Tristan
I stand in the elevator and turn up my nose.
What is that smell?
I got up and left early, trained with my personal trainer, and got dressed in the bathroom at the gym. I look around at my surroundings. This elevator stinks. What the fuck cleaning products are they using?
The doors open, and I stride out. “Morning,” I say to the girls at reception.
“Morning,” they all reply.
I can still smell it. Ugh, it’s horrendous. Must have permeated my nostrils.
It’s foul.
What the heck is it?
I walk into my office and begin to sniff around. Is it the carpet? I push the intercom. “Sammia, what is that godawful fucking smell?”
“What?”
“Can you smell something?”
“No.”
“I can smell something.”
“Maybe you wore too much aftershave.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Can you make sure my car is here to pick me up right at nine, please? I need to be early for my meeting this morning.”
“Already booked, boss.”
“Thanks.” I walk into my bathroom and wash my hands. Maybe I touched something at the gym?
I take a seat at my desk and turn on my computer. I wince from the odor.
“Oh my God, this is intolerable,” I mutter. I push the intercom again. “Sammia, can you come here for a moment, please?”
She sighs. “Fine.”
I go back to my computer.
Moments later she walks in. “Yes?”
“What is that smell?”
She screws up her nose as she inhales. “Hmm . . . I can smell something.”
“See. I told you.”
She sniffs . . . and sniffs. She walks around and then leans in toward me. “It’s you.”
My eyes widen in horror, and I sniff the sleeve of my suit. “What?”
She leans in and sniffs again. “Smells like cat piss.”
“What?” I explode. I jump from my chair and tear off my jacket. I glance down, and I see a faint mark on my shoes—my four-thousand-dollar fucking shoes. “That fucking Muff Cat has pissed in my overnight bag!” I scream.
Sammia puts her hands over her mouth and bursts out laughing.
I kick off my shoes, tear off my socks, and take off my shirt and tie and throw them into a pile on the floor. “Burn these fucking things. All of them!” I yell. “I don’t have fucking time for this.” I march out of the office and down past reception.
“Hell yeah.” Mallory from reception giggles as she sees me shirtless. “Boom.”
Sammia laughs out loud behind me. “I’ll say,” she chimes in.
“Not funny!” I cry as I storm into Jameson’s office.
He’s just arrived and glances up from his desk. “What the fuck are you doing?” He frowns.
“Give me your clothes.”
“What?”
I hold my hand out. “That Muff Cat pissed on my clothes, and I have the most important meeting of the year. Give me your fucking suit.”
He bursts out laughing.
“I’m not joking,” I bark. “Give me your clothes and shoes. Right now.”
Sammia and Mallory are laughing hard at the door.
“Not fucking funny, you two,” I cry. “Sammia, call Claire and tell her the cat is going to hell. When I get ahold of that thing . . . tick fucking tock.” I punch my fist hard.
The three of them burst out laughing again.
Jameson stands and begins to unbutton his shirt. “I thought Elliot and Christopher were coming in today. Take their suits.”
“They won’t be here until after ten. They have a breakfast meeting.”
“Sammia, can you find Jameson some clothes, please?” I stammer.
“Do I have to?” She sighs dreamily.
He hands over his shirt, and we suddenly become aware of the three reception girls standing at the door watching, and we both glance over.
Sammia gives us a goofy smile and shrugs. “Don’t mind us; this is the most exciting thing that’s happened in the office for like . . . forever.”
I glance at Jameson, and he rolls his eyes. What must we look like, both shirtless and half-undressed in the office?
“Fucking perverts,” I huff. “Go watch some porn or something.”
“This is better.” Sammia sighs again.
“Jesus Christ,” Jameson mutters under his breath.
The girls all giggle and slowly return to their desks.
Jameson hands over his shirt and tie and suit and shoes and socks, and I change into them. Elliot comes in the door unexpectedly, and his face falls when he sees Jameson sitting at his desk in only his boxer shorts. “What the hell is going on?”
“Claire’s cat pissed on his clothes.” Jameson smirks. “He has a meeting. Can you go and buy me a new suit?”
