by Katy Ames
The knock came two minutes earlier than planned. Tessa wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the man on the other side wasn’t it. At first glance, he looked benign. Boring. With close-cropped hair, unremarkable features, and an outfit of shorts, polo shirt, and flip-flops, he was designed to disappear into a crowd. Maybe that’s what had the hairs on the back of Tessa’s neck sticking up.
This guy, whoever he was, wasn’t a man. He was a ghost.
“The key.” He held out his hand. No introduction. No explanation. Neither of which, Tessa realized, was needed.
She handed over the plastic card.
He tried to take it from her, but Tessa held on, waiting until he looked her in the face. “You tell him I was here. That I did exactly what he said. Yes?”
The man’s bland eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t understand what she was saying.
“Tell him,” she repeated, “that I held up my end of the bargain. As agreed.”
He pulled harder on the key but nodded. Tessa wasn’t done.
“Just one night.”
The man’s mouth twisted in a smile that was nothing close to friendly. “I’ll be gone long before tonight.”
Tessa looked down at the bag he carried. It was small. The size of a briefcase. It could maybe be an overnight bag, assuming he just carried a toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a laptop. There was no way it could hold more than that. The man caught her looking at it and jerked the key.
“Eyes up, missy.”
Tessa was about to retort, when the guy yanked the key from her hand and cocked his head at the door. “I’ll tell him you did what you were supposed to. And you remember that no part of this deal included you asking questions. Got it?”
Tessa willed herself not to shiver under his cold gaze. “Got it.” She backed towards the door, keeping her eyes on him the entire way. He watched her right back, his face void of expression. “I’ll be sending security to check the room is empty and you’re gone.”
“Don’t worry, missy,” he said in that flat, awful voice. “It’ll be as if I was never here.”
19
“Tristan!” Mark clasped him in a bear hug before waving him into the main level of the villa. Tristan glanced around the spacious set of open rooms. The serene living room was filled with comfortable furniture in shades of white and blue. A large dining space sat off to one side and a fully appointed kitchen through the door beyond. Mark had only been back a few hours, but he already had the three sets of French doors opened to the elevated terrace, the warm breeze catching the brand new curtains.
“Welcome back,” Tristan answered, wandering over to absorb the view. “Where’s your better half?”
“In her office. She couldn’t get there fast enough. She made the car stop to drop her off in front before bringing me up here.”
Tristan felt the pull of a grin. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but he loved how grumpy Mark sounded. It would do him good. His cousin needed a woman who drove him a little crazy. Payback for all of the women he’d done the same thing to since Tristan could remember.
“Couldn’t stand to spend another minute with you, huh? Losing your touch in your old age?”
“Fuck you. Thirty-eight’s not old. And if it is, you can wipe that smug look off your face, ’cause you’re not far behind, coz.”
“Whatever,” Tristan grunted, collapsing back into one of the sofas. It wasn’t as comfortable as it looked. “New?”
“Yes.” Mark’s face darkened. “You haven’t been here since…?”
The attack. Tristan didn’t need him to elaborate. There were two particularly black nights in his life that Tristan would never forget. The night he got the scar on his back. And the night he and hotel security broke into the villa just in time to see Grace fling a lantern at the curtains, setting them on fire, before crashing her head against a marble table, while the hotel’s former general manager swung a wicked-looking machete at her. He and Mark had tackled him to the ground, and Tristan’s inner arm had been caught by the blade.
“We had to re-paint the walls and put up new curtains. And there was too much blood—” Mark blanched, pausing before he could continue. “Everything needed to go. Peter made sure replacements arrived while we were away.”
Tristan frowned at the pristine sofa before looking back at his cousin. “I could’ve helped. If you’d asked.”
Mark dropped down on the opposite sofa, grimacing when the cushions didn’t give the way he expected them to. “I figured you have enough on your plate.”
Tristan grumbled but didn’t disagree.
“Any word?” Mark looked at him expectantly, and Tristan was pleased that, at last, he had some good news to share.
“Yes. Dean confirmed it. His message came during the storm. We have it.”
Mark perched on the edge of the sofa, his eyes flashing. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Photos, paper trail, everything.”
“Holy fuck,” Mark said, rubbing his hands across his thighs. “I was starting to think it wouldn’t happen.”
“I hope that’s not your roundabout way of saying you didn’t think I’d come through.”
“No.” Mark looked at his cousin, eyes fierce and focused. “I didn’t doubt you for one second, Tristan. Never have. But your father, on the other hand….”
“Well,” Tristan answered, “for the first time in my entire life, I can say with absolutely honesty that I’m pleased the fucker has been consistent in one way.”
“What’s that?”
“Always doing the wrong thing.” Tristan locked his hand roughly around his neck and realized it was the first time he’d made the habitual move all day.
“Me too,” Mark responded, “’cause now we finally have enough rope to hang him.”
“We do,” Tristan confirmed.
Mark studied him from over the coffee table. His jaw was set, but the cut-throat sheen in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly. “There’s still time to call this off.”
“Why the hell would we do that?”
“He’s your father. Whatever else has happened, whatever else is about to, that hasn’t changed. He’s family, Tristan. And once you fuck over family like we’re about to, there’s no going back.”
