Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
Tristan
Take that, relentless erectile dysfunction ads! Motherfuckers thought I couldn't get it up. Well, I could certainly get it up, maybe the biggest erection I'd ever had, the biggest load I'd ever shot.
Sorry. Gross. I know.
Normally, I didn't think about shit like that. But getting constant weird ads and texts on my phone had clearly had an effect on my sexual self-esteem.
But all of that had nothing to do with that phone call with my mystery woman. Absolutely nothing. I certainly wasn't trying to prove anything.
That night... my God, that night had been all about my desire for her, just the insatiable need that kept me up, hounded my every thought, and made me positively obsessed with this woman.
Who the fuck was she?
I knew one thing for sure. She had to be some kind of sorceress to cast such a spell on me.
Shaking my head, I tried to focus on my laptop screen, angling it to the left in an attempt to avoid the reflection of the massive buildings behind me. The sun was actually shining today.
It'd been five days since we'd talked. Six days, fifteen hours, and... I glanced at the time on my computer... eleven minutes.
Fuck. I had it bad.
Of course it wasn't just her body, her gorgeous tits and sweet pussy. No. Of course not. It was what was inside her that had possessed my mind so completely, her personality, her heart, her laugh... every fucking thing about her.
I was so tired of playing this game. The not knowing was driving me to the brink of insanity. Actually, not the brink. I'd firmly crossed over into insanity.
With the exception of Archie, nothing else could keep my focus for any length of time. Work was annoying as hell. The gym, my friends, my so-called family... all of it fell by the wayside under the weight of my obsession.
A knock sounded at the door, and Tomás popped his head in.
I sighed, knowing simply by the look on his face that it wasn't good news.
"Sorry, man," he said. "Mind if I come in?"
Nodding, I gestured at the chair across from me, watching him as he settled in, cracking his knuckles and finally meeting my gaze.
"What is it? What's going on?" I asked, straight to the point, not having the patience to draw whatever this was out.
He released a sigh. "I'm afraid I have bad news, my friend."
"Lay it on me."
Leaning forward, he met my eyes, his full of... something. "So I hate to be the one to tell you this. But Southside Flats just got messier."
I blew out a breath. "Messier? How?"
"Well, the historical preservation thing is actually gaining traction. Like, serious traction. Some of the buildings are now under review, and that's enough to delay permits."
Damn. "Okay. What else?"
"And those eviction cases? The community lawyer, Natalie Something, she just filed for emergency hearings. She's good. Too fucking good. It's not just noise anymore."
I rubbed the back of my neck, already regretting asking. "And we can't just fast-track this somehow? Grease some palms? Like we usually do?"
He shot me a look. "We could try. But it's getting louder. The kind of noise that brings reporters sniffing around."
I swiveled in my chair, jaw clenched. "So what, we sit on our hands and let this whole thing unravel now?"
"I'm just saying... it's not the smooth sailing everyone thought it'd be. We've got press picking it up, tenants lawyering up, even some investors starting to ask questions."
I let out a dry laugh. "Jesus. All this over a few old brownstones and a corner bodega with overpriced coffee and sandwiches?"
He threw up his hands. "What can I say? People romanticize that shit."
Turning my chair a bit, I stared out at the city. "My dad's not going to be happy about this."
"No. He's definitely not."
A beat of silence passed while I contemplated his reaction, the usual disappointment, the tight-lipped glare he'd give me if I had to tell him this entire project had fallen apart.
It wasn't over yet, however. This could still work out in our favor. We just didn't usually have anyone fighting us back this hard.
Sitting up straighter, I inhaled deeply then asked, "So what does legal say?"
"There's talk of hitting back. Hard."
My attention snapped back to him. "What does that mean, exactly?"
"Intimidation, litigation. We dig up dirt, we find code violations, overdue taxes, lease technicalities. Basically, we make life hell for these people until they fold."
My stomach turned, remembering that conversation I'd heard in that dive while eating dinner with Archie, but I kept my face neutral. "Where are they on everything?"
"They're drafting up a proposal for all their countermeasures."
I nodded. "Okay. Have them put it all together. Every option. I want to see the full picture before we press play on going nuclear."
