11. Ingrid
Chapter eleven
Ingrid
“Head up, back straight. Put a damn smile on your face.”
My father’s voice was a hiss as we reached the venue.
I stepped out of the car, struggling to find my balance in five-inch cream platform pumps. My hair was swept into a tight, elegant updo, and I felt like a stranger in my own skin.
The ballroom was breathtaking—gold leaf, crystal, and the hum of powerful people. As we walked in, I felt the weight of a hundred stares.
I’d been to these business parties many times.
Dominated endlessly by men and their trophy wives and elegantly dressed daughters brought for exactly the same purposes as I was here—to show off—the parties were tiresome, not remotely something I could summon an ounce of caring about.
But I was expected to be on my best behavior, to greet the men I knew by their names, to ask how they were and to laugh at their jokes and then to shut up and stand and smile like a damn mannequin while they all schmoozed each other.
It wasn’t unusual to stand beside my father as a group of fifty- and sixty-something men in well tailored suits leered at me, made comments about my beauty and my body, how long my legs looked tonight, or how they could teach me a thing or two.
And I had to smile. Always.
My father took it in stride. He allowed it. Of course he did: this was my purpose. I didn’t think he ever would allow one of these men to lay a finger on me. But he dangled the bait, used me to make connections and strengthen business deals, and that was bad enough.
The only way I could get through it was by doing a much more extreme version of what I did at home: I locked my true self away inside, deep within my mind, caged and safe, and I held myself together on the outside. Just a few more hours, I thought, over and over. Just a few more hours.
Sometime around ten, my father directed us to a group of mostly strangers.
One, however, I recognized.
Except… maybe not. Racking my brain for his name, I found nothing. He was a stranger, someone I’d never met at one of these parties before. And yet there was something in his face that looked oddly familiar.
“Samuel, my friend,” he chuckled as we approached, shaking my father’s hand.
“Noah, it hasn’t even been a full day. Give me a break,” my father replied with a grin.
Noah looked at me with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—a predatory, examining look.
“And who might this pretty little gem be?”
“My daughter, Ingrid. Ingrid, this is Noah Locke and our executive team.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I lied, my skin crawling.
“Noah’s son should be here any moment,” my father said.
“You’ll have a joyous time keeping him in check,” Noah laughed—and my father laughed too.
“He’s what you might call... self-made. In the worst possible sense.
Stubborn doesn’t begin to describe him. He keeps to himself, gives the cold shoulder.
.. but when he gets mad...” He trailed off with a sinister chuckle. “Good luck.”
I froze. Oh God. All this talk from my father about a job, an internship, but then that call I’d overheard where he spoke about me keeping someone in check—it was my worst nightmare come true. He was handing me over to some man!
No, no, no, I thought, my brain spinning in dizzy circles.
This couldn’t be happening. I’d dreaded something like this for years as he paraded me about, as the men’s sexual comments became more overt, more direct.
But I’d told myself it could never happen, would never happen, that my father was too protective of me to ever let something like this take place.
I was wrong. He wasn’t protective. He was looking for the right business deal to make it worth his while.
My breath caught in my throat. My smile had vanished, I knew. If anyone were looking at me, I was sure they’d see a mad young woman on the verge of cracking, panic flooding her face.
I had to get out of here, get out of this party and away from this life.
I had to find—
“Ah,” said Noah, looking past me. “There he is now. Son! I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
The crowd parted as someone moved through. I turned, body tense, the world almost in slow-motion as the suits shifted and moved, giving way to—
Him. The hair, the shoulders, the jaw already clenched—it was Tristian.
My heart did a violent somersault. What was he doing here? He looked livid, every muscle in him wound tight.
Tristian stalked over, a steely, hateful gaze fixed on his father. He hadn’t even seen me yet, he was so focused on Noah.
As he drew close, I understood. Side by side, I knew exactly why there was something familiar about Mr. Locke. The resemblance was unmistakable. The jawline. The eyes. He was Tristian’s father.
“Hello, son,” said Noah to Tristian, who looked like he was about to bite off a slew of curse words back at him. “I have some guests I’d like you to meet,” he said. “This is Samuel Rodriguez—”
My father stepped in to shake. Tristian gripped his hand briefly, but tight, knuckles whitening.
“And this is his daughter, Ingrid. She’ll be keeping an eye on you for a while.”
For the first time, Tristian’s gaze fell upon me.
His face went white as if he’d seen a ghost. Chaos reigned behind his eyes: confusion, hurt, anger, betrayal. I stared back, wide-eyed and pale. We were both dumbstruck.
Noah laughed. “When you said your daughter was a knockout, Samuel, I didn’t think you meant literally. Tristian, get your jaw off the floor and introduce yourself!”
Tristian’s jaw ground. It hadn’t dropped at all. Instead, the tendons had tightened, pulling it in so his teeth clenched and cables in his neck stood out. But at his father’s goading, he stuck out a hand.
“Tristian,” he said stiffly.
I took it. Swallowed against the hard lump in my throat. “Ingrid.”
“That’s better,” said Noah. He appraised the both of us, then turned to Samuel. “Let’s allow these two some time to introduce themselves without us overshadowing them, shall we? Discuss a little business at the bar. There’s a very nice Ramos Pinto port I think you’ll like.”
They filed away, though not before my father shot a dark look at me.
If Noah had missed how shellshocked we were, my father didn’t seem to have.
He didn’t know the whole story though, didn’t know that Tristian and I were familiar already, that Tristian had crept into my thoughts and didn’t seem to want to leave.
My father simply thought I was in danger of letting him down—and that look was a warning to be on my best behavior, to do what he wanted, like I was supposed to.
As soon as they were gone, Tristian turned a glare to me.
“So,” he said, voice low and venomous, “this is what you’ve been doing?”
I shied back, heart fluttering. Tristian’s rage had never been directed at me before, and now it came out at full strength. He loomed over, bearing down like my father did. Only I didn’t feel fear; I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to—
“I... I don’t know what you mean,” I stammered.
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice cut through me. “You’ve been cozying up to me while working for him. While preparing to handle me like some assignment. You led me on, made me think I could trust you, when all you were doing was playing a part.”
My heart sank. That wasn’t what I’d been doing at all!
“No! Tristian, please, I—”
“Don’t,” he growled, cutting me off. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit. You knew. You knew you were the one they hired to keep me ‘under control,’ didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know it was you!” My voice cracked, and I could feel the tears starting to fall. “I didn’t even know who your father was. You never told me—”
He laughed, a dry, hollow sound that broke my heart. “At least I wasn’t the one being groomed to be a handler. I’m sure you didn’t ‘mean’ to get under my skin, right? It was just part of the job.”
“Tristian, that’s not true! The other day was real! Everything was real!”
“Save it,” he said, turning his back on me. He walked toward the garden exit, his strides long and final. “Since you’re the one who has to keep me stable, good luck. I’m about to make your life a living hell.”
“Tristian!” I cried, but the heavy oak door slammed shut behind him.
A few of the partygoers looked his way, and a couple turned scrutinizing gazes at me, now stood alone.
But it was getting late. Alcohol was flowing.
And I was just some girl, nothing compared to these elite men.
They probably dealt with outbursts and upsets from their trophy wives and daughters all the time, so this was nothing new, just some little no-nothing, na?ve girl having a temper tantrum.
I stood there, shaking, my hands pressed to my mouth to stifle the noise of my heart breaking.
Footsteps approached.
I turned to see Noah and my father returning.
Noah looked at me, then at the door Tristian had just exited through, then looked at my tear-streaked face.
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he folded his hands.
“I’m assuming that went pretty well, yes?”