between you two when it comes to these things, but why did you punch him? Who gives a shit what he says?”
“I told you… I don’t know what came over me. I… fuck,” he paused to drain the rest of his whiskey, “a part of me might have started to care about her, that’s fucking why. Are you happy now?”
Sloane’s eyes widened at his admission and Tristan knew exactly why. This had never happened before; this wasn’t who they were and they took precautions to keep it that way, and yet somehow, awkward Ellie had slipped through the cracks and into his heart.
“I see…” Sloane said softly, clearing his throat.
“What? No comment? No criticism? Nothing to say now?” Tristan demanded.
“What do you want me to say, Tris? I’m not Pierce; I’m not going to ream you out for having feelings for someone. That is your prerogative. Yeah, I’m super fucking shocked, that’s for damn sure, but no, I don’t really have anything to say about it other than, as much as it’s going to suck, you need to talk to Pierce and give him a reason for why you picked this girl over your friendship with him, because you know that’s what he is thinking. Whether what you tell him is the truth or not, is none of my business; what is my business is the Guild, and making sure that neither of you fuck that up for the rest of us.”
Tristan sighed in resignation. Of course, Sloane wouldn’t berate him for this; that would be way too far out of character for him. Out of all of them, Sloane was the most adult about his emotions and how to handle them appropriately; his issues were buried much farther from the surface.
“What do I do?” Tristan asked, unsure if the question meant about Pierce or about his feelings for Ellie.
Or both.
“You need to talk to Pierce and yeah, he’s going to be a dick about it, but one, he’s a dick about everything and two, you did punch him. Yeah, he’s pissed, but we’re all he has and he’ll get over it even if he makes you suffer for a little while.”
Tristan nodded, his mouth thinning in silent acknowledgement of his agreement.
“As for Ellie…” Sloane continued, as if he knew that Tristan was just as lost when it came to that situation as well. “No one ever said that we couldn’t have feelings. I can’t speak for Pierce, but someday, I’d like to be able to care about a woman like that.” Tristan watched as a shudder wracked his friend’s body when he made that last statement – an external symptom of the trauma that Sloane buried far down inside. “I’m not going to judge you for it; I don’t think any of us really are unless you let it come between us, that is when it becomes a problem. If you are struggling with your feelings for her then maybe you should talk to someone about it. I don’t know that I have enough experience to be that person, but what I do know is that fighting those feelings, when they do come, makes for a very lonely life.” Sloane’s face went dark with intense pain and sadness as the shadow of his past crossed over his face.
“I’ll talk to Pierce,” Tristan said, switching gears back to the original topic as it seemed that the conversation was going deeper than either of them were comfortable with right now.
“Thanks,” Sloane nodded, pushing his glass away from him, “I’ll get out of your hair then.”
Tristan followed his friend back over to the entryway.
“Sorry again for barging in. Hope I didn’t cause too much of a problem,” Sloane apologized, his mild-mannered temper regaining control.
He hoped so too.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Good luck with Pierce… and with Ellie,” Sloane said, his brows furrowing as he mentioned her name. “Wait, she said her name was Ellie Carter.” The thought sparked a cascade connecting the dots of the deeper relationship going on.
Fuck.
It came out more as a statement than a question, but Tristan heard the gears working in his tone and saw the expression on his face clear when he made the connection. Sloane wasn’t an idiot; he knew who had Tristan’s mom’s portrait and now he knew Ellie’s full name.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Tristan said in response, choosing to treat his friend’s words as a statement that didn’t require an answer.
Sloane stared at him for a moment longer, recognition dawning on his face, oscillating between verbalizing his realization or not; he chose not.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t let this ruin everything,” were Sloane’s parting words as he walked out of the apartment.
Superficially, it would seem that ‘this’ meant the argument with Pierce, but Tristan also wasn’t an idiot; ‘this’ meant whatever else was going on with Ellie because of her father that Tristan hadn’t chosen to confide in him. Even though it sounded like a plea, Sloane meant it as far more than that; it was a warning. Tristan was playing a dangerous game that he’d chosen to keep from the rest of them, which meant that he alone was solely responsible for putting the Guild at risk.
No, he was risking two of the most important things to him – his heart and the Guild, with the full knowledge that when all was said and done, only one of those things was going to make it out unscathed.
