Chapter 17
Seventeen
Astrid
He finally stood up, and I absolutely did not let my eyes drift down his body. Nope. That would be stupid.
And yet, like a complete idiot, I did it anyway. And sure enough, there was a significant bulge there.
Damn it.
I swallowed, remembering exactly how large he was, how that cock had felt so incredible inside me, filling me up so completely, that pleasure and fullness combining into pure magic I'd never in my life forget.
No. Absolutely not. I had to stop this line of thinking. Tristan Hawthorne was a monster. And not the good kind.
Still, the fact that my touch could do that to him was... something. But that was all. It didn't mean anything besides the fact that I was turning in an amazing performance tonight, being all soft and sweet and apparently sexy?
I was doing a fantastic job of keeping to my original mission, refusing to be taken in by his pretty face and smooth words... or the thought of him rushing home in a cramped airline seat or being kind to his little brother.
Ugh.
After ogling his crotch area—seriously, Astrid, get a grip—I made the mistake of meeting his stare, his eyes boring into me, dark and oh so sexy.
No. Not sexy. Just... visually appealing to some people but not me.
He didn't say anything, the air suddenly charged, the snowflakes falling down around us creating a ridiculously cinematic scene.
Turning away so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash, I focused on the dishes, reaching for my empty plate.
"Leave them," Tristan said in that deep and gravelly voice that sent goosebumps skittering across my skin, a purely biological reaction, nothing more. "Archie can clean up and earn his money."
He closed the space between us, sighing then picking up his jacket and ushering me toward the door with a hot hand on my back.
"Not how I pictured this night going," he muttered under his breath as we walked down the stairs.
"It's okay," I assured him. "It's an adventure."
"That's one way to look at it."
His face was a strange mixture of grumpy and amused as he led me down the elegant hallway, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor on the way to his door.
Holding my breath as we entered his place, I had no idea what to expect. Some ultra-modern bachelor pad? An impersonal, magazine-spread-worthy space that screamed wealth and prestige? From what I knew about Tristan, I figured it would be impressive.
And it was—all high ceilings, crown molding, and massive windows framing a stunning view of Central Park. But while it was sleek, it wasn't soulless thanks to the plush couches, a gorgeous fireplace, and, of course, a minimalist bar that was oddly empty.
His eyes followed my gaze, and he answered the question on my face. "I locked away all my liquor, you know, just in case..."
"Ah, that was wise."
For a young finance bro in Manhattan, that was kind of a big deal. Not that I was about to praise him for it. But something about it warmed me, annoyingly so, that he'd thought ahead and cared enough about his brother to protect him from temptation.
Which didn't mean he wasn't still a bastard.
There was a noise behind us, and we both turned to see Archie emerging from the hallway, a sheen of sweat on his face. Oh, boy.
"Uh, hey, guys."
"What happened?" Tristan asked.
Archie shifted uneasily on his feet, his eyes going back and forth between his brother and me. "So it's kind of a funny story..."
Oh, this was going to be good.
"Yes?"
"After a rough day and all that work in the kitchen..."
I heard Tristan sigh, and I miraculously managed to stifle my laughter.
"Well," Archie continued, "I thought I'd do a little self-care, you know, use all those expensive bath products you have."
Tristan had expensive bath products?
The man in question emitted a low growl from deep in his throat. "And?"
"And I decided to take a bath to relax, unwind. I saw this whole thing on social media where—"
"Archie," Tristan interrupted. "Get to the point please. What happened?"
"So I was filling up the tub, and then I got distracted. By my phone of course, and I kind of forgot about the tub."
Oh, my God.
"You flooded the bathroom?"
"Not all of it."
"How much?"
"Define much."
As if on cue, I looked up just in time to see a single drop fall from the ceiling and land with a soft plip onto the pristine floor. And then there was another, and another, drawing all of our attention.
Here comes the explosion from Mr. Bully.
