Paradise in Progress

1. Chapter One

Chapter one

Kennedy

Tristan Nelson is the bane of my existence, and now he’s my new boss.

What have I done in life to deserve this torture?

For years, he’s always been right there with his perfect smile and his perfect clothes, even his hair, which is supposed to look messy, always looks perfect.

In college, he was my enemy. Although I don’t think he ever realized I dubbed him my nemesis, that would require him to pay attention to anyone else but himself.

I mean, how could I not hate him when he constantly beat me out of everything? He’d outscore tests by the smallest points, causing his paper to be used as the class example. When professors needed to call on students, they’d choose him every time, even though my hand was always raised. And don’t even get me started on his blase frat boy attitude. He walked around like he was God’s gift to New York University’s campus.

Senior year is when things became really heated.

For our final project, the university organized a huge design fair where the architectural majors had to compete. The guidelines were to design a new community space that incorporated social events, art exhibits, and community gatherings, with a focus on fostering connections and love. The award for winning was a ten-thousand-dollar prize and an internship at one of the top real estate developers in the country.

Somehow, he beat me.

Of course he did.

Here I was, a nobody who worked her tail off to make it from a small, rural town in the Midwest to NYU, and the boy born with the silver spoon kept beating me out of opportunities.

Two years ago, after graduation, I thought my problems with Tristan Nelson were over. I landed a job at a decent architectural firm in Chelsea, designing smaller real estate developments, usually strip malls.

Was it my dream job? No, but it paid the bills, and I enjoyed the company I worked for.

Until a month ago, I thought Tristan was out of my life for good, leaving me to focus on myself and my career ambitions.

Now I’m sitting in a wrap-around glass conference room overlooking Midtown, staring down at a folder labeled Nelson Signature Hotel it just would've been nice to tell him no. But Prince Nelson must not have wanted to wrinkle his Armani suit.

I narrow my eyes. “What are you talking about? What acquisition? And why would you need to hear it? Won’t you design your own?”

His signature smirk shines back at me, which has his dimple appearing. “Oh, this is great. You didn’t hear the news?”

“What news?” I grit out and crinkle the paper I’m holding.

“The St. Lucia project is mine.”

Color drains from my face, but I fight to keep my facial expression relaxed so he doesn’t see how much that bothers me. I have only heard a rumor that Nelson Signature acquired a resort in St. Lucia, making it their first international resort. Since it was a rumor, I didn’t think too much about it. I’ve never been one to fully believe anything that comes out of the gossip mill. The only thing I knew for sure was that if this was true, the design project would be my first opportunity to give a full presentation since I was hired at Nelson Signature. Now I’m finding out he’s going to be overseeing it. No matter how much time, effort, and energy I put into my design pitch, I’m never going to get accepted, especially if Tristan has any say .

I avert my gaze from his, gathering up the rest of my papers before standing and smoothing down my pencil skirt. As he tracked my movements, I feel his eyes blaze over my body.

“Oh yeah, Tristan? It’s going to be me on top . Just wait.” My cheeks flame as I watch his face morph into a lopsided grin, almost sinister, and it’s clear he took it the wrong way. “I-I didn’t mean for that to sound so-so sexual.”

His chuckle fills the space between us. “Firecracker, are you finally admitting you want me in bed?”

“In your dreams.” With a scoff, I turn on my heels and let my feet carry me down the stairs. His husky chuckle is the last thing I hear as I open the door to the floor we share.

Yeah, I loathe Tristan Lawrence Nelson.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag on. Not only have Tristan’s words been muddling my brain, but I’ve had to go over someone else’s designs for the resort in Aspen, Colorado. Nelson Signature wants to conduct a forty-million-dollar facelift at their resort, including upgrading the rooms to include a more apartment-like feel, new dining options, and a state-of-the-art spa with top-of-the-line wellness treatments.

It’s going to be a stunning remodel, but going over the plans and budget for someone else is a bit tedious. I have five years of experience in this field, but I feel like I’m back in the training process, like I’m a newbie again. I have to familiarize myself with the type of accommodations and materials that Nelson Signature is known for .

Resting my elbows on my desk, I rub my temples. I’m so glad it’s Thursday, which is the night my friends and I meet up at a local bar for happy hour. It’s been a long week, and I’m desperate to blow off some steam.

