Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Tristan
One week. One week ago tonight, I'd made the second biggest mistake of my life. I'd gone to Astrid's show in the hopes of talking to her and sweeping her away while she was hopefully on a high.
But instead, it'd all gone horribly wrong, with her not believing me, not really having time to talk it all out, and then rushing off to be with her family, friends, and loved ones, which most certainly did not include me.
I'd fucked it all up. My timing had absolutely sucked. I couldn't have picked a worse night.
Despite calling her, texting her, apologizing, sending her bouquets of flowers, her favorite sweets, I hadn't heard a single word from her. Nothing. Nada.
My phone rang, and I picked it up from my desk, hopeful, despite the unknown number. What an idiot.
"Hello. Tristan?" a woman's voice said.
"This is Tristan."
"Oh, good. Well, this is Madison from Aphrodite Voyages, and I'm reaching out with an exclusive invitation to our ultra-private, adults-only escape at sea for open-minded, adventurous couples who like to swing."
At that point, I hung up. Usually, I at least said a polite yet firm no thanks. But I wasn't in the mood right now, everything getting on my very last nerve, and this Madison lady apparently had worse timing than even me.
These phone calls... it suddenly dawned on me... no, she couldn't have anything to do with them, right? Not Astrid. She would never do that.
And even if she did, well, kudos to her. They'd been annoying as hell, and I probably deserved them.
The ED ads? The teeny peenie bullshit? Was that her?
Nah. It couldn't be. Astrid didn't seem like the type to do that. Or did I really not know her at all? Had the mask hidden the real her more than I realized?
No! I refused to believe that. I knew her. I'd known her as a teenager. And I knew her now. She hadn't really changed all that much, to be honest.
Despite her hiding her identity, what we'd had together was real. I refused to believe otherwise.
We'd clicked from the very first moment we'd met in that ballroom, and even knowing who I was and thinking I'd done the absolute worst, she'd let real glimpses of her true self shine through constantly.
The way she was with my brother, how understanding she'd been about him, the caring nature she couldn't quite disguise... it'd all been there on display for me to see.
Even hating me as she must, she'd still been kind-hearted and sweet, not fake or vengeful or nasty, as most people in her position would have been. Hell, I would have been.
She was by far the best person I'd ever known.
As if on cue, an email alert came through my laptop, drawing my attention. Oh, right. Work. Something that had fallen by the wayside, this last week especially.
I just found myself not giving a shit.
The email was marked urgent, and it was from legal, only a few days late. Not that I cared. I read the subject line, dread filling my stomach.
Southside Flats: Strategic Eviction Acceleration
With a heavy sigh, I clicked it open and read through their plan, all about expediting turnover of residential units via legal pressure, incentivized buyouts, and procedural enforcement.
In other words? Kicking people out faster, breaking their spirit, and making them desperate.
The details on page one were bad enough, but by the time I got to page three, that dread had turned into full-on nausea. There were entire sections devoted to exploiting known violations, pressuring non-compliant tenants, and my personal favorite, pre-litigation intimidation tactics.
Lovely. Fucking lovely.
There was even a heatmap labeled "tenant vulnerability."
Vulnerability.
Jesus Christ.
And now that nausea turned to wanting to heave up the remains of my long-ago lunch.
Fuck.
That couple, the one who'd lived in their house for fifty years, dealing with cancer and now eviction threats. The barbershop, the bookstore.
Archie's questions about my job and livelihood, the ethics of it all.
Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
Running a hand through my hair, I leaned back in my chair, hoping the sick feeling would go away.
I'd told Archie it was complicated, that he'd understand when he was older.
But I wasn't sure I even understood anymore. Or maybe I was just sick and tired of pretending I didn't.
Because I sure as fuck did know what I was doing, what the entire company was doing, what we were all about, what my dad especially was about.
This wasn't progress. It wasn't even what you could call business. It was annihilating people's lives, disguised by fancy buildings and trendy buzz words like revitalization and luxury living.
I slammed my laptop shut, wondering where I'd gone wrong, why on earth I'd thought working for my dad would ever be a good idea, going into business with the devil.
My instincts as a teen—to get as far away from him as possible—had been spot-on, even if the way I went about it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.
Archie's words kept echoing in my head. "Isn't it kinda messed up?" he'd asked.
Yeah. Yeah, kid. It fucking is. Messed up. Fucked up. Disgusting actually.
Standing, I crossed the room and stared out the massive windows at the skyline. All that steel and glass. All that emptiness.
I didn't want this anymore. I had to end it. And I had to end it right now.
Leaving my office with determined strides, I ignored all the curious glances I received as I walked to my father's office for what I knew to be the final time. I vowed to never step foot in this building again.