I turned to watch him, to study his reaction to this very unwelcome sight, expecting more growling or for him to storm off. My eyes darted to Archie who stood as still as a statue, my heart going out to him.
Because if I knew anything about Tristan Hawthorne, it was that he was a grade A asshole who'd be beyond pissed at this turn of events.
So you could have knocked me over with a feather at the next words to come out of Tristan's mouth.
"Not a big deal, bud," he said. "No use crying over spilled milk. Let's just clean it up as best we can, and then I'll call someone to assess any damage."
What?
"And I should just give you back that money, right?" Archie asked.
Tristan tore his eyes away from the slow drips and focused on the teenager's face. "What? Why would you do that?"
"Because you'll want me to pay for the damages."
And now Tristan looked ticked, a muscle clenching in his jaw.
Ah, there it is. The anger.
Except...
"I'm not our fucking dad," Tristan grit out, before continuing in a more normal voice. "It was an accident, and I'll pay for any repairs. You get to keep your money. But you do have to help clean up. Oh, and bring in the dishes from the roof. That was part of our original agreement."
Archie exhaled. "Sir, yes, sir."
And just like that, the moment passed. No screaming. No lashing out.
What kind of alternate universe had I fallen into?
Tristan turned to me. "Baby, make yourself comfortable while Archie and I go sop up this mess, and then, well, I'm going to need a drink. Or two."
The expression on his face was a mix of amusement and weary acceptance, the look of a man who had given up on controlling the chaos around him and had somehow made peace with it.
And damn it, if that didn't melt a fraction of the icy shield I'd put up around my heart.
"Sounds like a plan," I said, still processing the situation.
It would have been a million times better for me if Tristan had indeed lost it, not for Archie, of course. But for my own sanity. It would have been a clear reminder of why I hated this man.
Which I did still. Obviously.
It was just becoming increasingly difficult to reconcile the two Tristans in my head. Was he just a master manipulator who was great at being two-faced? Or perhaps he'd changed, grown up, and become a better man?
Even if that was the case, even if he'd somehow transformed into this responsible, almost-kind older brother, that didn't erase what he'd done before.
Someone who'd acted like that—ever—couldn't be forgiven.
I just had to keep remembering that.
With a sigh, I turned away from their retreating backs and looked around the space. Because the last thing I needed was to keep staring at Tristan Hawthorne and feeling this… this whatever-the-hell-it-was.
There was another room beyond this one, and it looked a lot more comfortable and lived in, a huge TV opposite the windows.
I stepped in there and studied the area, evidence of Archie scattered around, a backpack in one corner, its contents spilling onto the floor, a hoodie tossed over a chair, and a stack of books next to video controllers on the coffee table.
Taking a seat on the couch, I glanced at a photo on the side table next to me. It was Archie and Tristan, mid-air on a roller coaster, both of them with their hands up, wearing ear-to-ear grins.
Looking around, it was the only photo in sight. Nothing of the parents, and certainly no staged family photos like the ones my mom made us take every fall that we all grumbled about but loved to look back on year to year.
My eyes fell to the stack of books, initially thinking they belonged to Archie, but judging by the titles, they actually seemed like they were Tristan's. There were a few popular business books that even I had heard of, a sports biography, and—
Wait. Wait a freaking second.
Was that a cookbook?
I squinted at it.
No. Just no way.
Grabbing the book with shaky hands, I flipped it open, half expecting the pages to be pristine and untouched.
But to my utter shock, there were notes in the margins, measurements crossed out and rewritten in, added ingredients to a few of the recipes, substitutions, a red splotch on a page, like a drop of wine or spaghetti sauce had landed there.
Breathless, I slammed the book shut.
This had to be part of an elaborate trick. Because no universe existed where Tristan Hawthorne, the mastermind behind the absolute worst day of my life, was now a culinary genius.
Nope. It was all part of his lying. And that was a fact.
If he wanted me to believe he could actually cook, I'd have to see him in the kitchen with my own two eyes.
There were noises above me, snapping me back to the situation I was in and the rest of the night ahead of me.
