Crash Into Me (9 page)

"I
was thinking about Daddy last night when I saw some fireflies. Remember how
he'd sit with me while I ran after them on summer nights?"

"Yeah,
I remember. I thought you were so silly, but that was the six years between us.
But where did you see fireflies? I don't know where they'd be in Brooklyn."

Damn.
I wasn't very good at this lying thing. "Sure. Fireflies go
everywhere," I joked in a forced voice. "We have everything in New York, Kim."

I
laughed nervously, hoping she'd be satisfied by my joking, and she laughed too.
"Next time you're here you can chase fireflies with the girls. They'll
love that."

"Okay,
it's a date. I better get going. I'll talk to you soon, Kim."

"Okay,
baby. Behave yourself out there."

I
smiled at the word baby. Ever since our dad died four years earlier, she'd ended
every one of our conversations by calling me the name he'd used all my life. As
I said goodbye and hung up, tears welled in my eyes. It would likely be a long
time before I got to see her girls, unless Tristan's driver didn't mind taking
a joyride to the Philly suburbs.

I
scanned the attic and saw dozens of boxes and a spooky sewing mannequin
standing alone in the corner. Turning to head for the stairs, I ran my left
shin into a chest that sat on the floor. As I bent down to rub my leg to ease
the stabbing pain, I saw that the chest's lock was open. The ache in my shin
abated, and I sat down on the floor. The lid opened easily, allowing me to peer
in to see what was stored inside.

Stacks
of old photographs and letters tied with a red silk ribbon sat at the bottom of
the chest. Leaning up against the side walls of the chest were larger pictures.
I lifted one out and held it up to see a portrait of a family of four with a
mother, father, and two boys possibly four years old smiling for the camera.
The children were identical twins, but I recognized Tristan instantly. He and
his brother shared the same features, but I could tell them apart. His eyes
gave him away. There was that familiar gentleness I loved in them even when he
was just a boy.

Suddenly,
I felt like I was intruding on something private. He'd never talked about his
family with me, not even to say he had a twin. From the moment I met him, I'd
felt like he was all alone in the world, so where were this brother and his
parents?

My
gaze drifted up to the top of the picture to his mother and father, and I tried
to find his eyes in one of them, but couldn't. Everyone else in his family had
dark eyes too, but there was something different about his. He resembled his
father more than his brother did, if that was possible, and as I stared at the
man, I recognized a lot of him in Tristan now.

I'd
heard that even identical twins could be told apart easily because of their
personalities, and nothing proved that more than this picture. Beaming a smile
of a gregarious child, Tristan sat next to his brother, a child who looked far
more serious with his tiny downturned mouth. Each boy was positioned in front
of a parent, Tristan's twin in front of the father and Tristan in front of his
mother. As I stared at all of them, I imagined him being more like his mother.
She was beautiful, with long brown hair, high cheekbones, and a lovely smile,
the kind of woman everyone admired.

I
placed the pictures back inside the chest and hurried downstairs, fearful Rogers would appear out of nowhere like he always seemed to and see me rummaging in
Tristan's personal things. Another hour passed before I gave up and slipped
into bed, feeling lonely and wishing Tristan was next to me.

Would
I ever meet these people or did he plan to keep me a secret out here in the
country, never to appear at any of the functions or events he attended or to
see the people closest to him? As I tossed and turned in bed that night, I
couldn't help but wish that I hadn't gone to the attic. Now I had more
questions about Tristan, and he seemed content to exist only in the present
with me, never mentioning anything about his past or our future.

Chapter Eight

"I
missed you."

Tristan's
voice stopped me dead in my tracks as I shuffled into the kitchen to look for
my morning coffee. He stood leaning against the massive island in the center of
the room, a sly grin on his face as he watched me gawking at him.

"You're
back? I thought your note said days."

And
love. I hadn't forgotten the love part. Hopefully, he hadn't either.

"I
finished what I had to do early and got back a few hours ago. You must have
some great boss to let you sleep in on a workday."

I
liked this relaxed Tristan and smiled as he teased me. "I'll have you know
that it's Friday, which is basically the weekend to many people." Walking
around the island, I stopped in front of him, looking up into his beautiful
face. "And my boss is the best."

He
took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you. However, your
new job begins today, so you better get ready."

"My
new job? The one at the hotel downtown?" I asked excitedly.

Tristan
shook his head and grinned. "No."

I
lowered my head in disappointment. It had been too good to be true, after all.
Now he had me here for the next six months, and the best I'd likely get was the
consolation prize of being Tristan's paid love interest. No matter how
appealing Jordan had made that sound, it still seemed like second place.

"Don't
look so unhappy. You'll love it," he whispered in my ear.

"I
guess. Let me go get dressed and you can tell me all about it."

I
turned to leave but he held me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. My
expression surely showed my disappointment, and I couldn't hide it. I didn't
want to hide it.

"Nina,
have faith in me," he said quietly, those brown eyes boring holes into my
soul.

When
he looked at me like that—like I meant more to him than anything else in the
world—I wanted to believe he cared and wanted me to be happy like I wanted to
make him happy. "I do," I said, half-believing it myself.

"Meet
me in my office in ten," he ordered as he released me.

"I'm
here, as commanded," I said with as much bravado as I could muster.

He
sat behind his large cherry desk and crooked his finger at me. "Come. I
have a surprise for you."

I
walked toward the leather Queen Anne wingback chair in front of his desk, but
he stopped me as I began sit down. "No, come sit with me. I want to show
you what your job is going to be."

So
I
was
going to be his sex slave. I knew it. There would be no art, no
need for the new wardrobe, no great job. Just fucking for money. I was no
better than a prostitute, no matter how he or Jordan phrased it. A whore.

"Should
I just sit on your lap or would you prefer me to skip the preliminaries and
just get on my knees?" I asked as I rounded the corner of his desk.

He
said nothing but turned his laptop and looked up at me. "I love your idea
of work, but I had something slightly different in mind."

I
looked down at the laptop and there on the screen sat ten small thumbnails of
artwork. My face felt red hot as I stood there staring down at the screen while
my words echoed in my ears. What an ass I was!

Embarrassed,
I looked down at the floor. "I'm so sorry. That was uncalled for. I didn't
know."

Tristan
chuckled and took my hand in his. "I love how honest you are. I've told
you that. Don't ever stop being that way. There aren't enough people in this
world who will truly say what they're feeling, Nina."

Biting
my lip, I looked up in humiliation, his soothing words not working. "I
really am sorry. I feel like such a jackass. I just assumed that...well, all
I've done with you so far is..." I really wasn't explaining myself well
and was probably making things worse. I definitely felt worse.

All
he did was smile and stand from his chair. "Here, sit down and let me tell
you what I plan to have you do. