by T L Swan
“Tris, it’s okay. You don’t have to,” I reply.
He turns back to me. “Yeah, I do, Claire. I don’t want him to worry about anything, least of all me.” He turns, and with Fletch and Harry trailing behind them, they disappear into the house.
I blink . . . huh?
What just happened?
I stand in the dark and stare at my house.
I don’t want him to worry about anything, least of all me.
Emotion overwhelms me, and I get a lump in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this.
It feels nice.
Tristan
I toss and turn as I try to get comfortable.
Who fucking designed this piece-of-shit couch? They should be fired on the spot.
What if there’s a drunk driver?
Patrick’s words come back to me, and my heart breaks . . . that poor little kid.
He’s so small, half the size of other kids his age; he has reading difficulties; and now I find out that he’s so traumatized about drunk drivers that he worries.
God, what a nightmare.
I think about how excited he was that I was staying, and I smile to myself.
I hear the stair creak, and I glance up to see Claire tiptoeing down in the darkness. She’s wearing a white nightdress, her hair is in a messy braid, and she looks as beautiful as ever. I scoot over to make room.
“Hi.” She smiles as she sits beside me on the couch.
“Hi.” I put my hand on her thigh. Finally, I can touch her.
She brushes the hair back from my forehead as she watches me in the darkness.
We stare at each other, and it’s there between us, this magical spell she casts on me. It swirls in the air, steals my breath, and makes me ache for her.
She cups my face in her hand and stares at me for a moment. “I love you, Tristan,” she whispers.
I get a lump in my throat as my eyes search hers.
“A . . . great deal, actually.”
“It’s about fucking time, Anderson,” I whisper.
She smiles as she leans down and kisses me softly. Her lips linger over mine. Our faces meld together as we hold each other tight.
This is special . . . she is special.
“I . . .”
She puts her finger over my lips. “This isn’t about how you feel,” she cuts me off. “This is about me . . . loving you. I wanted to tell you, and I know it’s premature. But I can’t hold it in anymore. It doesn’t matter how you feel about me, but I wanted you to know how I feel about you.”
I smile up at the beautiful woman in front of me, and I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.
I do love you.
I pull her down to me, and we kiss more urgently. My tongue swipes through her open lips with a hunger for intimacy. “This needs to be celebrated.”
“I know.” She smiles against my lips. “But we can’t.” We kiss again. “Not yet,” she breathes.
“Can you lie with me for a while?” I whisper.
“I can do that.” She gets under my blanket and lies half over my body and kisses my chest.
We lie together in the darkness. It’s quiet, and I can feel her heartbeat against my chest. It’s not sexual or urgent but a closeness and a sense of belonging to each other.
A deep connection.
She’s snuggled into my chest, and I smile into the darkness.
She loves me.
For the first time in my life, I feel at home.
We walk down the bustling street. “That went well,” I say. We just had a meeting across town, and a price was agreed to on a company we have been trying to get for over twelve months.
“It did,” Fletcher replies.
“Watch what happens now,” I say. “They will suddenly be urgent for the takeover to happen.”
“Why is that?”
“This is what happens—they resist and resist so that by the time we take over, they are so over it that they just want to get out.”
“No way,” Fletcher gasps as he stops in front of a shop window. He takes out his phone and takes a photo of something.
“What?” I ask as I go back to see what he’s looking at.
“That’s Harrison’s screen saver.”
“What is?” I frown.
“The rocket. It’s a model that you have to build.”
“Huh?” I peer into the shop to see a huge red-and-gold rocket with all the bells and whistles on display. “Harry likes this kind of thing?” I frown.
“This is his ultimate. Mom won’t buy it for him because she says he won’t be able to do it. It’s way too hard. He’s asked for it two Christmases in a row.”
I stare at the model as my mind races. Hmm . . . “Very interesting,” I mutter under my breath.
“Wait till I send him the pic. He’s going to go batshit crazy,” Fletcher whispers.
I smile as I stare at the elusive spaceship. “That’s a normal state for him, isn’t it?”
Fletch shrugs. “I guess.”
“Let’s check it out.” I walk into the store, and the bell goes off over the door. This is very old school.
“Can I help you?” an old man with white hair asks. He looks a little like Santa Claus.
“Yes, I was interested in the spaceship model in the window.”
“Oh.” He twists his hands together. “That’s for experienced modelers only. I doubt you would be able to complete it.”
I stare at him deadpan. Don’t assume you know what I can do. “And what makes you think we wouldn’t be able to do this?”
“Well.” He gives me a condescending smile. “I can see you are not a modeler.”
“How so?”
“Well.” He holds his hands up toward Fletcher and me. “Your suits tell me you are in big business.”
Fletcher and I exchange a glance. Don’t piss me off, old man. “We’ll take it,” I snap.
“I must advise—”
“Wrap it up,” I cut him off.
He raises his eyebrows. “Very well.” He disappears out the back.
“Old wanker,” I whisper.
