by Jen Talty
“You’ve been served.”
“Thanks,” Tristan muttered as he took the envelope. No point in taking out his frustration on the poor guy just doing his job.
Tristan tore open the envelope and glanced at the top page, indicating that he was being sued by the Ramsworth’s for two million dollars for defamation of character. He shook his head, wondering how on earth they got this lawsuit up and running. Talk about a waste of the court system.
He glanced into the kitchen where Doug held a bunch of papers bound together by a blue, thick piece of paper. The architecture plans had been pushed to the side.
She glanced over the papers, curling her lip into a snarl as she glared at him.
Well, the proposal hadn’t been his idea, but he did think it was worth her listening too.
Quietly, he made his way to his bedroom, where he dumped the envelope on his nightstand.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten dinner yet and he really did want to hear what Doug was offering, so he made his way back to the kitchen. But the second he saw the not so happy look Brooke had shot him, a beer seemed appropriate. He stepped into the kitchen, avoiding Brooke’s glare. He could only hope her temper wouldn’t go off like a skyrocket.
“I think that about covers it,” Doug said, gathering up the paperwork. “Not to put any pressure on, but if you could get an answer to us by early next week, we’d greatly appreciate it.”
“I won’t leave you hanging too long either way.” Brooke stood, extending her hand. “Thanks for coming out.”
“Later man,” Tristan said. “Tell Stacey that I kicked Prichard’s ass today.”
“Will do,” Doug said as he left.
Tristan took a good swing before turning his attention to Brooke.
“You could have given me a heads up,” she said as she stood, shoving the contract at his chest.
“I was in the water all day and by the time I found out, he was already on his way here.”
“But you knew they were putting together an offer.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t my business to fill you in and besides, I didn’t know what kind of offer they were making. All Stacey told me was that they had a proposition for you.”
“They sure did.”
“And?”
“They offered to be the bank during the renovations until my issue with the Ramsworth’s is cleared up.”
“That’s cool.”
She shook her head. “I’m not a charity case.”
“I never said you were and I doubt Doug treated you that way.” He kept his tone level and continued to watch the color of her eyes. He sensed frustration more than anger, but it probably wouldn’t take much to set her off.
“When I told him I didn’t think I could take the risk on any kind of loan, he offered, that if things went south for me, they’d give me fair market value and they’d flip it, keeping the profits since they would have taken a hit for all the materials and I’d be able to walk away.”
“Did he give you a price?”
“He did.” She poked her finger at the center of his chest. “You went too far.”
“I didn’t do anything. That deal was all Doug and Jim.” The tension in the room grew and he had to find a way to keep his own temper from flaring up. Her independence was sexy as hell, but her inability to let people just do something for her drove him nuts. “What he offered is a good deal, for both parties.”
“Mostly, but he’s pretty set on the plans he drew up, so unless I planned on keeping the place, there’s room for changes.” She folded her arms, leaning against the counter, taking his beer and sipped it.
“He knows what will sell. Trust him.”
“Trust him? Either way he’s making money. If I take the loan, they are getting two percent, which is way lower than a bank, but still, a profit, and that feels like I’m some pet project of you and your friends.”
“You’re not. Doug and Jim do this kind of stuff all the time.” Tristan reached in the fridge and got out another beer. “It’s a fair offer and like you said, they will turn a profit either way, so I don’t see how that makes you any kind of project.”
“So why me? Why my grandfather’s house? What makes me so damn special they decided they had to do the work, willing to take this kind of risk with their business?” She raised her arm, flapping it about in a wild gesture.
“I honestly don’t know. When Doug gets it in his head he wants to renovate a property, he pretty much does whatever he can to land the project.”
“Doug must be loaded.”
Tristan let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “I would have no idea and I certainly don’t care either way, and neither should you. He’s a good man.”
“Rich people always have an agenda,” she muttered. “I don’t buy he’s just a nice guy who wants to do me a solid.”
“Not all wealthy people go around acting like Wendell and his family.” If Tristan told her the truth now, she’d go bat shit on him. But if he didn’t, and she found out another way, it would be worse. “If you decide to go after the Ramsworth’s and paternity is proved, you’ll most likely become instantly rich. Will that make you a bitch?”
“That’s dumbass logic.”
He arched a brow.
“If that happens, I wasn’t born in to it, so it would be different.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
She nodded. “Still, some rich people are assholes. Is that better?”
He raised the long neck bottle to his lips. The crisp bubbles floated across his tongue. This might be the right moment.
A car rolled down the driveway and she glanced out the window.
He frowned.
“Who drives a Rolls convertible these days?” she asked as looked between the car in the driveway and him.
“My parents do.” He’d forgotten he’d made dinner plans with his parent’s weeks ago.
“Shut the front door.” She stared at him, mouth gapping open.
“I think we should open it, actually.”
She narrowed her gaze, then jumped when his father tapped on the door.
