Twisted Fate

by Jessi Elliott

  I wake up over an hour before my alarm is set to go off, but I can’t get back to sleep. When I peek over and see Allison asleep on her bed, I breathe easier. When she’s here, that means she isn’t sleeping at Evan’s. It’s not that I don’t want my best friend to be happy—that’s all I want, but I can’t stand knowing she could get hurt, or be prosecuted for blatantly disobeying fae law.

  I toss back my comforter and stare at the ceiling before getting out of bed. I tiptoe into the bathroom and get into the shower. Today is going to be a long day.

  After I’ve gone through the motions of washing and conditioning my hair, I let the hot water cascade over me until it loses its heat. I towel dry my hair and change into a sweater and leggings. I don’t plan on putting on my dress until the last moment.

  I peek my head back into the room to make sure Allison is still asleep and notice my phone ringing on my dresser.

  “Hello?” I whisper.

  “I wasn’t sure you would be awake yet,” Tristan says. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  I step out into the hallway, closing the door behind me. “What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

  “Tonight is a big deal, Rory. You’ve put weeks of work into this event. I know what that means to you.”

  “Oh. Well, yeah,” I mumble.

  “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

  I catch my lower lip between my teeth and lean against the wall, trying not to smile. “I don’t know, Tristan.”

  “We can order room service. I know you love the chef’s French toast.”

  Talking to this Tristan throws me off. It’s different from having a conversation with the leader of the dark fae. Times like these, I can pretend that he’s just a guy asking me to breakfast. Which makes it difficult to say no.

  I sigh, a grin touching my lips. “You do know your audience.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” he murmurs.

  I throw everything I’ll need for tonight into a suitcase and head out.

  I arrive at the Westbrook Hotel half an hour later and scan my ID card to get in the back door. Skylar hooked me up with it a couple of weeks ago so I wouldn’t have to come in through the guest entrance and get let into the office. Now I can get into the building through any door.

  I fidget with my phone on the ride to the office and step off the elevator to find Max sitting at the desk.

  “You’re here early, blondie,” he says.

  I nod. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “I see. I think Tristan’s in his office.”

  “Great,” I say. “What are you doing here this early?”

  “I spent the night at Oliver’s and didn’t feel like going to my place when I knew I’d have to come here later on anyway.”

  I arch a brow. “You stayed at the dorm? Things seem to be getting pretty serious with you guys. You haven’t known him that long.”

  His eyes narrow a fraction. “Say what you’re thinking, Aurora.”

  I shrug. “I’m a bit concerned, is all. He’s one of my closest friends. I’m looking out for him.”

  “Do you think I’m going to hurt him?”

  I shake my head, recalling how he looked at Oliver the entire time we were at the bar. “No, I know you won’t, but there are so many things he doesn’t know about this world that could hurt him.”

  “We’ve barely hung out, blondie, so chill,” he says with an edge to his voice.

  “All right, I’m not trying to piss you off, Max, but you can’t blame me for showing concern for my friend.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He turns back to his computer, and I don’t exist anymore.

  I shake off the bad mood talking to Max for five minutes causes and walk down the hall to Tristan’s office. I knock a few times and let myself in. “Tristan?” I call, glancing around.

  “He’s still upstairs,” Skylar says as she walks in from the connecting conference room.

  “Oh, hey. I’m, uh, glad you’re okay.”

  She nods, her lips almost forming a smile. “Thanks. Tristan is waiting for you.”

  I nod and walk back to the elevator and ride up to the penthouse.

  “I thought we said breakfast at the office, Tristan. I told you, I don’t think—” My voice stops working when my eyes land on Tristan in the kitchen with nothing but a towel tied dangerously low on his hips. My mouth goes dry, and I have to swallow several times before I can speak again. “What . . . are you doing?”

  He grins slowly, enjoying my reaction to his all but nakedness. “Making breakfast. Turns out I make better French toast than the chef downstairs.”

  I cross my arms, then panic. I didn’t put on a bra this morning. Thank goodness I threw on a heavy sweatshirt before I left. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I turn my face to the side. “This isn’t what we agreed on.”

  “I thought this might be better,” he says.

  I sigh. “Tristan—”

  “I’m going to go put some clothes on so you can focus on something other than my body, and then we’ll have a nice, casual breakfast before work.”

  My eyes snap back to his, and I gape at him.

  He smirks before walking away, and damn it if I don’t stare until he’s out of sight.

  Once Tristan returns, wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, I sit at the counter on one of the bar stools and watch him slice an orange. The whole scene is way too domestic, and it makes my chest ache with longing.

  “Everything is set for tonight,” I say.

  He glances at me and shakes his head. “No work talk before breakfast.”

  “I . . . okay, what do you want to talk about?”

  “Why don’t you tell me about school?” He drops the orange slices onto a plate with strawberries and blueberries before he whisks the eggs and milk for the French toast.

  I grab one of the strawberries and bite into it. “I’ve been working on my resume and portfolio since the beginning of the semester, so after graduation I can apply to positions right away. There are several businesses in Rockdale I have in mind, and a few out of town as well.”