“Max should know. It’s a lesson he drilled into me a long time ago.”
“True. But that’s about him, Tristan. Not you. He’s a cold-hearted fucker. And I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. Fuck,” Mark swore, emotion blistering his cheeks. “If I’d known about any of it, Tristan, any of it, I would’ve handled things differently. You know that. But none of that is on you, you understand?”
Tristan looked at his cousin, absorbing the refrain Mark had given again and again. It didn’t matter how many times he’d heard it, the words typically bounced off the well-weathered shell he’d cultivated. But Tristan registered that the skin beneath his fingers burned just a little bit less, and his mind didn’t reject Mark’s argument as fast as it usually did.
“Yes,” Tristan said slowly. “And my answer stays the same. We do this. After everything, it’s no less than he deserves. In fact, I wish we could do more.”
“I don’t disagree with you. After the shit he pulled with Marcus, after what happened to Grace.” Mark’s voice was tight with fury, “I could’ve killed him. Still want to. But this will hurt him more, Tristan. And for longer. Trust me.”
“I do.”
“Good. So, the timing is on track?”
“Yes. The annual Hurst Corporation audit is in a few weeks. My guy will track the money trail, make sure Max isn’t able to cover up the expensive habit he’s been charging back to the family firm.”
“Good, good.” Mark stared out the window, tracking through their next steps, before he turned back. “What about your mom?”
Tristan braced himself for impact, but the pang of longing still hit him hard. “She’s fine. Safe. In Europe with friends. She’ll stay away until this is all over.”
Mark caught how Tristan’s knuckles whitened against his neck. “I miss her, too.”
Tristan knew he was telling the truth. His mom had always treated Mark like a son, her love for him no less than his own mother’s. Tristan’s one hope was that after all of this was over, they might actually be able to rebuild some of the family relationships that had fallen apart.
“She’ll like Tessa, you know.”
“What?” Tristan caught the smile that flashed across Mark’s face.
“Your mom. She’ll like Tessa. Tessa will like her, too.”
Tristan frowned, unsettled by the burn on his cheeks and the strange, light feeling that kicked up behind his lungs. Fuck him. Mark was right. His mom would like Tessa. And he didn’t know how to handle the fact that that suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world.
“I…uh…” he muttered. “Yeah. I guess. If they ever meet.”
“If they ever meet, huh?” Mark cocked an eyebrow and laughed. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, coz. And come find me when you realize that ship sailed a while ago. I have some excellent scotch that will help take the edge off.”
Tristan jumped up off the sofa, his thighs itching for a run. Mark just laughed again.
“Go.” His cousin waved towards the door. “I think we’ve covered most of the details, but we can talk about anything else that pops up later. Besides, we have a double date in a few hours.”
Tristan groaned. He’d forgotten. He and Tessa were going to have company for dinner. “Right, right,” he grumbled. “Where are we meeting?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Mark answered. “Grace told me she was taking care of it and that I should butt out. And I’m happy to do exactly as I’m told.”
“Since when?” Tristan snorted.
“Since I realized that Grace takes much better care of me than I ever did myself.”
Tristan looked back at his cousin. Mark was leaning against the sofa, his head propped up on a cushion. His lips were curved in a small smile, and though his eyes were serious, they held a contentment that sparked jealousy deep inside him. That. That’s what happiness looked like.
“Right. Okay. I’ll ask Tessa. See you later.” He waved goodbye and headed back down to the main part of the hotel, suddenly desperate to know the details of when he’d see his sweet chef again.
* * *
“You have to be kidding me!” Grace squealed.
“No,” Tessa laughed, licking chocolate off her fingers. “Swear to God. He had pastry cream all over his ass. It was so gross. And so freakin’ funny.”
“Wait,” Sera interjected gleefully. “Did she fall down, too?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tessa explained. “The whole table collapsed, bringing the pies down in the process. Made the loudest sound. Everyone in the kitchen heard it. The whole place went silent. Thank God we hadn’t opened for dinner service yet.”
Grace plucked another homemade chocolate doughnut off the plate and took a huge bite. “Yeah, good thing, since getting fucked by the head pastry chef in the walk-in fridge would definitely get in the way of her hostessing duties.”
Sera let out a peal of laughter, her tight curls bouncing wildly. “I still don’t understand,” she got out between giggles, “why they were shagging in the fridge. Too bloody cold.”
Tessa’s grin split her face. “Let’s just say that Chef enjoyed having whipped cream handy. And there was always a healthy supply in the fridge.”
“I knew it!” Grace gasped. “It totally was a euphemism! Tristan wasn’t eating actual whipped cream at all. Tessa!” Her friend stared at her, eyes full of gleeful accusation. “You’d just met him!”
“Stop, stop.” Tessa was wheezing she was laughing so hard. “That really was whipped cream. I swear. Nothing else.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed, her half-finished doughnut temporarily forgotten. “Then, maybe. But now?”
Tessa’s freckles darkened against her blush. “Still no whipped cream involved.”
“But other things, yes?”