“Ready?” Zoe, my co-worker and friend, asks as she pops her head over the wall separating our spaces.

A small gasp escapes my lips as her voice startles me. “Seriously, Zoe. You scared me.”

She laughs, and I shake my head. Zoe and I hit it off right away. She’s a few years older than I am and has been working here since she graduated from college. Our personalities meshed, and she swiftly took me under her wing.

“Come on, babe, let’s go get our drink on.”

I reach for my lower desk drawer, sliding the compartment open and pulling out my purse, where I make quick work at unzipping and pulling out my small makeup bag. Most people have to dig for their items, but I’m not one of those people. I’m as organized as they come. I could totally be the kind of girl on social media who films her life and everyone would comment that no one’s lives are that organized. I believe everything has a place, and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t belong.

Using my compact mirror, I swipe a layer of blush on before pulling out my go-to Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk lipstick. With a fluff of my curled copper red hair, I’m ready to hit the town.

“I’m so jealous of your hair, Ken,” Zoe compliments as I lock up my desk for the night.

“Thanks, girl. It’s all fun until someone calls you ‘Red’ or —”

“Firecracker!” Tristan calls out, just as Zoe and I pass his office. My blood heats instantly with annoyance .

“Or Firecracker ,” I mutter under my breath, and Zoe lets out a chuckle.

Turning my attention to his office, I watch as Tristan rounds his desk and flicks off his light. “Heading out already?”

I glance at my watch to check the time, then scan the room, realizing we are one of the last ones left in the office. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

He tsks, freaking tsks . “I thought for sure you’d be pulling the midnight oil for your big presentation next week.”

He’s just getting under your skin, Kennedy. Ignore the pest and go have drinks.

Deciding he’s not worth my time, I resume my walk to the elevator, with Zoe in line beside me. Only that doesn’t stop Tristan, as he steps up right behind us. Pushing the button to call the elevator, I choose immaturity and give him the silent treatment.

“So where are you two off to?”

“We’re heading to Rumors.” Zoe’s reply is out of her mouth in the next second. My head whips in her direction as my eyes narrow, shooting daggers at her for telling the enemy where we’re going.

“Of course you’re going there.” His arrogant tone drips with disdain as we step into the elevator.

“What’s the matter, Tristan? Rumors not good enough for you?” I stare at my rival and watch as Zoe’s eyes ping-pong back and forth between us.

How am I supposed to work here with him? Is this really the type of workplace atmosphere I want to have?

“It’s not beneath me.” He shrugs. “I assumed you’d be going to Whiskey Barrel. ”

My mouth flounders at his attempt at an insult. “Are you making fun of me because I’m a country girl from the Midwest?”

Raising his hands in defense, he eyes me with a quirked eyebrow. “Hey, you said it.”

I fight the growl that is so desperate to escape. He’s infuriating. Absolutely impossible. But somehow his charm has women eating out of the palm of his hand. Hell, Zoe is happily married, and her eyes are doing that whole googly, dreamlike stare.

Saved by the bell, the elevator doors open. This man is insufferable with his constant need to torment me. Rushing ahead of him, I tug Zoe’s arm so we can haul ass away from the insufferable man as the security guard wishes us a good evening.

“It’ll be a good evening once he’s gone,” I mutter under my breath, but not quietly enough as a chuckle comes from the gnat in front of me.

We exit the spinning doors, and I stop dead in my tracks when I see the black town car waiting there. Tristan brushes past me, our shoulders making contact, and a slight shock stings my shoulder from where our bodies connect.

“Would you ladies like a ride?” Tristan interrupts my thoughts before I have a chance to dwell on what just happened.

“No,” I blurt, turning on my heel and guiding Zoe down the sidewalk.

He leaves us with a wave and a laugh.

“Oh my god, will you two please have sex already?” Zoe asks as she hails a cab.

I can’t help gagging at her question. “Are you for real right now? You know I can’t stand the man. ”

A yellow cab pulls over, interrupting our conversation. Climbing in, I politely instruct the driver to take us to Rumors. The ride is fairly quick, but it allows both of us time to check our notifications. There’s an alert notifying me of a new money transfer from my share payment app. Assuming it’s from my parents, I don’t think too much of it. Not until I open it and find a hundred dollars from @Just-TrisNelson with a note that says, drinks on me ;)

How am I going to survive this man?