I had to wonder how the clean-up was going and, even more importantly, what would happen when they were done. The unexpected mess and snowfall had forced us inside and interrupted whatever Tristan had planned for us upstairs.
A few minutes later, Tristan strode back into the room, his suit gone, replaced by casual clothes and... excuse me, were those gray sweatpants? Had the man done that on purpose?
Oh, that was just cruel.
While I sat there trying not to stare at his groin area, Archie rushed in, looking back and forth between us. "So what now? Want to play some videogames?"
Tristan laughed.
"Oh, wait, shit," Archie suddenly said. "I have to clean up all your dirty dishes."
Tristan shot him a look.
"Sorry for swearing," Archie said, not sounding at all sorry. "It's just that it's snowing now. Like a lot, dude."
We all glanced out the windows to see that the snow was indeed falling more heavily, not just flurries anymore.
Tristan let out a sigh. "I'll help you, kid. But we're using the damn tray this time."
"Hello, swearing."
Bickering as usual, they disappeared while I sat there wondering what was next again. Please don't make me have to play videogames. That was above and beyond what I was willing to do for my petty little revenge scheme.
That little bit of nagging guilt that I was swiftly becoming familiar with suddenly resurfaced. Because it dawned on me that this thing I was doing wasn't just between Tristan and me anymore. A young thirteen-year-old kid had become involved, and that didn't sit well with me at all.
Unlike my sisters, I obviously wasn't cut out for this sort of thing. Annalise was right... my heart was way too soft.
A minute later, the hushed silence of the snowfall outside was shattered when they came back in, Archie talking about some meme he'd seen that was popular among his friends.
The faint clatter of dishes and conversation drifted from another part of the penthouse, and then they were back in front of me, Tristan's gaze tracing over me.
"How do you feel about watching a movie here?" he asked.
I sighed with relief. "A movie sounds perfect."
Archie bounced on his heels. "What are we watching?"
Tristan, standing behind him, shot me a helpless look—half-apologetic, half-resigned—like he wanted to protest but couldn't bring himself to say no.
It was definitely not adorable or cute in any way.
Without saying it explicitly, I tried my best to convey to Tristan that I was more than okay with Archie joining us. "I'm up for anything. What do you want to watch?" I asked, staring straight at the teenager.
Archie lit up. "There's a zombie movie I've been wanting to see where everyone dies a horrible death." He paused. "I mean, if that's cool? It's probably not your thing, though."
I cracked up laughing. No, it was certainly not my thing. At all. But just like Tristan, how could I say no? I was actually kind of shocked that Archie would even want to hang out with us. Weren't we both super lame in the eyes of a young teen?
"I'd love that," I said.
Tristan raised a skeptical brow at me. "You would?"
"Yeah. Why not? Who doesn't love zombies?"
"Right?" Archie grinned. "But you should change. You need to be comfortable to watch a zombie movie. I have sweats and stuff."
Tristan cut in before I could even react. "No." His voice was firm, almost territorial. "She can wear my clothes."
Should I be flattered? No. No, I totally shouldn't be.
Archie blinked at him, then smirked. "Okay, bro. Chill. I'm not trying to steal your girlfriend or whatever."
Tristan shot him a withering look. "You're unbearable."
Archie just grinned wider, then laughed when Tristan hooked an arm around his neck, putting him in a headlock and roughing up his hair.
Boys really were a different species. Thank goodness I only had sisters. We'd had our share of fights and disagreements, but we'd never dared to ruin each other's hair like that.
I watched as they tussled a bit longer, both of them laughing as they did so, until Tristan finally called a truce and turned to me.
"Ready to change? I'll show you to my room."
A flicker of awareness passed between us, something about the moment more intimate than I'd expected. No, not intimate. Just weird. And strange. Going deeper and deeper into enemy territory.
Stay focused. Remember the mission.
"Sure," I said.
As we walked down the hallway, Archie's voice called out after us. "Remember to use protection!"