Chapter 3
Chapter Three
TRISTAN
I run a hand through my hair. It’s a well-kept, short back and sides style, the salt ’n pepper hue has become more like a trademark these days. They say stress sends you gray, and I can attest to that. The movement from my hand tousles the styled top, which is gelled into place, or so I thought.
Fucking Alison Archer…
Her pert little undertone and her bossy top notes probably get their way with every deal she does in town and every demand she makes — but not with me.
No siree. I chuckle at her indignation about my very implausible excuse about getting a spray tan, rather than sign off on the joint deal.
I can be such an ass. Let’s face it, I didn’t get this far being a nice guy all the time.
She thought I was serious. That just goes to show we’re on completely different playing fields, and we don’t get each other at all. Or maybe, just maybe, I like toying with her a little too much.
She’s pretty easily riled, I know that much, and I get some kind of sick satisfaction when she’s flustered. Even if she hides it well.
I’m sure my snappy one liners pushed more than a few buttons in that pretty little head of hers today. She was seething. I can imagine steam coming out of her ears, and curse words flying out of her mouth the minute she hung up on me; to be a fly on the wall in that moment…
You sound flustered, Ali. Are you sure you’re not imagining putting me to bed?
Who in the ever-living fuck do I think I am?
I mean, putting her to bed isn’t above me.
I’d wear that badge with honor. I’m completely aware of how smoking hot Ali is, despite her attitude, and I’ve always wondered what she’d be like in the sack.
Would she be as feral as she is in real estate?
Or would she let a man take the lead? I chuckle to myself, wondering if she ever lets her hair down. She’s so serious all the time.
A roll in the hay could be good for both of us. It may even just help her loosen up a bit.
I shuffle in my seat at the thought. A man would have to be seriously delusional to take that woman on. No one is denying she isn’t beautiful, but she’s not a woman to be crossed.
And I cross it every damned time we come into contact, and that’s been more frequent recently.
The sounds of Mason, my personal assistant, crashing through the door, knocks me out of that very thought in an instant. It’s probably for the best, no need to venture that far down the rabbit hole.
I know it’s Mason before I even look up; he causes a ruckus wherever he goes.
Usually because he’s going a million miles an hour, has his cell attached to his ear, or a stack of paperwork under his arm ready for my approval.
And he insists on running everywhere. Why he can’t just walk like a normal person is beyond me.
As I pique an eyebrow at the intrusion, I see the latter is true; Mason and a huge pile of paperwork are here to greet me. Great.
“What did you do this time to Alison Archer?” he questions, standing in the doorway with his indignant undertone and roll of his eyes.
I pick up my now lukewarm cup of coffee, swirling it around before lifting it to my mouth and throwing the rich elixir down my throat in one big gulp. It may be the only chance I get today to enjoy it. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, boss. I just had her assistant on the phone about the Anderson deal.”
“Good news travels fast,” I muse, sitting up in my chair and rubbing my hands together. I’m pleased it’s caused a ruckus so soon. I’m a sick fuck at times.
“And?” he prompts.
“ And ?”
“We all want to get paid, and you know Bobby and I are heading off on vacation next month… You haven’t forgotten that, right?”
“How could I forget?” I roll my eyes. I love Mason. He keeps me in line and organizes the shit out of my life, and checks everything over with a fine tooth comb, hence why he’s the only person I really let talk to me like this.
If I lost him, I don’t know what I’d do. “Did you forget the eye-watering salary you negotiated, plus that handsome quarterly bonus I give you from the kindness of my heart?”
“That’s because you love me,” he says as he closes the distance to my desk like a mini hurricane and plonks down in the chair, still clutching the files. “And you wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Which is why I can still afford to pay you, with or without this deal with Ali.”
“You’re being an ass, and you know it.”
“I like riling her up.”
He frowns, ever the do-gooder in our working relationship. “Why?”
I sigh. “We went to school together. I liked her, but we had a disagreement, then she started dating the meathead jock and forgot I existed.”
“How did that pan out for her?”
“Married him. A daughter. Divorced for two years.”
“Ouch, but that reminds me, and before you say anything, it could be a good reason to make nice with Alison?—”
I raise an eyebrow. “Spit it out.”
“Your high school reunion,” he sings like he’s Liza Minelli. “It’s coming up next month.”
I scratch my chin, liking the scruff I’ve decided to grow. According to my sons, it makes me look old, but I was going for distinguished. “Is that right?”
“Yes, and they need an RSVP ASAP, it’s being held at the Palm Springs tennis club.”
“I hated high school, and everyone in it.”
He looks up from the invitation he’s waving around, ready to mock me, or question my motives.
