Chapter 9
Nine
Astrid
One day later, I had this magical phone in my hands. Ethan had assured me it was completely safe, Aria elbowing him when he'd started to go into specifics about layered encryption, proxy nodes, and quantum something.
Apparently, Tristan had called Ethan a total of seven times—seven times—in an attempt to get my information, and Ethan had taken full advantage of the opportunity to mess with him, stringing him along before finally handing over a phone number.
But not without conditions. Ethan had made it very clear that I wished to remain anonymous, and if Tristan made any additional attempts to track me down beyond the number he'd been given, Ethan would be forced to resort to other methods.
I had no idea what those other methods might be, but gosh, I loved the feeling of someone having my back like that.
One minute after Ethan texted me that he'd given Tristan the number, my burner phone rang.
Oh, crap. That was fast.
Adrenaline rushing through my body, I picked up. I'd been through this scenario a thousand times in my head, talked it over with my sisters—who were still planning a girls' night with me—and even dreamed about it.
But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of hearing his voice on the other end of the line. In the time since our big hook-up, I'd run his voice through my head, trying to reconcile the deep rumbles with the cocky teenager I'd once known.
Between that and his face and body, he'd changed an incredible amount, to the point where he was pretty much unrecognizable to me.
"Hello?" he asked for the second time. "Is this...?"
The awkward pause made me smile. He had no idea what to call me, and for some reason, I found that amusing. Not making any effort to help him, I was just going to sit back and let him struggle. Phase one of fucking up his life.
"Is this my snow queen?" he eventually said.
Snow queen? Was he serious with the nickname? And why the hell did I kind of like it? The reference to our night together, the fact that he remembered the exact book, well...
I shook my head. It didn't matter. So what? I remembered the book too, and it didn't mean a damn thing.
"I'm not your anything," I responded tartly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Wait," he said. "I'm not sure I have the right number. There's no way this can be the same woman that so completely rocked my world last weekend."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. The woman I met was incredibly sweet and kind and you're, well, you're different. How do I even know this is the right woman? This could all be a scam. You could be after my money, my—"
Without thinking, I hung up on him. He had the nerve to be suspicious of me? Never in my life had I hung up on anyone. But wow, it felt good to do that.
He called me back immediately.
Propping my feet up on the coffee table and settling back deeper into my couch, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. Then I picked up. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry, I just want to be sure you're the same person. Can you blame me?"
Rolling my eyes, I had to admit to myself, not to him, never to him, that I understood. Of all the conversational paths I'd gone down in my head, I just hadn't imagined starting off like this.
"Well, there are two ways you can know it's me. One, I did something with you I've never done before. Hello, boob, tongue. And two, I know about your tattoo." Although I never had actually seen it in the darkness. Not that I wanted to.
There was silence again before he spoke up, his voice a rasp. "It is you then."
"Yep, it's me."
Another pause, this one shorter. "Why are you mad at me? Why did you rush out like that in the middle of the night?"
I didn't have a good answer for that, even though I'd known he'd probably ask it. "I'm not mad," I lied. "You just caught me at a weird time." That was a partial truth. My whole life was a weird time, right?
Let him chew on that.
It was like I could hear him thinking through that on the other end, and I wondered where he was. At his office on a Sunday like a typical workaholic? All comfortable at home like I was?
Last weekend, he'd mentioned the company staying at his place, and the sudden memory was a good way to get the focus off myself and avoid that other question about why I'd left.
"Are you still staying in a hotel? Or have you gone back home?" I asked, steering the conversation exactly where I wanted it to go.
Make him talk. Make him open up.
"I'm home now. My housekeeper went back to her place, and my—I'm never sure what to call her—but my father's ex left days ago."
"But your half-brother is still there?" I asked, curious despite myself.
"He is. I know I told you he's my half-brother, but I only did that to help clarify the situation for you. I usually just refer to him as my brother though."
Oh, that was kind of sweet. Or it seemed sweet, because we all knew that Tristan Hawthorne didn't have a sweet bone in his body. "Okay. Got it. What's his name?"
He grunted, a sound that somewhat resembled a reluctant laugh. "Archibald. Can you believe they gave him that name?"
That was just about the only thing in the world I could actually agree with him on. "Poor kid."
"Right? He goes by Archie."
It was hard to be outright mean or rude to Tristan when we were talking about a kid. "That's much better."
"I agree."
"Is he staying with you for a while?"
"Yeah, I think so. I hope so."
He hoped so? He actually wanted his teenage brother to stay with him? This was a turn of events I hadn't been prepared for. "You like having him there?" I asked, incredulous.
His laughter reached my ears. "Most of the time, yeah. There are certainly occasions where I question my sanity for wanting a teenager in my home, but for the most part, he's a good kid. And he needs..."
My curiosity had definitely been piqued. "He needs what?"
"Well, he could use a stable home life."
Tristan Hawthorne thought he could provide a stable home life for a kid? What was this world coming to? It didn't make any sense whatsoever.
"And you think you can give him that?" I asked, not able to hide the skepticism from my voice.