“I know, right?” Fletcher whispers back.
Five whole minutes later he comes back with the biggest box I’ve ever seen. “That will be six hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “For a toy?”
He gives me that smile again, and I imagine myself hitting him over the head with the gigantic box.
“Fine,” I snap as I take out my wallet. “This better take us to the moon when it’s built.”
“If it’s built.” He smirks.
I raise an eyebrow at the know-it-all old man. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to brush up on your customer service . . . it’s severely lacking.”
He smiles sweetly. “We don’t do returns, so when you realize I was right and you were wrong, don’t ask for your money back, Mr. . . . Big Business.”
I stare at the man over the counter as I imagine myself sticking the rocket up his ass.
Fletcher grabs my arm to distract me. “Goodbye,” he says as he pulls me from the shop.
We stumble out onto the street with the huge box. “What’s his fucking problem?” I whisper angrily. “I hate that old bastard.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure he hates you too.”
“Tristan, your mother is on her way down to your office.” Sammia’s voice comes through my intercom.
“Thanks, Sam.”
I hit send on the email I’ve been writing. Then . . . knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call.
My mother’s warm smile comes into view, and I stand immediately. “Hello, Mom.” I rush to her and kiss her cheek.
“Hello, darling.” She hugs me. “I just came to check on my favorite son.”
I chuckle. She says that to all four of us . . . apparently, we are each her favorite son.
“Take a seat. Do you want some tea?” I ask.
“Yes, please, that wo
uld be lovely.” She sits down and crosses her legs.
I hit the intercom. “Sammia, can you ask someone to bring in some tea for Mom, please?”
“Sure can.”
“Thanks.” My attention turns back to my mother. “So . . .”
“So . . .” She widens her eyes with a smile. “I’ve had a hysterical Melina at our apartment all day.”
“Oh God.” I roll my eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes, Tristan. She’s very hurt.”
“Mom.” I stand in exasperation. “We broke up six months ago.”
“You were taking a break.”
“There’s no such thing as a break, Mom. That’s what you say to try and make it less painful. As soon as you hear the word break . . . it means it’s over. Everyone knows that.”
She exhales heavily and looks at me.
“What?”
“She said you’re seeing someone.”
“I am.” I lean my behind on my desk and fold my arms . . . here we go.
“Why haven’t you told me?”
“Because you’re still playing tea parties with Melina three times a week.” I sigh. “And I don’t need anyone’s approval, Mom . . . not this time.”
She watches me, and I know a million questions are on the tip of her tongue. “Who is she?”
I clench my jaw. I am not in the mood for this. “Her name is Claire.”
“And who is Claire.”
I smile. “Somebody . . . special.”
She watches me intently. “It’s serious, then?”
“Yes.”
“She’s divorced?”
“Widowed. Three boys. And yes, Mom, I’m in love with her,” I snap.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “How old is she?”
My eyes drop to the ground.
“How old is she, Tristan?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“So—” She cuts herself off.
“So what, Mom? What do you want to say?”
“Tristan.” She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. “If you end up with this woman, you won’t have children of your own. She doesn’t have much time—that’s if she even wanted to.”
“Probably not.” I inhale sharply. I hate the cold hard facts.
“And you’re okay with this?”
“I have to be, Mom. It is what it is, and I can’t turn off my feelings for her. I tried that already. And perhaps she could, Mom. She’s only thirty-eight, and you never know. We may be blessed with a child.”
“Tris,” she whispers. “It will take years for her to be ready to start again with another man. By then it will be too late. Deep down you already know that.”
I screw up my face. The truth hurts. “Don’t.”
“How can I not worry, darling?”
“Mom.” I shrug. “Trust me on this. Claire is nothing like anyone I’ve ever dated before. You will like her. There’s a lot to like about this woman . . . everything, actually.”
Her worried eyes hold mine.
“I’m bringing her on Saturday night.”
She rolls her eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means . . . I’ll see you on Saturday night.” She stands.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.” She sighs.
I exhale heavily, annoyed with how our conversation has gone. “And cut ties with Melina, please. She’s my ex-girlfriend. It’s weird.”
“Tristan, I’m friends with all of your ex-girlfriends. I can’t just cut them off like you.”
I roll my eyes.
“I just don’t know how you can be so coldhearted to these women who love you. My heart breaks for them. Melina is absolutely devastated.”
“She’ll get over it.” I look my mother in the eye. “She doesn’t love me, Mom. She loves my money and my surname. Just like the rest of them did.” I shake my head in disgust.
“Why would you say that?” she snaps.
“Because it’s the truth. You be nice to Claire . . . she’s important to me.”
She marches to the door and then looks back. “I want my son to have his own family.”
“And I will,” I snap. “It just may not fit into your perfect little box.”
She shakes her head and leaves in a huff, and I stare at the door she’s disappeared through.
A knock sounds at the door. “Hello,” I call.