Elliot’s brows rise in horror, and he looks to me.
“Don’t fucking say it,” I growl.
He bursts out laughing. “You fucking idiot.”
I storm out of the office as I do my tie. “Goodbye,” I call as I storm through the office. “This is not the morning I had in fucking mind.”
“Good luck!” the girls all call. “I hope you don’t run into any more cats out there.”
“Shut up,” I snap as I step into the elevator. “This isn’t fucking funny.”
It’s just around four o’clock when Sammia’s voice echoes through the intercom. “Tris, your mom is here.”
I hit send on my email . . . great. “Send her in.” I knew this was coming. I stand and go to the door and open it. Her lovely face comes into view, and I smile. “Hello, Mom.”
“Hello, darling.” She smiles as she walks past me. She takes a seat at my desk, and I hit the intercom. “Mallory, can you bring my mother in some tea, please?”
“Of course.”
She smiles and stares at me.
“Yes?” I smirk.
“Claire’s lovely.”
“She is.” I rest my elbow on my desk and steeple my fingers up over my temple.
She stays silent.
“But . . . ?” I ask.
She hesitates.
“Come on, Mother, you have come here for a reason today. What is it?”
“Tristan . . .” She pauses. “Why do you think you like Claire?”
“I don’t like her, Mom. I love her.”
She inhales sharply. “Tris.” She stands and walks to the window and stares out over the city. “Ever since you were a child, you have had a very strong personality trait.”
I frown as I listen.
“And so far in business, it has served you well.”
I stay silent.
“But now I feel I must make you aware of it, because I fear it is affecting you personally.”
“What are you talking about, Mom?” I sigh, annoyed.
She turns to me. “Tristan, you like to fix things.”
I frown harder. What?
“You don’t destroy companies; you buy them to fix them. It is your natural ability to sense when something needs you. You have always been like this, even when you were a tiny little boy. You are attracted to people who need help.”
I stare at her.
“Think about it. The staff that you yourself hire always have an issue that they need to overcome.”
My mind instantly goes to Fletcher.
“The companies that you want always are in trouble.”
“That’s my job, Mom.”
“No, Tristan, nobody ever told you that you need to buy companies in trouble. You took that on yourself. Are you in love with Claire because she needs you to fix her?”
“No,” I snap, annoyed.
“Her sons, do they have problems? Because I can guarantee the bigger the problems they have, the more you will be attracted to them.”
I clench my jaw as I watch her.
“Every girlfriend you have ever had has needed fixing . . . except Mary.”
My nostrils flair at the mention of her name. Mary was my second girlfriend. I grieved her for years after we broke up.
“You loved Mary, Tristan. With all your heart you loved her. But she didn’t need fixing, so you felt that you had to leave her.”
I drop my head and stare at the carpet as a piece of my puzzle falls into place . . . the world begins to spin . . . is she right?
“Why do you think you were so heartbroken breaking up with her? And yet you couldn’t take her back,” Mom says. “Could you?”
My eyes search hers.
“You are about to perhaps give up the chance to have your own children for a woman you think you need to fix. Those boys will never be yours, Tristan. They are hers and his.”
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. “I love Claire, Mom.”
“I know you do, darling. There’s a lot to love.” She smiles softly and cups my face in her hand. “But before you go any further with her and her children, I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“You do this for me, and I will never ever bring this up again, and I’ll embrace Claire and her boys as if they are my own.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to go and see Mary.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t think I can. It hurts me just to think of her.
“After seeing her, if you can honestly tell me that you don’t have any feelings for Mary and what I am saying isn’t right, you have my blessing with Claire.”
“Mary’s probably married by now, Mom.” I sigh.
“She’s still in love with you, Tristan. She never got over you.”
My chest tightens, and I frown in pain.
“I speak to her often.” She hands me a card with her name and address. “She’s expecting your call today.”
Claire
I read the text and frown. That’s weird.
Hi babe,
Something has come up tonight.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Love you
xoxox
He’s never texted me before about not seeing me. In fact, he’s never not seen me. From the day that Patrick asked him not to leave, he never has.