Chapter 16
Ellie stood on the sidewalk outside the entrance to Central Park, trying for the life of her to remember how she had gotten here. Everything after she had walked out of Tristan’s apartment was a blur. Her senses taking a back seat to voices from her memory:
‘What in God’s name were you thinking punching him like that?’
‘I don’t know what’s going on with this girl…’
The other guy…Sloane…his voice kept repeating over and over again as her mind scrambled to try and process everything that had just happened in the span of what could have only been two minutes, probably even less.
Most of her anxiety had come from the fact that in her desire for him, she’d almost let Tristan take off of her shirt. Of course, she’d oversteered when trying to correct the situation; instead of finding some other way to distract him, she’d freaked out and told him ‘no,’ probably with a ‘deer-in-headlights’ look written all over her face.
Awesome.
If he wasn’t suspicious before, he definitely would be now.
It was actually a Godsend that his friend had barged in when he had, distracting Tristan, at least for the time being, from how she had responded; it had also given her the perfect excuse to escape. As soon as her sympathetic, fight-or-flight, system had kicked in, realizing that Tristan was trying to take off her shirt and would see her scars, her body had gone into overdrive, acutely aware of everything in the room including how it seemed to be running out of oxygen.
She’d put on a good face though when he’d introduced her to Sloane.
Then again, when you’re going through chemo and every person asks you how you are doing, you get pretty proficient at persuasively pretending to be ok.
Oh God…
The thought reminded her that she had lied to Tristan. Now, he thought she’d been in an abusive relationship with someone. She’d panicked; he’d so suddenly opened up about his mom, she’d wanted to return the show of trust, but now, she was wondering if in her white lied attempt to be forthcoming, she’d set the stage for things to be worse in the future.
It wouldn’t make that big of a difference, right?
If she ever decided to share the full truth with Tristan, he would be glad that it wasn’t a person who had actually abused her.
Right?
Ellie gnawed on her lip nervously hoping that that would be the case. For now though, having him see her as a survivor of abuse rather than a victim of cancer was a risky concession that she was willing to make.
What had surprised her though was that a
s soon as the elevator doors closed safely in front of her, all she could think about was what Sloane had said… and Tristan’s face as he had said it. In the room, they could have been speaking Greek for all she knew; her heart had been racing, her head dizzy and light headed, first from the close-call with Tristan, and then having to frantically put herself back together before someone walked in and got the wrong idea.
Although, from his knowing look, Tristan’s friend seemed to know just what had been going on between them before he arrived.
What was weird though was that he had seemed most surprised by the fact that she was even there at all, not because of what he’d interrupted. She could have misread that though, there was no way seeing a strange woman in Tristan’s apartment should come as a surprise to him…does he know what Tristan looks like?!
Outside the apartment, in the elevator, when the fog had cleared, what preoccupied her mind wasn’t really any of this, it was what Sloane had said before he realized that she was standing right there.
Who was Pierce?
Why did Tristan punch him?
What did it have to do with her?
That last was an assumption. Of course, he could have been referring to another girl, but it just didn’t seem likely, especially from the way that his face had flushed when Tristan introduced them.
Ellie racked her brain, wondering who this ‘Pierce’ was and what he could have possible done that involved her to provoke Tristan to punch him. She stared into the park for a few more minutes, her thoughts bustling about in her head, each with its own goal in mind, just like the people moving all around her.
Her phone buzzed and immediately she jumped to the thought that it was Tristan. Fumbling to open the screen, she pulled up her notifications only to realize that it was an email reminder for the appointment with her oncologist this coming Friday. She swallowed hard, wanting to believe that she’d started to feel better with antibiotics and new medication, but forcing herself to realistically admit that there hadn’t been much improvement. Especially this morning, maybe it was just from being on edge physically, and then stressed emotionally, but everything after Sloane had entered the apartment and Tristan had introduced her, had been a blur; there was a point where she wasn’t sure if she was going to make it out of the apartment upright, the lightheadedness and nausea had been so overwhelming. She’d fought through it, surviving until she reached the privacy of the elevator which allowed her to sit with her head between her knees for those few critical seconds to right the blood flow to her brain. Getting outside into the brisk air and walking, putting distance between herself and the situation helped, too.
The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 17