Fletcher pokes his head around the door. “Hi,” he says nervously. “I’ve got the tea you wanted.”
“Hey, buddy.” I fall into my seat, and I gesture to my desk. “Bring it in.”
He walks in and with shaky hands puts it down onto the desk. He lingers, as if waiting, and my eyes rise to meet his.
“I heard what your mother said,” he says softly.
I bite my bottom lip in anger. “I’m sorry. Ignore her.”
“She doesn’t want you to date my mom?” His eyes search mine.
I shrug.
“You don’t want your own kids?” he asks.
“I do.” I undo my tie with a sharp snap. “But I want your mother more.”
Chapter 19
Claire
I exhale heavily and stare at the spreadsheet on the computer screen in front of me.
I can’t believe I rejected Gabriel’s offer of help. What was I thinking?
Obviously . . . I clearly wasn’t.
God. I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is a nightmare. We just lost the biggest advertising campaign we had, and it’s not getting any better. I’m going to have to let more people go this month.
Fuck’s sake . . . we’re running on skeleton staff as it is.
I don’t know how we can possibly do what we have to do—and do it well—with the number of staff that we now have.
I put my head into my hands and let out a dejected sigh. This is hard. Harder than hard.
I don’t know what I’m doing. How the hell do I keep us above water for much longer? If only Wade were here. He would know what to do. He was the brains of our business. Give him a problem, and he could work out a way around it. He saw problems as challenges or learning curves. Nothing was too big an obstacle for him.
But he’s gone . . . and now it’s just me.
God, I feel so out of my depth. I sit and stare at the computer screen for a long time.
Maybe if I stare at it long enough, the answer will come to me like magic.
What do I do?
What direction should I move in? I know something has to change . . . but what?
Stop.
Stop being so negative. I can pull us out of this. I know I can.
Reconfigure a few processes, move a few accounts. Streamline the advertising again.
It will be okay . . . it has to be.
Giving up this company is not an option.
I won’t go down without a fight, and damn it, it will be okay.
I’ll make damn sure of it.
My office door opens in a rush. “Just this way,” Marley says to someone.
A man comes through the door with the biggest bunch of red roses I have ever seen.
“Delivery for Claire Anderson.”
“That’s me,” I reply.
The roses have huge heads with a deep perfume and are in the most beautiful crystal vase. He places them down on my desk. “Sign here, please.”
I sign in the allocated box. “Thank you.” I smile broadly.
“You’re welcome. Although I have an admission. I didn’t buy them.”
Marley and I laugh. The joke isn’t funny, but we are so excited that we would laugh at anything, it seems.
With a kind nod, he leaves us alone, and I open the card.
I’M A VERY HAPPY MAN TODAY.
#TOBELOVEDBYYOU
TRIS
xox
An over-the-top smile beams from my face, and Marley snatches the card from me.
She reads it, and her eyes rise to meet mine in confusion. “What does that mean?”
; I roll my lips.
“To be loved by you.” She frowns.
I shrug.
Her eyes widen. “You love him?”
I give her a lopsided smile.
“You told him you love him?” She gasps.
I swing my chair back to my computer. “Yes, Marley. I admit it; I’m in love with Tristan Miles.”
She falls into a seated position on my desk and stares at me for a while in disbelief.
“Well . . . holy fucking shit,” she says as she puts her hands on her hips. “I was not expecting that.”
“Me neither.”
“So . . . what?” She stares at me for a moment as she tries to process the new information. “I mean, I knew you had that week of lunch fucks.”
I smile at her analogy. “Sounds so romantic when you put it like that.”
“You know what I mean.” She smirks. “But what happened then? And more importantly, why the fuck haven’t you told me about any of this?”
“I was just waiting to see what happened, and I didn’t want to jinx it.”
“Jinx it?”
“Well, sometimes when you put something out there, it doesn’t turn out how you expect it to.”
“So . . . this is turning out?” She frowns in surprise.
“Oh, Marley,” I gush as I look at my beautiful flowers. “Tristan is just so . . .” I search for the right words. “Funny and sweet and understanding, and he sleeps on the couch at my house out of respect for my kids.”
She screws up her face in disbelief. “Tristan Miles?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tristan Miles, the arrogant, gorgeous playboy?” she repeats, as if not believing me.
I smile with a nod. “Yep, that’s him.”
She frowns at me. “I’m so confused. I thought he was a hot player who had excellent fucking capabilities.”
I laugh out loud. “He’s all of those things, but there’s more to him.” I read my card again.
I’M A VERY HAPPY MAN TODAY.
#TOBELOVEDBYYOU
TRIS
XOX
“To be loved by you.” I hold the card to my chest.
And he is.
Marley smiles as she watches me, and finally she says, “I love seeing you like this.”
“Like what, all dreamy and starry eyed like a schoolgirl?”
“Happy.”
I smile softly. “Thanks. I really am.” I put the card carefully back into its envelope. I’ll keep it in a safe place with the other card from the last lot of roses he gave me.