Uneasiness fills me. I spoke to him this morning in his limo, and he was going postal about Muff—no mention of anything going on tonight, though. I frown and text back.
Okay, have a good night.
Love you,
xoxox
It’s late, ten o’clock, and I stare at my phone as I sit at the kitchen counter.
Tristan hasn’t called me to say good night. Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Fletcher has been hovering around me all night, and I wonder what went on at the office today. He’s now pretending to make a drink and not wanting to go to bed.
“How was Tristan at work today?” I ask.
His haunted eyes meet mine.
What is that look?
“Is something wrong, Fletch?”
He twists his hands in front of him, as if nervous. “Where did Tristan say he was tonight?” he asks quietly.
My stomach drops. “Something came up.” My eyes search his. “Do you know where he is tonight?”
He nods, but he stays silent.
“You can tell me, baby. Nothing bad is going to happen. Tristan and I are adults.”
He tentatively sits down beside me at the counter. “His mother came to see him.”
I frown.
“I shouldn’t have, but I listened at the door.”
“Why?”
“Because last time she was there, I heard her warning Tristan that he wouldn’t have his own children if he stayed with you.”
My heart drops. “What did Tristan say to that?”
“He said he knew, but he wanted you more.”
I get a lump in my throat, overwhelmed that he would make that sacrifice to be with me. “What did she say today?”
“She said that Tristan only wants things that he can fix.”
I frown.
“She said that it’s part of his personality, that he’s drawn to people who need him.”
He is—I already know that.
He drops his head and frowns, as if not wanting to elaborate.
“Go on, baby.” I smile. “It’s okay.”
“She said that she thinks Tristan is still in love with his ex-girlfriend and that he only left her because she didn’t need to be fixed.”
My heart drops. I know which ex-girlfriend she’s talking about. He’s talked about her often.
“She thinks that Tristan is only with you because we are all so damaged, and he wants to help us.”
Ouch . . .
My eyes fill with tears, and I blink to try to get rid of them before Fletcher sees.
We stare at each other for a moment.
“Where is he?” I whisper.
“He went to see Mary. He went to see if he still loves her.”
I sit in the dark on the front porch in the seat swing and rock gently back and forth.
It’s 12:40 a.m. I can’t sleep. How could I?
It’s quiet and still; only the creak of the chair can be heard.
Elizabeth is right.
In my heart of hearts, I know she’s right.
Tristan isn’t a soul sucker . . . he’s a savior.
An angel in a perfect suit, he hides behind his asshole title.
He’s a good man who takes no credit.
I rock back and forth as I think. He came in here like a white knight, against all odds, and even though he knew we weren’t right for each other, he saw how damaged I was, and so he fought for us. He fought to save me.
He thawed me from my frozen state.
I get a vision of him and Harry at Wade’s grave yesterday, and my heart breaks.
My boys are going to lose another man they admire and care about.
I screw up my face in tears. I really loved him.
It hurts to know why he loved me.
The tears roll down my face as I try to wrap my head around dealing with another loss.
He loved Mary, and he left her because he felt he had to.
I don’t want that for him.
I want him to be happy and live his life with his true love. He deserves that.
We all deserve that.
I wipe my eyes and take out my phone, and I call his number. It goes to voice mail.
I frown as I prepare to push the words past my lips. “Hi, Tris.” I smile sadly. “It’s me.” I pause as I try to get the wording right. “I hope everything went well with you and Mary tonight.” My face crumples. “I just want you to know that I understand and . . .” I drop my head. “And . . . thank you.” I screw up my face. “Thank you for trying with us. I appreciate it more than you know . . . but I’m letting you go.” I wipe the tears as they roll down my face. “I want you to be with her. Your mother is right.” I smile sadly. “She’s the one you really love.”
“No, she’s not.” The voice comes from behind me.
I turn to see Tristan standing behind me on the grass.
He puts his hands on his hips, indignant. “What fucking bullshit are you going on with, woman?” He frowns.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stand.
He puts his hands out wide, as if I’m a fool. “I’m coming home to sleep—what does it look like?”
“But . . . Mary?”
He takes me into his arms, and his lips softly take mine.
