Claire
I type the email.
Mr. Scott,
It was lovely meeting you
I’m interrupted by my phone ringing. The name Paul lights up the screen.
Oh no. I exhale heavily. I don’t even want to speak to him. Our date on Friday was the longest night of my life.
It’s Monday, and I know he’s calling to see if I’m going to Pilates tonight. Damn it.
Now it’s just going to be awkward. What a stupid move to date someone from my favorite Pilates class.
My mind goes to Tristan. I can’t believe that he was waiting for me to come home from my date. I smile at the thought of him at home alone with my kids.
Oh well ... at least he survived, I guess.
I ignore the call and go back to my email. Then ... knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call as my eyes stay glued to my computer. The door opens and closes.
“Anderson,” I hear the deep, flirty voice purr.
I look up to see Tristan Miles in all his glory. Perfectly fitting dark-navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a navy tie. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks very much like the Miles Media heir that he is. His dark hair is messed to just-fucked perfection.
“Tristan.”
Our eyes meet, and my stomach flutters. He’s so damn gorgeous that I can’t stand it. “Hello.” He smiles.
“Hi.” I turn back to my computer, unsure what to say. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to take you out for lunch.”
I keep typing.
“Claire,” he asserts. “Look at me, please.”
I drag my eyes to meet his. The funny, flirty expression I’m used to has been replaced by one of new determination.
“Why would you want to take me out to lunch?” I ask.
He walks around to stand in front of me. He takes my hand and pulls me up out of my chair and into his arms. “Because I can’t fight this anymore. I can’t pretend that I don’t want you. Because I do.”
His body is hard and strong against mine, and as I stare up at him, I lose my ability to speak. He leans down and kisses me softly. His lips hover over mine.
“Tris,” I whisper.
“I’m sick of playing these stupid fucking games.”
“Such as?”
“Stop acting dumb, Anderson; it doesn’t suit you at all.” He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “I don’t want you to go out with that Pilates fuckwit again.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you all to myself.”
“And yet you expect me to share?”
“No. I won’t see anyone else either.”
I stare at him for a moment as I try to keep up with the conversation. “Speak English, Tristan. What are you proposing?”
“Casual monogamy.”
“Casual monogamy?” I smirk. “Is that a thing?”
He pulls me close and bumps me with his hips. “We’ll make it a thing.”
“And may I ask how?”
“Well ... I’ll only see you, and you’ll only see me.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.” I smile against his lips as he moves closer and kisses me.
“Too bad.” Our lips crash together as he holds my face in his hands. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, so we need to do this.”
“Why don’t you have a choice?” I ask.
“Because I only want you.”
I pull into the loading zone and give Fletcher a wave. He smiles as he sees me and runs over and jumps in. He’s carrying a suit bag and is rustling around and not closing the car door. “Hi,” I say as I put my indicator on. “Quick, I’m not allowed to pull in here.”
He slams the door, and I pull back out into the traffic. “Hi,” he replies.
“Hi.” I smile over at him and rub his leg. “Look at you, my big working boy.” I glance into the back seat. “What’s in the bag?”
“Oh.” He smiles proudly. “Tristan bought me a present.”
My eyes flick over to him in surprise. “What?”
“He said I’ve been working really hard, so he wanted to reward me.”
“Are you serious?”
He nods with a proud smirk.
“Fletch, I’m so proud of you for trying so hard.” My eyes swing to the back seat. “What is it?”
“A new suit.”
I frown over at him. “How much did that cost?”
“Like three thousand dollars.”
“What?” I scoff.
“Mom, I tried to tell him it was too much, and he told me I can’t wear cheap suits if I want to be taken seriously.”
I frown as I watch the road, and my heart drops. Wade would have loved to have bought Fletch his first nice suit. Annoyance fills me. I know I should be grateful, but I feel like Tristan has stepped over the line. This was something that I wanted to do.
I’m his mother ... it should have been me.
“Him and Sammia took me. Sammia told me to let him buy it because he has the money, and it’s true—I have been working very hard.”
“Wow.” I widen my eyes as I act enthusiastic. “Remind me, who is Sammia?”
“She’s Jameson’s PA. Her and Tristan are good friends.”
“Oh.” I remember her. She’s gorgeous.
“Yeah, I thought they were going out for a while.”
My eyes flick over to him. “Why did you think that?”
“Oh, they go to lunch together a lot. I just assumed.”
I grip the steering wheel as an unexpected burst of jealousy runs through me. I glance back over at him. “So ... are they going out?”
“No. I met Sammia’s fiancé this week. Turns out they really are just friends.”
