“Yeah, but if we walk down to the Chinese place, the walk back will be like working some of it off. I want egg rolls.”
The elevator started down, skipping the sixth floor, but pausing at the fifth to open the doors and let people on. Kari and I exchanged wary looks as we always did when we had to stop on the fifth floor, and sure enough, right after two men who were both on their phones got in, the bane of my existence followed.
We rarely ever saw her, but that just made the occasions when we did even worse. I was sure I could honestly say I hated the other woman, and Kari disliked her on principle and in support of me.
Her name was Helena Barkley, and she was tall and shapely and had a head of vibrant red hair. She was wearing a smart business suit with a skirt that was too short to be considered professional at all, and she leaned against the wall of the elevator, looking bored. The fact that she never acknowledged me made me seethe, especially considering Helena knew who I was.
It would have been hard for her not to, considering she got a pretty clear view of the shock and horror on my face when she’d been interrupted sucking my ex-boyfriend’s dick right smack dab in the middle of his living room. I hadn’t even known they knew each other, but it turned out they went to the same gym and had started talking while they were both using the treadmills.
How talking had led to Helena being on her knees with Brad’s dick halfway down her throat, I didn’t know, and honestly, I didn’t want to. I was more than happy to pretend like I’d never seen them, now that I’d told Brad where to shove his declarations about how much he loved me and how he knew now he’d made a terrible mistake.
I was almost tempted to change my number, considering the amount of messages I got from him each month. It hadn’t even been a full six months since our breakup and he hadn’t let up on me yet.
Kari glared daggers at the back of Helena’s head, and I kicked her lightly. It was honestly easier just to pretend as if I didn’t see her. Pretend as if I’d never been hurt by either one of them.
It was clear Helena didn’t give a rat’s ass about what happened, and Brad said he didn’t see her anymore; but I didn’t know if I could believe anything he said, so I chose to just pretend they both didn’t exist.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t always easy. Brad Holloway had been a good boyfriend before the whole cheating on me thing had happened. He’d brought me flowers when I was sick and took me out to dinner, surprised me with tickets to shows and trips to the beach on Sundays. I’d been happy, and Brad seemed like someone I could easily fall for.
My parents had liked him and Kari had liked him — and it was nearly impossible to find someone my best friend and my parents both liked.
He was tall and athletic with blond hair and green eyes. He had an easy smile and a deep, rumbling laugh that always made me shiver with delight to hear it. We could spend time together doing nothing but lying around and playing games on our phones and telling corny jokes.
As much as I wanted to believe I was over him, sometimes when I was feeling especially lonely, I found myself missing Brad. But missing him and being willing to take him back after what he did were two very different things. So I put his number on the reject list on my phone and didn’t listen to his messages anymore. If I didn’t ever have to see Helena at work, then it would have been so much easier to ignore this whole thing.
The elevator ride seemed to last forever, but eventually we hit the first floor and the doors opened. Helena turned right while Kari and I went left, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.
“I hate her,” Kari said as we headed for the doors.
“I know,” I replied. “She’s…ugh. Whatever. I really don’t want to talk about her.” We made our way out into the sunshine of the afternoon and decided to just give in and have Chinese. As we walked, my phone vibrated in my pocket, but it wasn’t until we found a table in the small restaurant that I had time to check it.
It was a notification from Facebook indicating I had a new message in my inbox, and my heart started to beat just a bit faster as I opened the app to read it.
It was from Tristan.
My heart jumped up into my throat. Part of me had been so sure he was going to forget all about me when he went back to England, but here was proof he hadn’t.
Kari was reading the menu and not paying attention, so I kept my attention on my phone.
Hey
Just letting you know I made it back to London safe and sound and exhausted. The eight-hour time difference between here and there is insane and I want to sleep for a month. Instead, I’m at work even though it’s after 8 pm here. I should get an award. Anyway, I just wanted to say hello and thanks for the beach. If you’ve decided talking to a near stranger over the internet is a bad idea, I’ll understand. If not, I’d love to hear back.
I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over my face as I read his message. There was something about the way he talked; and now seeing the way he wrote made me giddy inside, and I knew it wasn’t entirely the accent.
I knew Kari wouldn’t approve, since my best friend was firmly of the belief that online friendship, relationships, and even most correspondence on the web was fake. “If I can’t see your eyes, how do I know you’re not lying?” she always said, and I didn’t want to go there right now. I did want to respond, though; I just didn’t want Kari to see it. Not yet. Not until I knew whether or not talking to Tristan was going to be a good idea.
So I got up, straightening my navy blue polka-dotted skirt over my legs and said “Girl, I gotta run to the bathroom, be right back. Can you order me a Diet Coke and the orange chicken with chow mien if the waiter comes by before I get back?”
“You got it, girly,” Kari said with a grin, and I sighed with relief.
I hated the idea of hiding things from my best friend, but…this was something I had to do on my own.
