16. Tristan
Tristan
Why do rich people feel the need to laugh at their own awful jokes? I’m about ready to shoot myself.
The gala is chock full of the city’s most important. The mayor and local politicians. Various hospital board members. Businessmen who control most of the city’s contracts. And the most annoying client I’ve ever booked to date.
When I booked the wealthy client, it felt like a feat. That was before Ren and before Isolde.
Antonio is keeping close to the wife. I’ve had the pleasure of sticking closest to her husband, listening to him drop some not-so-subtle hints about how successful he is.
I check my watch. Luis took Isolde to some crappy dive bar two hours ago. It sets my teeth on edge at how Hadrian Hallow picked some hole-in-the-wall bar. Like he’s trying to live a more down-to-earth life.
Isolde’s brow had wrinkled the last time we spoke about him. She’d almost seemed protective.
Just like she was protective of Luis. My skin tingles at the memory of her fingers trailing down my arm. It was the first touch between us since I tore into her cunt.
I shift, doing my best to remain professional, but it’s pretty fucking hard when every memory of that night makes my cock stir.
What the fuck were you thinking?
I’d goaded her into it. Had pushed her to let me in more. I hadn’t expected her to point-blank ask me to fuck her. But that’s exactly what Isolde did. I happily obliged.
Then the next morning, she asked to make it a regular thing.
Professional, I chide myself.
My client moves around the room, heading toward a private corner. He’s been chatting up a local politician all night. The gala is raising money for childhood cancer research. Tonight my client will make a donation, but what he’s really hoping to fund is a lucrative business contract.
It’s been hard keeping my bitterness in check the longer I’m surrounded by these rich assholes.
I’ve gotten used to hanging out with Isolde the past week and a half.
She hasn’t given me any problems, unlike Ren, who ran around in her ridiculous high heels, not giving a single damn.
I should be pleased at how Isolde actually listens to me.
She’s a model client. Respectful and courteous.
There’s not a single issue sharing the apartment or bathroom.
She gets along with everyone at Leon’s. Elias introduced her to all the regulars, and she’s remembered their names. I understand she’s going stir-crazy without her work or Ren in the city. I don’t blame her for wanting to go out.
I can’t shake the ever present dread of Cade, though.
We’ve done everything right tonight. I trust my guys to provide the same level of customer care and protection as I would if I were there.
So why the fuck does it feel like my skin is crawling all fucking night long?
I meet Antonio’s eye, telling him to keep an eye on my guy, and slip out. Luis hasn’t sent a single update.
It aggravates me that the one time my talkative cousin goes silent, it’s tonight of all nights.
“You look fucking miserable.”
I blink at Tyler. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He’s got scruff around his jawline, and there are circles under his eyes. But his shoulders are lighter than I’ve ever seen them, despite a newfound grace of maturity clinging to him. Being a doctor suits him.
“The hospital wanted us around,” he says, unimpressed. “You know, explain why childhood cancer is bad.”
“Aren’t you in the ER?”
“I’ve been told I look very good in a suit.”
I shake my head at him and check my phone again.
“Seriously, what’s with the misery?” He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. People are milling around with food and drinks inside, but it’s much calmer in the hallway.
I shove my phone back in my pocket. “Nothing.”
“Nothing,” he repeats. “I defended you when Ren came up with that nickname of hers. Mr. Grumpy Hot Bodyguard, but your face is really not helping you right now.”
A scowl twists my lips.
Tyler rolls his eyes, sighing. He’s put up with me for a long time. Which might be why he thinks he can push me. “How’s it going with Blue?”
“That’s not her nickname.”
He whistles under his breath, chuckling. “Going that well, huh.”
I scratch my jaw. Don’t say it, don’t say it.
“I saw her naked.”
Tyler’s brow lifts. “Oh.”
“No, not like that.” Well, a little bit like that. “I accidentally opened the door when she was showering.”
“Accidentally?”
I grit my teeth. “I heard a noise. She was having a panic attack in the shower.”
“Are you looking for my medical opinion on the panic attack or your perverted nature?” He holds up a hand in surrender. “Relax. I’m just joking. Now put your fucking boner away.”
I shuffle on my feet. At some point, the thought of Isolde naked has to stop making me hard, right?
“She was having a panic attack.” I’ve wanted to talk to Tyler about it since it happened, but I don’t think he’s taking it seriously enough.
He shrugs. “Someone’s trying to kill her.” He sighs at my reproachful glare. “Honestly, I’d be more worried if she wasn’t having panic attacks.”
The choked noise coming from the shower has echoed in my ears ever since. Even when she’d been shot, hours before, I’d never seen such physical pain wash over her.
“She might have a robotic face,” Tyler says. “But she’s not a robot.”