Bypassing his assistant who took one look at my face and sat back down, I didn't even knock on the door, instead bulldozing my way inside.
My father sat behind his humongous desk, like a warlord surveying his territory, Armani suit crisp as always, cufflinks gleaming, his eyes narrowing on me immediately, like my shirt was wrinkled or I had mustard on my face.
Always fucking lacking in his sight. And I was sick to death of trying to win this man's approval.
Well, no more.
"I'm done," I said, my voice flat. No preamble. No intro. Just done.
His prominent brows slammed together. "Excuse me? What are you talking about?"
"I'm done," I repeated. "I'm quitting. Walking away. Effective immediately."
He leaned back, folding his hands together, mouth pinched tight. "You're clearly having a little tantrum about something. What is it? A girl? Of course it's a girl. You'll get over it. No need to have a hissy fit."
"No. I won't get over it." I stepped closer. "Ever. So I'm out."
He released an annoyed sigh. "You're acting like a child."
"And you're acting like a dictator, as usual," I shot back. "You don't see people. You only see money. You don't build anything meaningful. All you do is erase. Erase history. Erase neighborhoods. Erase people. And I refuse to be a part of it any longer."
He scoffed. "So what then? You're going to go off to save the world? Become a superhero or something?"
I had no good answer to that. I hadn't quite gotten to that part yet.
His answering smirk was full of arrogance. "You'll come crawling back. I know you will."
"No. I won't."
And then I walked out. No goodbye, no final words. Just freedom.
And God, it was exhilarating.
Stopping back at my office to get my things, I was glad my assistant had retired last week after being with the company a long time. So now, there was no one I was leaving in the lurch... with the exception of Tomás.
Fuck.
I hadn't thought about him, and what my leaving might do.
He'd be stuck with the Southside Flats project now, wouldn't he?
He could probably just slip right into my job and easily take over.
Maybe he'd even be happy about that. I didn't know.
We hadn't exactly talked about our deepest, innermost feelings to each other.
Throwing a bunch of random shit into a box, I realized I really didn't have all that much I cared about in here. Apparently, I'd checked out a long time ago—maybe from the very beginning—not even bothering to decorate or make this place truly mine.
In the brief time I'd been gone, someone had delivered a small package and left it on my desk. Huh, strange.
Distracted and not really paying attention, I tore off some tape and opened one end...
POP!
A sudden burst of glitter erupted right in my face, tiny shimmery particles blasting into my eyes, coating my hair, my face, my suit, every nearby surface, like an evil unicorn who held a grudge against me.
"What the fuck?" I exclaimed.
Laughter sounded behind me, and swiping at my eyes, I whirled around to see Tomás standing in my doorway.
"Who'd you piss off?" he asked between bouts of laughter. "Not your mystery woman, I hope."
Closing my eyes, I wondered if he was correct. Had she been the one to send this? I couldn't think of anyone else that ticked at me right now.
Unless you counted all the current residents of Southside Flats.
Jesus, what the hell had I been thinking? Exactly how many enemies did I have in the world? What kind of life had I led that someone would send me a goddamn glitter bomb?
The wrongness of my work was so obvious to me now, crystal clear to anyone with even a smidgeon of ethics and empathy toward others. How could I have not seen that before? What was my problem?
"You okay, man?" Tomás asked, his laughter fading into concern.
I sighed heavily. "No. I'm not okay. My life is a total fucking disaster."
He crossed the room. "What's going on? Something tells me this goes much deeper than a glitter bomb."
Glancing at my old friend, I saw real worry in his eyes, and I wondered if Tomás was someone that I could indeed confide in, if our friendship that went back years could handle more depth to it.
Was it risky? Probably.
But you know what? There was nobody else on this planet that I could talk to... my family out, my girlfriend of sorts gone, and no other real friends that I trusted.
So Tomás was it. And in a split second, I decided that I had to make that leap with him. That I needed one person on my side, and he was my best possibility at the moment.
"Do you want to go for a drink?" I asked him. "Let me rephrase that... do you want to go for drinks?"
He patted me on the back, a cloud of glitter engulfing us both. "Only if you change, bro."
I looked down at the crime scene that used to be my office, glitter sparkling across every surface, in the carpet, on my desk, mocking me, probably in my lungs.
Letting out a slow breath, I resigned myself to what I had to do. "I can't just leave this for the janitorial staff. That would make me exactly the kind of asshole I'm trying not to be anymore."
Tomás groaned. "It pains me to say it, but you're not alone. I'll help you."
"Seriously?"
"Yep. That's what friends are for."
That was music to my ears. And then we got to work, both of us grumbling under our breath the entire time. Glitter was a total bitch to clean up. God help me. Just when I thought we were making progress, there was more, more, more. It was a never-ending job.
Whoever had done this must really hate me.