Chapter 6 — Tristan
“Alright, guys. We’re supposed to have the foundations for this place laid in the next two weeks. It’s not going to be easy, since the client has changed his mind about everything to do with this project at least six times already, but we either have to start or postpone it, and I don’t think I need to tell you what’ll happen if we postpone it again.”
From the sounds of approval I was getting from the team, I could tell they understood what I meant. “I know it’s not usually how we do things,” I continued, “but if we get this done right, then it could mean a lot of doors being opened for this company. That’s good for everyone. So let’s do this right, yeah?”
“You got it, boss,” one of them called out and the others seemed to agree, so I let them go to it.
I was glad they’d seemed to buy my whole “I have energy and am here to be productive at work” routine because in reality, I was fucking exhausted. Crossing the ocean and getting very little sleep because of it should have been a reason to be able to call in to work sick, or take a half day at least, but not when you were Martin Armstrong’s son.
Well…that wasn’t entirely fair.
My father had been trying to get me to take an office job since day one, but I insisted that I’d rather be out where the hard work happened. I enjoyed getting my hands dirty, and it kept people from thinking that I got special treatment just because I was the boss’ son.
While I couldn’t say that I wished I didn’t come from money (because there had been so many opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise), I’d say that I wished it didn’t affect the way people treated me so much. There were certain expectations that came along with having money and being well known for it. People expected you to look nice all the time, wear the fancy suits and the expensive shoes. To drive nice cars or else have someone else do the driving. I couldn’t take a girl out to a nice place to get fish and chips. No, it had to be all five star this and exclusive catering that.
I was nowhere near as rich as my father was, of course, but as my mother so often reminded me, the money was for the family. If I need
ed something, I was expected to ask for it and it would be provided.
She had known that.
Vanessa, the woman I’d been expecting to spend the rest of my life with. She’d known all about my family’s money, my job and my parents. After six years together, I wouldn’t have expected her not to. She’d stayed at my apartment and been to my parents’ massive house near Oxford. She’d even gone along on our summer trip to Paris one year, so she knew the way I’d grown up and how my parents lived, and it made sense that she expected to be treated a certain way.
Except if she’d ever paid attention to anything I’d ever said or did, she would’ve known that wasn’t the way I’d planned to live. I liked things plain and simple. Vanessa had expected me to treat her as if she was about to marry a billionaire. She wanted me to wine and dine her, buy her expensive gifts and take her to those stuffy gala dinners at three hundred pounds a plate. After six years, she should have known me better, but she kept on nagging and bitching until finally she just up and left. I heard she was with some rich asshole celebrity who only wanted her for her looks. Good riddance.
I sighed and went back to looking over the blueprints for the new office tower we were working on. Thinking about Vanessa never did me any good, and it was a much better idea to just lose myself in the hustle and bustle of work.
With a resolute nod, I donned my hard hat and went out into the fray, ready to manage this project like I got paid to do.
“Hard hat on, Jimmy!” I called to one of the contractors, steel in my voice. “I shouldn’t have to tell you. If you get hurt on the job because you’re being a bloody wanker, you don’t get paid while you recover. Understand?”
I ran a tight ship, but from what I could tell, no one had a problem with me or the way I managed things. They were all used to me barking at them, and by the time I was ready for them to get started, they were all ready, too.
It was nearly eight o’clock when I finally made it home, and all I wanted was a hot shower and to fall into bed. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen considering the fact that the message light on my phone was blinking like mad and I had a bunch of emails I needed to send before I could even think about sleep.
My apartment was the penthouse suite in St George’s Tower, right in the heart of Battersea riverside and it had a stunning, panoramic view of London and the Thames from the huge picture window. The plush leather couch sitting in front of it was calling my name but I had to resist, especially right now when I was practically dead on my feet. I knew if I sat down now, I’d fall asleep and not move until the next morning.
It wasn’t until I’d unlocked my phone and started flipping through my messages that I noticed one of them was from Facebook, and remembered I’d sent Ginny a message earlier when I’d finally stopped to eat something.
I’d half expected her to ignore me and decide she didn’t actually want to talk to someone she didn’t even know, but from the warm tone of her message, I could tell she was as excited to talk to me as I was to talk to her. It was a good sign.
Hey there~ I’m glad you made it back safely. I can’t even imagine crossing so many time zones and still going to work the next day. It’s hard enough for me to get out of bed in the morning as it is, without adding jet lag to the equation. Here’s an honorary award for being a good worker. It’s a medal. You’ll get it in 14 to 16 weeks. So look out for that. It’s the middle of the day here, and I’m having lunch with Kari, but then we’ve got to get back to work. You’ll probably be asleep by the time I get off. Anyway, hope you had a good day. :)
Even though I was well and truly exhausted, her message had me smiling. She was genuinely sweet, and I liked that about her. Her message made me laugh, and I considered replying right then, but decided to hold off until I was more coherent. She was probably busy now anyway.
Instead, I looked through my other messages, rolling my eyes when I saw there was one from Mike, calling me an arsehole for not contacting him yet even though I’d been back in the country for almost a full day.