Isolde wears a bored, blank facial expression at almost all times. It’s why seeing her crumpled face had made my insides squeeze.
“Has she talked to you about it?” Tyler questions.
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
The last time I pushed her to talk I ended up with my cock inside her. I force myself to ignore visions of bending her over the couch again.
Tyler hums under his breath. “You two are a lot alike, you know.”
I won’t lie. I see similarities between us. We both like a clean house and have a thing about killing people. Still, I’m not expecting Tyler’s next remark.
“You both bottle shit up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Instead of processing your grief, you donned a mask and systematically wiped out an entire criminal operation.”
“That is how I processed shit.” It worked very well. I did what I set out to do. Marissa is gone forever. I know there will be someone to fill her void, but at least she’s not there.
“How’s your dad?” Tyler asks.
“He’s fine.” I make a mental note to call him soon.
“Uh huh.”
We stand side by side in the hallway, the quiet easy. We’d both rather be out here than inside the gala.
“You should try opening up to her.” Tyler’s voice is low, his expression open. Like he’s doing everything possible to show me his words come from a place of peace.
“I’m not the one having panic attacks.”
“You’re an idiot,” Tyler says. “The absolute perfect woman falls into your lap, and you’re just going to bottle it up like always. I guess Luis will invite you to all the family holidays, and you’ll show up, the perpetually single uncle.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being single.”
“There’s nothing wrong with letting people in,” Tyler replies. “And fuck, Tris. Look at her. Isolde is fucking meant for yo—”
“Isolde is a client.”
An uncharacteristically tense silence lingers.
“I’ll remind you of this moment,” Tyler says, straightening his jacket. “When she’s gone off and found somebody else because you were too chicken shit to admit you liked her.”
He lopes off back to the main room.
It’s not that I don’t believe in love. My father never remarried, his heart so stuck on his wife. I see it between other family members. I don’t begrudge any of my friends when they bring their partners around.
I realize how it must look. I’m the man who guards his heart because his girlfriend died.
We were young as fuck, so who’s to say if we would or wouldn’t have actually made it as a couple?
But Marissa and her violence took that option away. Just like it took my mother away.
The Ghost is a direct consequence of these chapters in my life. Of when I lost people I could never get back.
I’m not scared to give my heart away again. If anything, I never do anything half-assed.
Some sort of stubbornness holds me back, though. In all my encounters with women, I’ve never felt like this before—like I might be the one to crumble because the feeling is so delicate.
A notification on my phone goes off. It’s the shared calendar again. Isolde has added a meeting at Fujimori’s tomorrow.
I fucking knew Hadrian would upset Isolde somehow.
I call Luis.
“Hey, cuz.” He picks up immediately. “It’s all good here, I promise.”
“Why has—” I bite the question back. Luis doesn’t know Isolde’s thought process. He won’t know anything about the new calendar event, and it’s not fair to bite his head off about it.
I try again. “No one tailed you going to the place?”
“Nope.”
“She’s with a Hallow at all times?” Part of tonight’s stipulation was she remain with a Hallow. I made her agree to it by threatening her with the idea of Luis as her shadow.
“Yes. You know those two brothers look like complete opposites. But I think the older one is real nice to her.”
Luis’s chatter is as expected. I’m about to cut him off, knowing I need to get back inside, when he hesitates.
“Hey, cuz. What’s it mean when a girl cries?”
“Did you do something to Isolde?”
“No!”
“Luis.”
“It’s just a question.”
His dating skills leave a lot to be desired, and his question is too suspicious.
My hand tightens around my phone. “Did you make Isolde cry?”
“No! Yes. A little bit.”
“Luis,” I growl.
“I don’t know what I did! Okay, I was talking about Pret a Manger, and then she was tearing up. Okay, she didn’t sob or nothing, but like her face looked pained. I didn’t want her to ruin her makeup because, like, hot damn, you know what I’m saying?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and hang up without another word.
Fuck this stupid event anyway. There’s an SUV downstairs, waiting for the client. The night is coming to an end, and Antonio can get them situated.
It takes me forty-five minutes to get to the dive bar, and I’m annoyed the entire time. Isolde shouldn’t be crying.
Everything comes to a stop when I duck into the bar and spot Isolde.
Her hair is down. It’s not that I haven’t seen it around her shoulders before. Just never when we go outside. She puts it up in a claw clip or scrunchie every time.
She’s also not wearing a hoodie or some ridiculously oversized T-shirt.
No. She’s wearing a literal scrap of lace, the material barely stretching across her breasts.
She is pretty. Gorgeous. A spark of confidence lights her face up.
Because she’s chasing after a man who, I know for a fact, she’s thinking about killing.