His easy laughter surprised me once again. "Hey, what are you trying to say? What part of our night together gave you the impression that I was irresponsible?"
I had to think. Because it wasn't the way he'd acted that night, but his past that had given me that impression. And obviously, I could never let him know I knew him from before.
"Ahh," he said, his voice dropping, all sin and silk. "It was that one thrust without a condom, wasn't it? The one you begged me for, if I recall."
Oh, my God, he did not just go there. I nearly hung up again.
Instead, I inhaled then exhaled slowly. Stay in control. Let him think he's winning.
"Well, that just happened to be the highlight of my life," he continued smoothly in an attempt to dig out of the hole he'd created for himself.
Liar. But that's fine. I could play the long game too.
I was beginning to realize that there were two very different versions of Tristan—the one from the past, and the one talking to me now, all charming and persistent.
So there was a tiny chance that maybe he'd changed a bit since high school. Most of us had.
But—and this was the biggest but in the world—what he'd done back then was unforgivable.
And someone who had a good heart, who had any decency at all inside them, would have never done it.
That kind of black soul could maybe be covered up by a sophisticated liar, but it was still there, and it always would be.
This current iteration of Tristan was just a good actor, and if push came to shove, that ugly heart would come right back to the forefront. He'd simply learned how to hide it better.
And I knew the truth about him. The real Tristan wasn't a man at all... just a monster wearing a pretty mask.
Ignoring his obviously disingenuous line, I decided it was time to cut to the chase here. "I need to ask you something."
"Hmm? Yeah, anything, baby."
I groaned inwardly. Not the baby. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself back on track. "Why did you want to find me? Wasn't what happened between us just a one-night stand?"
His exhale was audible. "No. Not for me. It was way more than that."
This guy with his lies. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."
"No. Actually, I don't. I've never had a one-night stand before."
Yeah, right. That was pretty hard to believe. "You haven't?"
"Nope. Have you?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "Except for ours."
"If I have anything to say about it, it wasn't just one night. But obviously, you don't agree with that, or you would tell me your name."
I was silent because I couldn't think of anything to say to that. For all the obsessing I'd done about this call, I sure was all over the place with my responses. After we hung up, I'd have to do some serious thinking about my game plan here.
"Why aren't you willing to pursue this thing any further?" he asked, his tone tight. "You don't think our night together was anything special?"
Damn, how should I respond to that? Once again, I had absolutely no idea.
He sighed, and I could feel his frustration through the phone. "Listen," he said, "I don't mean to push you into anything premature. I mean, we did kind of jump the gun a bit the other night, but we can certainly slow things down and just get to know each other."
Another voice cut into the call, loud and impatient. "Dude. You know you're supposed to feed me, right?"
"You just ate an entire pizza two hours ago. How can you possibly be hungry?"
"Because I'm growing?"
"Did you even look in the fridge?"
"Yes. I'm not an idiot. But there's nothing good in there."
"Because you ate it all." A pause then a resigned sigh from Tristan. "Can you give me a second? I'll get off soon and order something for you."
"About time." There was a beat of silence, then... "Hey, don't forget to tell her that your hair's fake and that you're really bald. Honesty's important in a relationship."
I stifled a laugh or tried to anyway. "Is that your brother?" I asked Tristan.
"Yes, unfortunately."
"Hey!" Archie said from a distance. "I heard that."
Tristan laughed. "Sorry to cut this short. But I should go feed this kid. Again. Can I call you tomorrow night?"
I hesitated.
"Can you at least give me that? Suffer through another conversation with me?"
Was that his attempt at self-deprecation? Out of character and totally unbelievable.
Remembering my mission, I decided to relent. "Sure."
"Halle-fucking-lujah. Oh, and by the way, I have nothing to hide from you. My name is Tristan D. Hawthorne. Look me up. Research me. Stalk me. And you'll see I'm not a bad guy."
Not a bad guy. Right.
Even if I hadn't known about his disgusting past, just the fact that he used a middle initial like that made him a pompous prick.
Before I could respond, he said a soft goodbye and hung up, leaving me to throw my head back against the couch. That hadn't really gone the way I'd expected or wanted. I thought I'd get in a lot of jabs or at least some thinly veiled insults.
But I hadn't done much of anything. Or had I?
Tristan D. Hawthorne had the ability to completely throw me off track.
My head swirled with everything he'd said during our brief conversation, how persistent he was about pursuing me. And as much as it killed me to think it, that interaction with his brother had been adorable, showing a side of Tristan I would never have imagined.
He couldn't possibly have gone from high school asshole to caring big brother. It just wasn't possible to make that big of a change in your life, your personality, your basic humanity.
Sighing, I readjusted the blanket over my legs.
The two pieces didn't fit together, and there was no good answer.
Remembering what Aria had suggested, I supposed it couldn't hurt to keep talking to him on the phone, and then when I met up with my sisters, we'd come up with a super solid, concrete plan, a way to get back at him for the hell he'd put me through... something I would never, ever forgive or forget.