  “Have you considered mine?”

  I pause. “I wasn’t aware there was a position open.”

  His lips twitch. “There isn’t.”

  My brows inch closer before I shake my head. “I’m not going to work for you, Tristan.”

  He dips one slice of bread into the egg before laying it in a frying pan, then does the same with another. “I figured you’d say that.”

  “Good, then you won’t bring it up again.”

  He bites into a strawberry. “I won’t bring it up again.”

  I smile. “You have powdered sugar, right?”

  “Top shelf in that cupboard behind you.” He inclines his head toward the row of storage behind me, so I slip off the stool and open the door. I reach up on my tiptoes and can almost grab it. I jump a little and still can’t manage. I hear a faint laugh behind me before an arm extends past mine and pulls it down, setting it on the counter in front of me.

  “There you go,” Tristan murmurs, his lips brushing my ear.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “Turn around,” he instructs in a deep voice. I don’t feel the mental pull I imagine would come with his mind manipulation if it worked on me, but hell if I don’t want to do what he says anyway.

  “No,” I breathe, unable to keep my eyes from fluttering shut. “If I turn around, you’re going to kiss me.”

  “Am I?” The amusement is clear in his voice.

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Hmm . . .” His voice trails off to a light hum as his lips press against the side of my neck, just under my ear. “I can’t do that.”

  “We should eat,” I say.

  He inhales. “I couldn’t agree more.” He nips my earlobe, and I gasp.

  “That’s not what I meant.” I press my lips together, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth pooling in my stomach and between my thighs. My pulse thrums loud thro
ughout my entire body, and I know he can feel his effect on me.

  He slides an arm around my waist and guides me back against his chest. My cheeks flush when I feel him against me.

  I hold my breath. “Tristan.”

  He spins me around, keeping a small distance between us. “You affect me too, Rory. I thought you should know.”

  I swallow, forcing a nod.

  “And you were right,” he murmurs, dipping his face closer.

  “About?” My voice is strained, my senses overwhelmed by him, his arms on either side of me, his cologne tickling my nose, his closeness warming my skin.

  He smirks. “I’m going to kiss you.” He presses his lips against the corner of my mouth, and I turn my face enough that our lips meet full-on when he kisses me again. His hands slide from the counter to my hips where his fingers dig into my leggings as if he’s fighting the urge to rip them off of me. I wish he would.

  I drape my arms over his shoulders and lean into him, deepening the kiss and sliding my tongue along his lower lip. He lifts me onto the counter with ease, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him as close as the counter will allow. I gasp when he nips my bottom lip, but the sound is swallowed by his mouth on mine.

  After several minutes of the two of us battling for control, he leans back a bit and peppers kisses along my jaw before stepping away.

  He walks back to the other side of the counter and plates the food. “Hungry?” he asks.

  He has no freaking idea.

  I spend the afternoon prepping the ballroom. Skylar and Max help here and there, but for the most part, it’s up to me and a team of the hotel staff. This is my event . . . well, not my event, but it’s my project, my responsibility, and to ensure it goes well, I like to know I have control over most of it. That’s my type A personality rearing its insanely organized and control-freakish head.

  Once the room is prepared and I’ve spoken to the bartender, the caterer, and the classical musician Skylar contacted, I take a breath and allow myself to get ready. There isn’t much time before guests and donors arrive, so I sneak upstairs to Tristan’s place to finish my hair, do my makeup, and put on my dress.

  I’m surprised when Skylar comes in and grabs the curling iron while I’m trying to rush through doing my makeup. She goes to work on my hair, pulling part of it up and curling it into loose waves before braiding a portion of it, which gives me time to touch up my face. We don’t talk, and when she’s finished, I don’t say thank you because she’ll snap at me if I do.

  I pace around the guest room until there’s nothing left for me to do but put on my dress. I stare at where it hangs on the closet door. It’s a floor-length, sleeveless, rose gold gown that glimmers with every movement. It has a sharp V-shaped neckline and an open back. It’s the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. The fact that I’m wearing it for a work event was my justification for the expense, but when Tristan insisted the company reimburse me for it after he found out how much it cost, I didn’t argue.

  I step into the dress, pulling it up until it falls into place, and slip on my heels. My breath catches when there’s a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” I say.

  I watch the door open from the mirror in front of me as Tristan steps in and closes it behind him. The world slows. There’s nothing but the two of us, and we can’t stop looking at each other. I’ve seen Tristan in formal wear at the office for meetings, but I’ve never seen him like this. His hair is slicked back, none of the usual unruly pieces sticking out, and it looks darker than normal. It suits him. He’s wearing a black tux with a bow tie, making me smile at the thought of watching him standing at a mirror tying it.

  He walks over to where I’m standing and stops behind me. He stares at me in the giant mirror, a look of genuine admiration on his face.

  “You look stunning,” he says in a low voice, as if dozens of people fill the room, and his voice is meant for my ears only.

