Chapter 10 – Tristan
TRISTAN
Ican’t stop thinking about what happened between Waverly and Braxton in the dressing room. I didn’t see it. But I saw Braxton. I saw his flushed face and slightly disheveled shirt and rushed hair and the pure, raw desire in his eyes.
It’s not that I’m jealous. Okay, I am that. But it’s more that I wish I had seen it. I wish I could have told him where and how to touch her. Watched as she came for both of us.
I want to be mad at him for crossing that line with her, but I can’t be, even if it worries me.
He told me he loves her, and those aren’t words Braxton Hicks has ever used about anyone.
I’m supposed to be focused on the acquisition.
So is Braxton for that matter. But all I’ve been thinking about is Waverly, and that’s only grown stronger since I saw her in the airport last night.
Or maybe it’s that I’m finally allowing myself to think about her instead of fighting it.
Waverly is once again glued to the window, taking in the lights and pretty buildings and quaint shops and restaurants until we pull up in front of the Ouest Hotel. My father has lived here his entire life. He grew up here, and my grandparents spent their entire married lives here as well.
I love my family, but I never wanted to live here forever the way they do. I wanted something for myself. Something not handed to me because of my birthright. Something beyond the hotels. Something that changes lives.
The path I’ve taken isn’t what they had in mind for me. They expected me to go to college, move back home, get married, pop out an heir and possibly a spare, and live miserably ever after taking over the company.
They still think what I do is a waste of time and that I should come home and do the above-mentioned.
It’s why Waverly’s role these two or so weeks is so crucial.
“You remember my grand-mère’s name?”
Her head swivels in my direction, and her gaze is nothing short of castrating. “You mean, Mrs. Ouest or Grand-mère?”
“Right. Okay. That was a layup. What about—”
“Your mother is Francine, and your father is Alain. I think I can remember those names, considering I know the first and last names of every employee at OuestHicks, including most of their birthdays.”
“Fine. Good. But you know they’re—”
“Going to test me? Especially your father and grandmother? Yes, I know. I came to your condo that one time you had the flu to drop off contracts, so I know what the inside of it looks like. Your favorite takeout meals are Thai or Italian because I order them for you on the nights I know you’re not leaving until at least midnight.
I know you typically prefer to have a business podcast on in the background rather than the news or music.
You drink two cups of coffee in the morning, no more, and occasionally a latte in the afternoon if you’re dragging.
You don’t eat a lot of sweets because I’ve never seen you touch the pastries or snacks you bring in for us.
You work most weekends and spend your nights with random women when the mood strikes you, though I suppose now you spend your nights with me since that’s what we’re telling them.
I know they want you to move back here, and you have no interest in doing that, so I’m guessing there’s some tension lingering there.
Other than that, I think we’ll be fine.”
“Fine. You know me. Again, better than nearly anyone else. What do I call you?”
“Huh?” She turns fully in my direction, eyebrows slanted into a sharp V.
“A pet name. I have to call you something.”
“How about Waverly?” she deadpans, unamused. “Since clearly I can’t call you darling or sugar daddy.”
“Not babe or honey.”
“Um, no.”
I rub my hand along my jaw, having fun with this. “Babe is too college frat boy for you?”
“For sure,” she comes back in a mocking tone. “It’s a shame your parents didn’t name you Richard because then I could call you Little Dick.”
I choke. “You wouldn’t say that if I had been pressed up against you in the dressing room earlier instead of Braxton.”
Brax barks out a laugh but otherwise leaves the two of us to this.
She gasps. Loud. Affronted. But there is also no hiding that blush of hers or the way she skirts my eyes. “You can’t say that to me.”
“Then don’t get presumptuous unless you want me to prove you wrong.”
“Oh my god! Shut up!” She covers her face with her hands, but she’s laughing too. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I am. I just wanted to get a rise out of you. But we still haven’t figured out a nickname for you.”
Her hand comes up between us, palm out toward me. “I don’t need you calling me something cute and icky. I’m not really a pet name girl.”
“Sure. I believe you. That’s why you smile every time Brax calls you Sunshine.”
She makes a harsh noise in the back of her throat. “Fine. Give me something better than babe or honey.”
“What about… sweetie?”
She shakes her head. “That’s what you’d call a child.”
“Help me out then.” I throw her a pleading glance as the back door is opened by the valet and we step out.
