Chapter 21 – Braxton
brAXTON
Alain Ouest’s study feels like stepping into another century.
While the rest of the penthouse embraces modern luxury, this room clings to old money and older traditions.
Leather-bound books no one reads, hunting trophies no one admires, and the persistent scent of Cuban cigars that even the best ventilation system can’t quite eliminate.
Tristan’s shoulders stiffen as we enter, a subtle transformation I’ve witnessed countless times when he’s around his father.
“Ah, my successful boys,” Alain boasts, rising from behind a desk that could comfortably serve as a dining table for six. He’s tall like Tristan and carries the same accustomed-to-being-obeyed demeanor. His silver hair is perfectly coiffed, his bespoke shirt and slacks unwrinkled.
“Brandy?” He doesn’t wait for our answer, already pouring three generous measures into crystal glasses that catch the light from the fireplace. “And cigars, of course. We must celebrate your triumph properly.”
Tristan accepts both. “Hardly a triumph yet, Dad. The Smithfield acquisition is still in transition, and pen won’t be put to paper until next week.”
Tristan can say what he wants, but we all know the deal is as good as done.
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and everything has already started to shut down for the holiday, including work.
I take my glass, feeling the weight of it in my hand.
Expensive. Everything in Alain’s orbit is, and I’ve often wondered at how he’s embraced me as openly and equally as he has.
After all, I’m here in the room when it should only be Tristan.
“Nonsense,” Alain dismisses, snipping the end of a cigar with a gold cutter.
“You can tell your stockholders whatever you want, but OuestHicks absorbing Smithfield is poetry, and I’m damn proud of both of you.
” He offers us each a cigar, and I take mine reluctantly.
I don’t smoke often, but refusing would be a faux pas, and I’d never want to insult Alain.
“A strategic acquisition,” I correct gently. “Their research division complements our development pipeline.”
Alain nods, not really listening. He’s focused on Tristan, studying him with a keen eye. You can almost feel it in the air. I know Tristan can. This isn’t just a casual congratulations. It’s an ambush.
“And now you have a significant presence in Paris.” He lights his cigar, the smoke curling upward. “Perfect timing, wouldn’t you say?”
Tristan and I exchange glances. Here it comes.
“The business is based in Boston, Dad,” Tristan says carefully. “That hasn’t changed.”
“But it could,” Alain responds, his tone light but his eyes sharp as he puffs thick, gray smoke into the air, and I try not to cough.
“Now that you’ve acquired a Paris division, you could easily transition your own operations here and establish European headquarters.
” He gestures broadly with his cigar. “Paris is the heart of Europe. Boston is... well, Boston, and Braxton is there.”
I take a slow sip of brandy, feeling it burn all the way down.
I’ve known this conversation was coming since we announced the Smithfield deal.
Alain has been trying to lure Tristan back to Paris for years.
Honestly, it’s why I wasn’t so sold on Smithfield from the start, but Tristan assured me all would be fine and that he wasn’t moving back home.
But now I’m not sure it’ll stay that way.
I know it’s been lingering in his mind, and I know he’s been contemplating the move.
“We’re quite happy with our arrangement,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “The Boston office is thriving, and now we have double the workload.”
Alain turns his attention to me, his smile never reaching his eyes.
“Of course, Braxton. And we’re all so proud of what you two have built together.
” The way he says that makes it feel like we’re kids who built a sandcastle at the beach.
“But family businesses require family,” he continues, returning his gaze to his son.
“I can’t stay on as CEO forever. The timing couldn’t be more perfect for you to step in. ”
Tristan takes a long draw on his cigar, but his eyebrow is twitching. He’s annoyed but not surprised.
“I’m running a pharmaceutical company, Dad. Hotels are an entirely different business.”
“Business is business,” Alain states simply. “That’s what your degree is in. Not pharmaceuticals or chemistry. Leadership is what matters. You have that in your blood. And now that you’re bringing a woman home for Christmas... well, perhaps you’re finally ready to settle down properly.”