“Mary . . . ,” I whisper.
“Was like seeing a sister. Nothing there at all. Just like I knew it would be. I went there to mollify my mother.”
“What?”
“I love you.” He kisses me softly. “And to be honest, I’m glad I went, because it proved something to me . . . my mother’s got it all wrong.” He takes my face into his hands, and I stare up at him through tears. “You and the boys . . . are saving me. Not the other way around.”
His lips touch mine, and I screw up my face against his.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. In fact I’ve decided that I want to move in here.”
Hope blooms in my chest. “You do?”
“I have some of my stuff in the car. I was actually at home packing a suitcase.” He gestures out to the street, and I see a brand-new black Range Rover.
“What is that car?” I frown.
He shrugs casually. “I got us a new car.”
I smile up at the beautiful man in front of me. “Are you sure about this . . . about us, Tris?” I whisper.
“Claire.” He smiles down at me as he pushes the hair back from my face. “I love you more than anything. This . . . is where I want to be.”
His lips take mine.
“And I’m going to kill Fletcher for listening through doors,” he adds.
I giggle through tears.
“And the Muff Cat is going fucking down. I’m going inside to piss in its bed right now.”
I laugh out loud as he drags me into the house. “And how dare you think I was in love with Mary?” he whispers. “I’m fucking your ass for that, Anderson.” He slaps me hard on the behind as I take the bottom step.
I giggle. My man is home.
Tristan hovers in the kitchen, making his coffee, and I brace myself. I have to talk to the boys. I just want to make it a casual conversation as they sit at the counter eating their breakfast.
“So . . .” I frown as I swallow the sand in my throat. “I wanted to talk to you boys.”
Tristan drains his coffee cup and rushes into the living room. He doesn’t want to hear this.
“Yeah.” They all keep eating their cereal.
“I was wondering if Tristan could move in.”
They all stop eating and stare at me.
“It would mean that . . .” I pause, feeling faint. “It would mean that he would live here with us . . . and that he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore—that’s all. It’s beginning to hurt his back.”
“Okay,” Patrick says as he eats.
I look to the other two. “And of course, he would become part of our family now.”
Tristan reappears through the door, and Harry’s eyes rise to meet his. “Do you want to move in here?”
Tristan nods. “Yes.”
Harry shrugs and keeps chewing.
“What does that mean?” I ask nervously.
“Yeah . . . okay.”
I frown. “Okay what?”
“If he must.”
Tristan’s and my eyes meet. Surely it can’t be that simple. I turn my attention to Fletcher. “I’ll think about it.” He glares at Tristan, and I remember what he heard yesterday.
“Okay,” Tristan says. “Come on. We need to leave soon.” He turns to Harry. “You get your grade back today, don’t you, Wiz?”
“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “I won’t pass. I never do.”
“I predict you’re getting a one hundred,” Tristan replies with a smile. “That assignment was on point. I checked it myself.”
Fletcher goes up to get his things, and I follow Tristan out to the car. “Oh my God, Fletcher said no,” I whisper.
“It will be fine. I’ll talk to him today. He’s angry at me; he’ll be fine.” He smiles down at me. “I love you.”
I giggle up at my beautiful man. “I love you too.”
“What?” Tristan’s angry voice bellows through the entire house. “Thirty!” he yells. “A fucking thirty? Are you kidding me?” he cries as he holds the paper in the air.
“Tristan, language,” I snap.
Fletcher and Patrick sit quietly on the couch as they watch, scared to speak.
Harry has just shown Tristan his grade for the space assignment they have done over the last week.
“There is no way in hell this assignment is a thirty!” he yells as he begins to pace. “What are these idiotic, stupid . . . incompetent assholes doing at this school?” he bellows.
“Mrs. Henderson hates me.” Harry sighs.
“Will you calm down?” I say to Tristan. “Stop swearing.”
“No. I will not,” he growls. “That’s it—tomorrow morning, nine a.m., I am at that fucking school.” He punches his fist. “Tick . . . tock . . . Mrs. Henderson.”
I roll my eyes. “Good grief, this is all I need.”