“Oh.” Relief fills me, and I frown as I assess my emotions. Hmm ... I really shouldn’t care what he does.
Turns out that maybe I do. “Do you like Tristan?” I ask him.
“Yeah, he’s kind of growing on me.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, he’s not the bastard he pretends to be. Put it that way.”
My eyes dart between him and the road. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know,” he says causally as he stares out the window at the people rushing by on the sidewalk. “He’s not who I thought he was.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think he’s a bad guy in a good suit like I first thought. I think he’s actually a good guy in a good suit.” He takes out his phone and starts to scroll. “He’s actually pretty funny.”
I bite my lip to hold my tongue. I want to ask him a million questions about Tristan Miles, but I know I can’t be obvious, and besides, he and I are effectively just friends, so it doesn’t matter anyway.
My mind goes over what he said to me in my office earlier today.
“So ... sleeping with only you ... isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine . “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.”
I smirk to myself as I drive. I like the fact that he doesn’t want anyone else, and I know that this is probably a disaster waiting to happen, but I’m going with the oblivious approach.
I’m just not going to think about it.
What will I wear tomorrow? Nerves flutter in my stomach at the thought of having him to myself for an hour.
For the first time since Paris, I find myself being a little excited.
Marley walks into my office. “What do you want to have for lunch?”
“Oh, um.” I pause. Shit. “I have an appointment today on my lunch break. Sorry.” I spin toward her in my chair. It doesn’t feel right lying to my best friend, but this really needs to stay between Tristan and me. “What are you going to get?”
“Hmm ... not sure, really. I’m feeling like sushi, but then”—she grimaces—“I can’t be bothered to walk to the good place.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a trek.” I think for a moment. “What about Denver’s?”
She screws up her face, as if I’m stupid. “Don’t you remember last time we went there?”
“No, what happened?”
“Death by risotto.” She widens her eyes. “We nearly died that day, Claire.”
I giggle. “Oh, that’s right. How could I ever forget that?” We had risotto, and it upset our stomachs so bad that we were lying on my office floor groaning for an hour.
“What appointment do you have?”
“Oh.” I try to think on my feet. “Doctor. Just an annual checkup.” My phone beeps with a text, and I see the name Tristan light up the screen. I turn it over so that she can’t see his name.
“Cool,” she says as she walks toward the door.
“What are you going to have?” I call. “Death by risotto or good sushi?”
She shrugs. “Hmm, probably mediocre sushi from around the corner. Save my feet.”
“Mediocre sushi is better than no sushi at all,” I reply.
“This is true.” She disappears out the door, and I read my text.
Anderson,
Your lunch date is at
Dream Downtown at 1pm.
Tris.
xo
I smile and glance at my clock. Hmm, that’s a weird place to have lunch. Must be so that nobody sees us. One hour until I get to see him.
I walk into the foyer of the Dream Downtown hotel right at one o’clock.
“Hello.” I hear his deep voice behind me.
I spin toward him, and my heart catches in my throat. He’s wearing a gray suit and a cream shirt with a navy tie. His dark curled hair is unruly, and he looks completely edible. “Hi.” I smile.
His hungry eyes drop down my body. “I’ve already ordered lunch for us.”
“You have?”
He glances toward the reception desk, as if guilty of a sinister crime. “Yes, it’s in the private dining room.”
“Oh.” I frown.
“This way, please.” He turns and walks off toward the elevator, and I follow him. We get in. He pushes the number seven, the doors close, and we begin to go up.
“Where is this ... private dining room?” I ask.
“I can’t tell you,” he says dryly. “It’s private.”
“So it’s a super-private dining room?”
“Precisely.” He continues to look straight ahead.
“How did you know how to find it if it’s so private?” I ask as I play along.
“My uncle’s sister’s husband’s brother’s mother-in-law told me about it,” he replies without hesitation.
“Oh, I see.” I smile and put my head down. This man kills me. The doors open, and he strides down the hallway on a mission and presents a key from his pocket at one of the doors. “This isn’t a private dining room; this is a hotel room.”
He winks darkly. “Semantics.”
“How so?”
He turns the key and opens the door. “You will be eating, and ... it’s private.” He stands back to let me in. The room is quaint with a king-size bed and a lovely bathroom.
The curtains are drawn, and it’s dark, lit only by the lamps. A platter of food covered with a silver lid and a bottle of champagne are on the table. I turn toward him. “You’ve already been up here?”
“Well, I had to organize your lunch.” He rolls his eyes, as if I’m stupid. “This is a dining room.”
I look around the room. “And you drew the curtains for me?”