The truth is, I didn’t like high school.
It sucked. I wasn’t popular, and chicks didn’t dig me, but that wasn’t the only reason.
Kids weren’t nice, they hardened me way too early in life.
Then again, maybe it would be surreal — if not a little juvenile — to return the favor of flushing one's head down the toilet, just for old times’ sake.
I’m not the only successful one in my year.
There’s been a couple of major ball players, including basketball and NFL, a politician, a fashion designer and a musician.
But I’m pretty sure I’m the only billionaire.
Regardless, all the memories I don’t want to remember suddenly come flooding back.
“It’s also black tie, and it looks like they’re going all out with a sit-down dinner and after party.”
“That’s great, count me out.”
“Dad, don’t be such a stick in the mud.” Joshua leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his broad chest. “You love any opportunity to rub your success in people’s faces.”
Mason holds up a finger. “Only in the faces of those who are assholes, still wear pinstripes, or bullied him in high school.”
I roll my eyes. “I also don’t have any desire to rub my success anywhere. If you live within a thousand-mile radius of LA, you’ll already know who I am.”
My son is dressed impeccably in his dark navy suit, crisp white shirt, blue tie and polished black shoes.
He always looks good, maybe not quite as sharp as my middle son, Bradley, and let’s not even discuss Noah; he tells us suits are for weddings and funerals, preferring designer jeans and a button down, sometimes with a scarf thrown around his neck.
He thinks he’s Johnny Depp, circa nineteen eighty-seven.
“He’s grumpy today,” Joshua remarks with a smirk.
“Are you on those diet pills again, Dad?”
I shoot my son a look. “Very funny. I’ve already had to deal with Alison Archer this morning, now I’m graced with your presence.”
“What did Alison want?” Joshua unfolds his arms. “Don’t tell me you’re still going back and forth with the Anderson deal?”
“That he is,” Mason pipes up, then adds behind his hand, “I think they have a love-hate thing going on. I’ve always said they’d make a cute couple.”
“And the reunion would be a great place to make Ali’s ex jealous.” Joshua shrugs. “Everyone knows he’s always been an ass.”
“Now why would I want to go and do a thing like that?” I scoff. “The woman is a pill.”
Mason holds up another finger, his favorite thing to do when correcting someone. “You were your usual self with her, Tristan, admit it, and now she’s pissed.”
“Just sign off.” Joshua pushes off the door to take a seat on the Chesterfield in my expansive office with an amazing view of the city, spreading his arms down the back of the couch. “Stop messing with her. It’s not her fault you can’t grow a decent beard.”
He wants me to bite back, and usually it works, but I’m in a good mood today. “Funny, I don’t see the ladies complaining.” Total lie. I haven’t been on a date in… too long.
“Uh, huh.” Joshua isn’t convinced.
“Anywho,” Mason goes on. “The reunion? I’d like to RSVP today. I can arrange a new suit, book Jonas for your hair styling, heck, we could even get you that spray tan you threatened Alison with.”
Joshua snickers. “What did I miss?”
Mason sends an eye roll in Joshua’s direction. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Let’s just forget this whole reunion idea,” I grump. “Sounds like a big fat waste of my time. I hated everyone in high school, and I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
Mason’s expression contorts in anguish. “You can’t not go! Think of all the business you could drum up.”
“Yeah, and if Alison will be there, she could steal potential clients right from under your nose,” Joshua feels the need to add, a smile playing on his lips.
“I don’t need clients in Palm Springs,” I tell them both. “I've got enough going on here.”
“You’re going,” Mason tells me with a firm nod. “Sorry, boss, this is an opportunity we can’t pass up, and if you had a plus one?—”
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn. “I wouldn’t take Alison Archer with me if she was the last woman on the planet.”
“That’s only because you think she’s a ball buster.” Why does he sound so cheery about that?
“I don’t think she’s a ball buster, I know she’s one.”
“Just because she shot you down in high school,” Joshua laughs.
I shouldn’t take the bait, but once again, I do. “ She didn’t shoot me down: I shot her down, that’s why she hates me. Then she met Gareth and they sailed off into the sunset.”
Mason and Joshua exchange a look that tells me they don’t believe a word of it, but I remember very vividly. “So drop it.”
“Touchy,” Joshua mutters.
“You said yourself she’s divorced now, so I think you need to butter up Alison with this deal,” Mason says, ready to get on with the rest of my day. “The time will come around where we need a favor, and she won’t reciprocate.”
Little do they know, a plan may already be brewing for dear, sweet little Alison Archer. Reunion or not, Mason has a point, but I wanted to make her sweat for just a little longer.