The words tasted bitter in my mouth.
"Got it," he said. "I'll let them know to get that to you ASAP."
"I appreciate that."
He stood, looking like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself and made a move for the door, probably heading straight for legal.
Turning back to my computer, I stared at the screen again, shaking my head at the whole entire mess.
This fucking neighborhood. This fucking job.
All it did was give me a blinding headache. And an awful churning feeling in my gut.
I couldn't stop picturing what this project would eventually look like. And for once, it wasn't about the luxury, the condos, the progress.
What I couldn't get out of my head?
The human collateral.
Shit. When had I started to care about that?
Tomás was back at my open door, peering in, his eyes weirdly intense. "Spoke to legal. They'll have it ready for you early next week."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Sure. Oh, and Hawthorne?"
"Yeah?"
"What's the latest with your mystery woman?"
I felt my cheeks redden. Was I fucking blushing?
His eyes widened, and a smirk formed on his annoying face.
Clearing my throat, I had to get control of this situation and my unexpected reaction. It was only because my mind had immediately gone to our previous conversation and what we had done together over the phone. Fuck.
"We talked five days ago, but I'm giving her a little space because fashion week is coming up."
"Right. You think she's a designer."
"I can pretty much guarantee it."
"Then why haven't you found her?"
To be honest, I'd been keeping notes for myself about any and every detail she let slip, but I also hadn't searched too hard because at the end of the day, I did want to respect her request for anonymity.
That's why I'd actually listened to Ethan and hadn't put a private investigator on the project.
I shrugged. "I'm taking it slow. Don't want to scare her away. She's kind of skittish."
His smirk grew. "Sounds like you've finally met your match."
I smiled back, probably a goofy, love-sick grin, but I couldn't help it. "I guess so."
He slapped a hand on the door. "Whatever you do, don't let her get away."
"I'm trying my best, brother."
Taking his leave, I tried to get back to work—I really did—but it was useless. Heaving yet another sigh, I gave up, instead looking out my window, wondering where she might be at this very moment.
Was she at home, sewing like a fiend? Did she have some sort of office/studio at her place? Or did she go somewhere to work on her fashions?
God, there was still so much about her that I didn't know.
Pulling up my phone, I opened the note I had about her and reviewed the facts I'd gleaned over our conversations.
She had two parents that were still married, dad a lawyer. Two sisters. All of them living here in the city.
And the more recent addition I'd made about the bullying in high school. I had no idea really why I'd written that down. But it seemed pertinent to who she was, an extremely important part of her past that had led to her becoming the person she is today.
I thought about the things she said, how the bullying had been about her weight, and it killed me to think she'd gone through something like that.
She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I hated to think she ever felt less than because she didn't fit society's narrow mold of what a woman should look like.
A terrible memory popped into my head just then. From a long time ago. A very similar situation where a gorgeous, sweet, and thoughtful girl had been bullied about her size.
That sick feeling in my gut spread with the awful recollection.
Astrid Stratton. I'd never forget her name. Never forget the look on her face as she'd stared at me, horror dawning as she spotted the sick posters spilling out of my locker.
Leaning forward, I rested my head in my hands, shame and remorse pumping through my body. I'd confessed to it, after all.
The blame was all on me.
I'd written a letter to her that summer, but I'd never heard back. Which was completely understandable.
Why the hell would she ever respond to my apology? She owed me nothing. Absolutely nothing. No forgiveness. Not an ounce of grace. Not even an acknowledgement of my letter.
Fuck, I wanted to hurl. The thought of that awful incident always made me physically ill whenever it came up in my mind. Which was quite often.
Not that it was even about me of course, but it was one of the worst things to happen in my life. One where I'd thought I was getting something I desperately needed, but instead, it'd been the complete opposite, the guilt consuming me, burning inside me to this day.
After hearing my mystery woman's story and how deeply it'd affected her, it hit me like a freight train that I needed to do more than just sweep the feelings and memories under the rug this time.
I had to act and do something. I just had to.
Suddenly inspired, I grabbed a piece of paper off my desk and started writing like a man possessed.
Dear Astrid...