“I don’t know. What did you call your ex-wife?”
“By her name.”
Her hands fly about. “Exactly!”
“I didn’t love her enough to care about what I called her,” I state bluntly, and Waverly trips into the back of Braxton.
She flips on me. “You can’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. She was the same as the women they wanted to set me up with. She pretended to love me, and with that, I tried to talk myself into loving her, but I never did.”
She stares at me and stares at me, not even blinking. Then she turns to Braxton, who nods in confirmation.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I step forward and wrap my arm around her waist and kiss the corner of her lips. “Don’t be sad, sweetheart. This is where you come in, Pookie.”
“I will leave if you call me Pookie,” she threatens, and I’m dying at her reactions to this.
“Fine. You’re his sunshine and my sweetheart because both fit you.” I think I called her that earlier. It had just slipped out, but they do both suit her so perfectly. She’s a ball of fucking sunshine and sweet as sugar at all times. Even when she’s busting my balls.
She huffs and turns away, but it’s fake.
I know when Waverly is actually upset about something, and this isn’t one of those times.
She likes sunshine and she likes sweetheart and Braxton is on cloud fucking nine.
He thinks we’re going to have dirty hot sex for the next two weeks, but I don’t see how that’s going to happen.
Maybe with the two of them, but Waverly doesn’t want me that way.
She still doesn’t even like me.
Plus, Brax can get away with things I can’t. He can fuck around and move on, and no one gets upset or expects more because of his happy go with the flow attitude. For me it’s different. It always is.
Waverly cranes her head back as she stares up at the building, but I walk us inside, being greeted by everyone we pass.
“You lived in a hotel. That’s just so wild. You’re like a character in Monopoly.”
“Lots of people live in residences in hotels. Trust me, we have them all over the world.”
The lobby is decked out in its usual holiday fashion.
There are two tall, tastefully decorated trees on either side of a long table that has a snowy gingerbread village, including the Ouest Hotel, and we have a tall Menorah glowing for the first night of Hanukkah.
It smells like pine and cinnamon and orange, and light holiday music is playing through the speakers.
In the parlor off the main lobby that serves afternoon tea and cocktails in the evening, a fire is roaring in the gas hearth.
“This is magical,” she whispers.
“Now you know why I agree to come here with him every Christmas.”
Waverly smiles at Brax, but it’s a different sort of smile. It’s the shared smile of people who both know tragedy and the loss of parents far too young.
I dismiss the attendant and walk Waverly through the lobby toward the residence elevators. “There’s a spa on the second floor. Just give them your name, and you can have anything you want done.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything as we step onto the elevator, and I swipe my card and press the P. Waverly is vibrating beside me, and Brax shifts in closer, both of us pressing against her.
“You’ll be great,” he whispers in a low tone.
“I’m fine. Just really nervous suddenly.”
“They’ll love you,” I murmur as the doors open.
She puts her hand on my forearm, stopping me before I can get out. Her expression is open and sweet and reassuring. “They’ll love me. All parents do. I promise I’ll be your perfect girlfriend and help you in any way I can.”
I have the biggest urge to kiss her. An urge that continues to grow instead of diminishing the more time I spend with her outside of the office.
But just as Waverly needs this job, I need her in it, and I can’t blow that by kissing her because I’ll want a lot more than just a kiss, and she deserves better than me.
Better than the type of man I’ve been to her.
A jolt of guilt and unease hits me as we step into the foyer. I’m about to lie to my family, including my sick grandmother. As if sensing my thoughts, Waverly reaches over and takes my hand. She doesn’t say anything, but her touch is like a salve to my senses.
“He’s here!” I hear my mother call out from the other room.
“He’s late!” my grand-mère responds in French, and I roll my eyes, even as I fight an indulgent smile. I swear, there is no pleasing my family. But I’m about to try.
Heels click-clack on the wood floors, and then there’s my mother with a smile so bright it puts Rudolph’s nose to shame. “My baby is home.”
I sigh. “Hi, Mom.”
She grabs me by my coat and hauls me in so she can hug me. I hug her back, happy to be here and to see her. The house smells the same. Like pumpkin spice from the candles she loves to burn and dinner roasting in the oven.
“I missed you.”
“Like crazy,” I say because that’s what we always say when I come home.