The three women were huddled close over a table in the corner of the kitchen, most of the staff gone on an afternoon break. Tessa glanced around quickly, making sure the room was clear, before nodding.
“Yes. Our dinner dates have definitely become more than just friendly.” When Grace bounced up and down in her chair, Tessa laughed. “Food is not involved, Grace. Get your mind out of the gutter. We’re not you and Mark.”
“What?” Grace asked, mock-offended. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t even.” Tessa poked her. “I’ve heard rumors about the fate of a certain chocolate torte I made you guys. And I haven’t been able to look at the recipe the same way since.”
“You two are nuts, you know that?” Sera laughed at them.
“I’m perfectly rational,” Tessa chimed in. “It’s this one who misappropriates baked goods.” She pointed in Grace’s direction.
“What do you have against a little creative use of chocolate, anyway?”
“Let’s just say,” Tessa answered, “I’ve seen far too many illicit hookups go down in kitchens to find food sexy. At least, not like that.”
“Wait, it happens a lot?” Grace asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Tessa answered. Sera nodded in agreement.
“You’re in a hot, confined space with the same people, day after day. It’s stressful, fast-paced. Your heart rate goes up. By the end of the night, you’re flying high on adrenaline. The rest of the world runs on a different clock than you, sleeping when you’re awake.”
“Having a weekend while you’re working,” Sera added.
“Exactly. Makes it hard to find dates outside of work.” Tessa shrugged. “People at the same restaurant kinda get thrown together.”
“Have you…you know?” Grace prodded.
“Not in ages. There was a saucier, like, six months ago. He was pretty short-lived. Oh, and a bartender a while back. Nothing serious.” Tessa shrugged.
“You, too, Sera?”
“Oh, I don’t really run in that world anymore. But, yeah,” she laughed. “Especially when I was working for Aunt Jo. Don’t you dare tell her, but there was one particular line cook, right before I took off for London. Woah….” Sera fanned her face. “Now he had abs I would have licked whipped cream off of, no questions asked.”
“Agg!” Tessa squealed at the same time Graced screamed, “See!”
Sera wiped tears from her eyes, continuing after she caught her breath. “Wait, Tessa. Didn’t you mention something that happened at the restaurant you just left?”
“You mean The Mill?”
“What happened there?” Grace prodded.
“Not much, thank God,” Tessa answered. “At least, not before I decided to leave the city. And it didn’t involve any of the cooks or kitchen staff. It was one of the owners.”
“Oh, misbehaved management. I know a lot about that.” Grace smirked.
“I’m sure you do,” Tessa teased, moving her arm out of the way of Grace’s swat. “Anyway, it wasn’t even that scandalous. At least, no one left covered in food, as far as I know.”
“Boring,” Grace sighed.
“Stop,” Sera scolded her, turning back to Tessa. “I’m listening.”
Tessa shrugged. “It was my second-to-last day there. At that point, I’d already gotten my replacement up to speed, so I was helping plate, making sure he knew how to handle some of the trickier dishes. I stayed late to have a drink with some folks before packing my things. I thought I was the only one around. I wasn’t. I heard some noises from the back office. I didn’t mean to go poking, but the door was open. Guess they figured they were alone, too.”
“Ooh, caught in the act! I take back my boring comment.”
“Will you just stop!” Tessa laughed at Grace. Her friend hadn’t been gone very long, but Tessa realized just how much she’d missed the woman. “Anyway, I didn’t hang around to catch all the details, but one of the owners was
up on the desk getting a fair amount of personal attention from a huge guy in a very nice suit. At least, it was a nice suit until she mangled the back of it trying to rip it off. Not sure his jacket or shirt survived.”
“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” Grace mumbled around her final bite of doughnut.
“Especially a hottie in a good suit,” Sera agreed.
“You two.” Tessa shook her head, grin wide. “Anyway, turns out Stephanie, the owner, had decided to have a very intimate meeting with one of the restaurant’s investors. Heard someone say something about it the next day. See, not nearly as scandalous as the chef who fell ass first into a chocolate-cream pie.”
“Agreed,” Grace said. “Now, Sera….”
Tessa let Grace’s voice fade into the background as she thought back to that night in New York. She’d felt oddly jealous of Stephanie when she’d seen her on the desk, legs spread, skirt hiked up, with that towering man between her thighs. She’d told her friends the truth. She hadn’t stuck around to see the show, but, going off the sounds coming from that office, Stephanie had definitely been enjoying herself. Shit, she’d thought the woman was going to tear the poor guy’s clothes clean off his back. For a second, she’d even thought the dark tip of the tattoo on his shoulder blade was blood.
Holy. Shit. Tessa gasped, her chair scratching the floor as she pushed back from the table. It wasn’t possible.
“Tessa?” Both women stopped talking and gave her worried looks.
She looked at Grace, not fully understanding the details her brain was trying to force together. “Grace. When I arrived, just as you and Mark were leaving, you said Tristan had gotten caught up with business, right? That that was the reason he wasn’t back in time for my first day.”
“Yes,” Grace confirmed, completely confused.
“Where was he?”
“New York, I think.”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “Do you know what kind of business he was doing?”
“Not in detail, no. Something to do with his father, Mark’s uncle.”