  I meet his gaze in the mirror and smile. “Thank you. You look handsome.”

  He leans in and kisses my cheek. “This is your night. You’ve worked hard on this event, so I know you want it to be nothing short of perfect, but try to have a good time.”

  “It will be perfect,” I assure him.

  He chuckles. “Of course it will.”

  I nod. “I’ll have a good time. Don’t worry about me, Tris.”

  He tilts his head. “What did you call me?” he asks, his tone light with amusement.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No. I liked it,” he admits, making my belly swirl with warmth.

  “Okay,” I say after several beats.

  His eyes travel the length of me, taking in every curve the material is hugging.

  “I just put this dress on, and you’re looking at me like you’re about to tear it off.” The idea isn’t one I’m completely opposed to, but this dress was expensive, and I kind of need it for tonight.

  He licks his lips, making heat rush to my cheeks and far lower. “It’s a stunning dress, but I think what’s underneath would interest me much more.”

  I swallow, my pulse kicking up as he slides his hand into mine and guides me around to face him. I grip the lapel of his jacket with my free hand as my heart pounds in my ears.

  He dips his face closer until our noses brush before resting his forehead against mine. “You have no idea how badly I want you, Rory.”

  I suck in a breath, but before I can get a word in, his lips seal over mine, and whatever I was going to say is lost in the feel of his mouth. I slide my hand up his chest and grip the back of his neck, tugging him closer as I flick my tongue across his lower lip.

  A soft growl rumbles in his throat, and he nips my lip before his tongue darts out to meet mine. His hands grip my waist, rubbing slow circles against the fabric of my dress that I’m suddenly wishing didn’t exist. Well, that escalated quickly.

  “How much time do we have?” I ask, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  “Not enough,” he murmurs against my lips. He leans away and brushes my hair back into place before adjusting his suit jacket. He offers me his arm. “Our guests will be arriving any minute. We’ll have to pick this up later.”

  I press my lips together so I don’t suggest something stupid like missing the beginning of the event. No, I silently scold myself. I’m going to be a responsible adult and ignore the delicious throbbing between my legs. Jesus. I need a cold shower.

  Placing my hand on his arm, we walk to the elevator. Once we’re on, I pull my hand back and stand against the wall opposite him. I need a clear head going into tonight, and whenever I’m too close to Tristan, it can prove difficult to think straight—or think about anything other than his hands on me.

  Tristan says nothing, but the smirk on his lips is telling enough. He knows why I put distance between us—he thinks it’s hilarious.

  I roll my eyes and keep my gaze trained on the wall the rest of the ride to the main floor where the ballroom is.

  Skylar and Max, along with several other Westbrook Hotel employees, are already downstairs when Tristan and I arrive. We walk into the room, and I feel eyes on me. Squaring my shoulders, I stand straight, refusing to look as nervous as I am.

  “That’s my girl,” Tristan murmurs from beside me.

  My girl. Oh boy. My chest swells. I like that statement way too much.

  I take a deep breath and exhale. I’m ready for this.

  Skylar and I stand at the entrance to the ballroom to greet guests as they come in, while Tristan mingles with everyone inside. Tonight is all about getting cheques out of these high-class attendees to donate to charity. Westbrook Inc. chooses a new charity each year, and this year the money is going to a popular LGBTQ+ support for adolescents organization that Tristan handpicked from hundreds of applications. Most of the attendees of this event are businesspeople and friends of Tristan’s, meaning they have the money we need to be donated.

  I shake hands with an endless line o
f people entering the room. By the end of it, my mouth aches from smiling so much, but I feel good. Potential donors soon fill the entire room. While my job this evening is far from over, this is a decent start.

  I spend most of the event chatting with some of the most successful businesspeople in Rockdale. It’s a dream come true for any business major, and I’m taking full advantage of the networking opportunity. Graduation is always on my mind, especially as it inches closer.

  Tristan makes his annual speech, discussing in detail the organization set to receive this year’s charity, and wraps up by thanking guests for coming and donating generously.

  I find him after he exits the stage and hand him a glass of champagne. “Nice speech,” I say.

  “I should’ve had you make it,” he says, clinking his glass against mine before taking a sip. “You’ve put the most work into this event.”

  I shrug. “Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about the amazing people who are willing to give donations to make a real change.”

  “You’re right. Tonight may not be about you,” he says as he takes my champagne flute and sets it beside his on a banquet table, “but the next few minutes can be. Dance with me, Rory.”

  I place my hand on his extended one and let him lead me onto the dance floor as the female musician starts playing a new song. Tristan clasps my hand in his and places his other on my waist while I rest mine on his shoulder. We step in time to the music, and I use this opportunity to glance around the room. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves; I can’t help but beam with pride.

  “I can feel that,” Tristan says, offering me a faint smile.

  I lift my eyes to his. “Good.”

  We dance until the song ends, and he pulls me against him. “Tonight is amazing. The donations are pouring in. Congratulations on a successful event, sweetheart.” He smiles at me. “I have to speak to some people, but I’ll find you later.”