I knew my best friend was just giving me a hard time, but I still typed back a snarky reply about how some of us had to do actual work. He was usually a part of my team, but he’d been sent to scout possible site locations that day, so I wouldn’t see him until tomorrow anyway.
I had my shower, groaning in pleasure as the hot water washed away the dirt and soreness from the day. I took my time, turning on the shower massager to help get the tension out of my muscles, and that, combined with the scented soap, was working wonders for helping me relax. I considered having a little “private time”, as was my usual shower routine, especially after a long day of work and dealing with people, but ultimately decided I was too tired to start that.
“What is the world coming to when a man is too worn out to wank?” I muttered to myself as I toweled off and pulled on a pair of clean boxers from the pile of fresh laundry in the hamper. That would need to get put away eventually.
One day.
Plus I needed to get around to unpacking, too.
Definitely not tonight.
The emails got sent, though it was a struggle to remember how to sound professional when I was just thinking about sleep, and I was just about to head to bed when my phone rang.
Mike.
If it had been anyone else, I would have let it go to voicemail and gone about my business. It was fast closing in on midnight and I just wanted to sleep, but Mike would just keep calling, so I sighed and slid my finger across the screen to answer the call.
“This had better be good. I was just about to go to bed.”
“What, already?” Mike asked, laughing. “Getting old there, buddy?”
“No. I was on a plane for fifteen fuckin’ hours yesterday and I worked my arse off today. I think I’m entitled to feel a little bit like the fucking undead right about now,” I shot back in our usual banter.
“Okay, okay. Fair point. I just wanted to know how LA was.”
“Sunny.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
Mike snorted. “Okay. Who’s Ginny Peterson, then?”
Trust Mike to be paying attention to my Facebook updates. “She’s a girl I met in LA. What’s it to you anyway?”
“So you just…added her on Facebook?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I was getting a little pissy with him. “Look mate, I’m too tired to explain this now, and I already know you’re going to be on my case about it tomorrow, so can we save it until then, please?”
“You got it, boss man,” Mike teased. “Get your beauty sleep, Princess, and I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
“Fuck off, Mike,” I said and let it be a goodbye. I hung up and turned my phone off for good measure, shutting off the lights in the apartment and heading down the hall to bed, finally.
Chapter 7 — Ginny
The week after Tristan left to go back to England was a busy one for me. The law offices were a hive of activity with a high-profile case going on, and I spent most of my time researching, printing, and fact checking. It was good to be busy. It gave me less time to think about Brad and Helena and how I went home alone every night and put myself to bed, wishing I had someone with me. Instead, I thought about the case and how if our firm won, it would mean a pay raise for all the people who worked on it. More money was always a good thing, right?
My parents were impressed I was working on such a prominent case (some celebrity or other was suing someone else), and my superiors at work were impressed with how thorough and efficient my work was.
Mixed in with work were messages from Tristan. We hadn’t yet worked out how to time it so that we could chat on Skype or even use the Facebook messenger system, since there was an eight-hour time difference between us, so we made do with email messages. But even that was enough to lift my spirits during a long day of work.
Tristan was very interesting, and he wanted to know as much about me as I did about him. We’d jumped right int
o talking and asking questions about each other as if we’d been friends for years. For me, it just came naturally, and I was sure I understood what Tristan had meant when he’d said that I reminded him of being with his best friend. Only Tristan was a lot less exhausting to talk to than Kari sometimes.
So on a scale from 1 to 10 with 10 being “I live at McDonald’s” how much fast food do you eat?
He’d sent that message on a Wednesday, and I had to cover my mouth with a hand to avoid laughing out loud in the middle of the office.
I waited until I’d delivered the files I’d been compiling to the attorney who’d requested them, and then sat down to reply “Probably about a two? I like to cook more than eat out, actually.”
That apparently was intriguing enough for him to ask me dozens of follow-up questions, and eventually I’d ended up telling him about the folder I’d had on my laptop at home, filled with bookmarked recipes I wanted to try. Gourmet dishes I made and then tweaked and then made again using fresh ingredients from the farmer’s market and Whole Foods Store.
The next time I’m in LA, I’m definitely coming to your place for dinner. If you’ll have me, he’d written after that, and I found myself smiling. Usually I only cooked for myself, sometimes for Kari when she could be persuaded to try new things, but it would be nice to have someone else around who wanted to eat my food, if it ever came to pass that he was in LA again.
I asked things about him, too, and found out he was an only child, which most definitely did not leave him with a complex, his favorite color was dove gray, his favorite food was his mother’s lamb stew even though she didn’t make it very often anymore, and on Thursday evenings he went to a pub called The Victoria, just a few streets away from his apartment to meet Mike for drinks, shooting pool, and relaxing before the weekend.
The more I learned about him, the more I found myself wishing that he were someone who lived closer that I could spend time with. I entertained thoughts of dragging him to the farmer’s market with me on Sunday mornings and then making him a dinner that he wouldn’t soon forget.
Oceans Apart: Book 1 Page 4