Tristan quickly maneuvered around her. “Hey Dad, come on in.” His father had gone totally grey, but he wore it well. “You can set that down on the kitchen table.”
“Thanks, son,” his father said, glancing toward Brooke.
“Mom, let me take that for you.” Tristan kissed his mother on the cheek, taking the salad bowl from her perfectly manicured hands. His mother had always had a flare for fashion and style, having gotten her degree in fashion design.
“Brooke, this is my dad, Albert and my mom, Helen.”
“Nice to meet you Brooke,” his father said. “I hope you’re joining us for dinner tonight.”
“I hadn’t asked her yet.” He smiled in her direction, where she gave him a seething stare. “Join us? Please?”
“I don’t think so, but thanks for the offer.”
“Oh, no, dear,” his mother said, taking Brooke’s hand. “I insist you stay. We’ve heard quite a lot about you.”
“You have?” Brooke asked with wide eyes, before turning them into tiny slits.
Tristan swallowed. “Your grandfather had dinner with us a couple of times.”
“We’re very sorry for your loss,” his father said. “If you don’t have any place to be just now, we’d love to have you join us.”
“Thank you.” Brooke stepped back. “But I don’t want to intrude on family time.
“No intrusion at all.” His mother stepped into the kitchen, doing a three-sixty with her arms in the air. “Where are the steaks?”
“In the freezer.” Tristan cringed. “I had recertification all day and I forgot to take them out this morning.”
His mother laughed. “Pay up.” She held her hand out in front of his father. “Then go get the steaks out of the car.”
“Son.” His father pulled out his wallet and handed his mother a crisp ten-dollar bill. “You owe me ten buck
s.”
“I’m not the idiot who bet I’d remember during SCUBA week.” Tristan ducked his head into the fridge. “I have beer, a bottle of white wine that we opened yesterday, and red if anyone wants that.”
“I should go,” Brooke said, turning to follow his father out the door.
“Where? You have an appointment somewhere or something.” his mother asked.
“No, she doesn’t. She’s just mad at me.” Tristan held up the bottle of white and his mother nodded, holding up two fingers.
He ignored Brooke, since she looked like she might shoot him.
“I’m going to apologize for whatever my son did or said, but he didn’t have the best role model in his father. That man doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.”
“Neither do you,” his father said as he re-entered the kitchen. “This woman’s idea of a romantic dinner is a burger and fries at the local greasy spoon.”
“Oh, and your idea of a romantic date is any better?” His mother waggled her finger. “He’s lucky I married him.”
“Please, do tell. I have to know,” Brooke said, the lightness in her voice coming back.
“Dad took my mother to see some war movie on their first Valentine’s Day as a couple that was so gory, even I wouldn’t stomach it.” Tristan handed his mother a glass, holding the other one out to Brooke, who graciously took it, but didn’t smile at him.
“If you want to neck at the movies, you always take a girl to one where she’ll need to close her eyes. She’ll cuddle right up against you.” His father smiled wide.
“Men. You can’t live with them and you can’t shoot them,” his mother said.
“I’ll second that.” Brooke clinked her glass with his mother’s.
Tristan guzzled his beer, almost wishing he hadn’t just introduced Brooke to his parents.
Almost.
At least they’d show her that rich people could be decent, normal human beings, though there was nothing normal about his family, that was for damn sure.
“Shall I go on about women, because I could, you know,” his father said.
“Don’t even try to go there.” His mother lovingly shoved his father’s arm. “No need to show what a bunch of adolescents you men are to Tristan’s friend.”
Brooke laughed. “My grandmother used to tell me she did the happy dance when I was born because she didn’t think she could handle having another male who would never grow up.”
“I like the way your grandmother thinks.” Helen raised her glass again.
“Let’s sit outside while we wait for the grill to heat up.” Tristan shuffled everyone outside, taking the open bottle of wine and putting it a small bucket of ice with a couple more beers.
They sat on the front patio, facing the lake. His mother and father sat in the two rocking chairs, while he and Brooke shared the love seat, though she sat all the way on the other end, leaning away from him.
The sun still shined over the mountains. It would be another hour and a half before it set. His neighbor’s children laughed as they splashed each other in the water.
“So, what do you do for a living Brooke?” his father asked. He’d always been the inquisitive type, asking questions, but he generally didn’t pry. That was left up to his mother, but she never stuck her nose in too deep.
“I’m between jobs right now, but my last position was as a regional sales manager.” She shifted, but still remained as far away as she possibly could. He really wanted to toss his arm around her and pull her close, just to see her reaction.
She glared at him, probably sensing what he wanted to do. This connection thing kind of sucked sometimes.
“This is the young woman you mentioned that might be looking for a new career opportunity?” his father asked.
Tristan sucked in a breath, letting out slowly, feeling the rage seep from Brooke’s skin. “Yes, sir.”
His father scrunched his nose. “I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn't have.”