My stomach tightens at the mention of Waverly. If Alain only knew the truth. That she’s not just Tristan’s, but mine too. She’s something to both of us. Something we’re not yet ready to name, but I am increasingly unwilling to lose.
“Waverly works for us,” Tristan replies, the barest hint of defensiveness in his tone. “She’s not only based in Boston, where her grandmother, who is ill, lives, but our relationship is... new.”
“But promising,” Alain presses, refilling our glasses though mine is barely touched.
“Your mother is quite taken with her. As is Grand-mère. I agree that the women they’ve wanted to set you up with aren’t right.
After all, I married an American firecracker too.
But you have obligations and expectations that come with your bloodline. ”
I stare into the amber liquid in my glass, thinking about Waverly’s flour bomb and the secret glances we exchanged in the kitchen.
What happened yesterday in the car and last night in my bed.
Tristan, Waverly, and I are entangled in something that defies convention.
I know this. And Tristan and I have never tried to make anything real of our fun in the past.
But this is different. Waverly is different.
And what was meant to be fake between them has turned into something else. But could that something else be what takes both of them from me?
“The point is, you’re at a crossroads, Tristan. The pharmaceutical venture has proven your business acumen. Now it’s time to come home, take your rightful place at Ouest, and start a family. The Ouest legacy doesn’t maintain itself.”
The fire crackles, filling a silence that grows increasingly uncomfortable.
I watch Tristan’s profile, the tension in his jaw, the careful mask he wears when negotiating.
I’ve known him for so long, and I can read the conflict in him.
The dutiful son. The independent businessman.
And now, whatever he’s becoming with Waverly. With us.
“The Smithfield transition will take at least a year,” Tristan finally states. “I can’t possibly step away before that’s complete.”
“I’m not asking you to. It’s in Paris. I think this meets both of our needs.
” He looks at me with benevolence. “You’d manage fine without Tristan’s daily involvement, wouldn’t you, Brax?
You’re the brains behind the drugs. That’s what keeps that company going more than anything else.
And it’s not as though you wouldn’t still be part of our lives here. You’re family.”
The words sit on me like lead. I think of Waverly again, of what we three shared last night, of the strange new relationship building between us. Would she stay if Tristan left? Would she go with him if he asked?
“OuestHicks is a partnership,” I manage, more firmly than I intended. “We built it together. We run it together.”
Alain’s eyebrows lift slightly at my tone. “All partnerships evolve, my boy. Nothing stays the same forever.” He turns back to Tristan, essentially dismissing me. “Your grandfather stepped away from the day-to-day hotel operations at fifty-five. I’m fifty-nine. It’s time for the next generation.”
Tristan nods noncommittally, but I can see the weight settling on his shoulders. The Ouest name, the legacy, the expectations. They’re chains disguised as privileges. It’s what had him marrying Dianna, and it’s likely what will have him eventually moving back here.
My stomach drops at the thought.
I don’t have a lot in my life. I have work and Tristan.
Hopefully Waverly now too, but even that feels precarious.
Like she’ll slip through my fingers and into his hands, and I’ll lose them both.
I’ve held myself back from relationships so many times because of this feeling.
This worry. Waverly is different. I want Waverly to be different.
I don’t want to lose either of them.
“We should find Waverly,” Tristan announces, standing abruptly. “I can only imagine what Mom and Grand-mère are filling her head with in my absence.”
Alain allows the subject change, rising with a satisfied smile.
He thinks he’s won, or at least made progress.
He likely has. “Indeed. Your mother is more than a little excited to have her here.” Alain places a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.
“Think about what I’ve said. Paris is your home. It’s where you belong.”
Tristan offers a tight smile but says nothing.
Walking back toward the kitchen, I find myself lagging behind. Will Tristan choose family obligation over what we’ve built? Will he choose Paris over Boston? And where does Waverly fit in all this?
All I know is that I’m not ready to let go of our company, our friendship, and whatever complicated thing is growing between the three of us.