“I just hadn’t had the chance to tell her the person I’d talked to was my father.” Tristan sipped his beer, ignoring the stares coming from both his girlfriend and his mother.
“Feel free to send me your resume and cover letter with references and I’ll put it in front of my department heads.”
“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to take advantage.” Brooke set her glass down, shifting again.
“You’re not. I can’t promise anything other than putting your resume in the right piles. I don’t influence my people on who to hire. They won’t know who you are or that you’re my son’s girlfriend.”
Tristan tensed, glancing toward Brooke, who pursed her lips.
“Thank you. But before I send my resume, what company is this and where is it located?”
“Highland Pharmaceutical.”
Brooke had raised her wine glass, but stopped short as she coughed.
Both his parents exchanged glances.
Tristan looked out toward the water as Brooke put it all together.
“We have offices all over the state. If you’d like, I can get my HR people to send you a list of employment opportunities in sales management and you can apply directly for those.”
“I think that’s the best way to go about it.” Brooke forced a smile, but the tension in the air tripled. “I do have a head hunter looking at various prospects.”
“Why don’t you boys go start the steaks,” his mother said with a sweet, but stern tone.
“Yes, ma’am.” Tristan knew better than to argue with his mother, but he wasn’t too keen on leaving her alone with Brooke. She never meddled too much, but she did have an intuitive side, and she could be blunt.
Too blunt.
“I think that’s our cue to leave.” His father rose and headed toward the side of the house, Tristan following behind.
“None of my business son, but what the hell did you do?” his father asked once out of earshot of the ladies.
“It’s more like what I didn’t do.” Tristan opened the grill, hot steam floated out in a big puff.
“And what’s that?” Up until Tamara had died, his father had always been a good sounding board. They had a good relationship and most things he’d always been comfortable talking about with his father, including the mandatory sex talk, which had been the most hilarious conversation he’d ever had with his father as a young boy. His father had begun by sitting him down in his office and asked him what he knew about having intercourse with a woman. Tristan, being the smart ass that he’d always been, decided to have a little fun with his father and his knowledge of sex. Besides his father being stunned, Tristan learned he had a few things wrong.
“I didn’t tell her the lifestyle to which I was born.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It shouldn’t, but she literally didn’t know until you pulled up and once you mentioned Highland, well, I’m sure she put it all together and it pissed her off. Honesty is a hot button for her.”
His father lowered his chin, giving him that obnoxious stare he used whenever Tristan did something or said something stupid. “Lying is a hot button with all women.” His father planted his hands on his hip in a father stance.
Tristan unwrapped the steaks and tossed them on the grill, then turned,
For two years after the death of his sister, Tristan couldn’t talk to his father about anything and that wasn’t just on Tristan. His father had shut down too. The entire family had, but Tamara had been daddy’s little girl. She might have been a tomboy, but she’d been daddy’s princess. His mother had always told him that there was something special about father’s and their daughters.
But during those two years, Tristan not only had to deal with the death of his twin, but his father had checked out for a while as well.
Things were different now, and Tristan worked through a lot of life’s issues with his dad, but some of this story wasn’t his to tell.
“I can’t get into all the details, because that would be
breaking her trust, something I can’t afford to do at this point.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, if you’re not comfortable doing so.”
Tristan poked at the steaks, sticking a thermometer inside each one before closing the grill. “She’s had some problems with the Ramsworth’s.”
“Who are they?” his father asked, leaning against the side of the house. He’d put on some weight over the years, but he still had a muscular build. Also had a good two inches on Tristan and years of wisdom.
“They live in the big house at the end of Mason Road.”
“Oh yeah. Your mother once had words with one of them at a charity event and I believe we turned down some joint venture with the youngest one, who if you ask me is an arrogant ass.” One thing his father never tolerated in his children, or the people who worked for him, was arrogance. He’d pull out of any deal if the person he had to work with acted as though they were better than the rest of the world.
Tristan nodded. “They’re all assholes and for generations they have been treating her family badly.”
“How so?” His father never made a judgment call without having all the facts, so he often didn’t give advice if he hadn’t been provided all the details. Tristan wasn’t looking for advice, but support, and he wasn’t sure how to get to the heart of the matter.
“A lot of different reasons. Accusations against her grandmother. Conflict between Brooke and the jackass you turned down.”
“I see. But what does that have to do with you not telling her right off the bat about your financial status, which quite frankly, you shouldn’t be doing any way.” His father pointed a finger at him. “Again, young, rich, attractive man.” His father arched a brow.
“Really, dad? We’re going to have THAT conversation. I live a modest life for many reasons, one of which is being tired of people treating me differently just because I have money.”
“Your youngest brother thinks you’re ashamed of it.”
Tristan shook his head. “He’s not even out of high school yet, what the hell does he know?”
“Everything, if you ask him.” His father laughed. “My point is, money, having it or not having it, is the source of many conflicts, but she if she cares about you, and did before she found out, why the hell does it matter now?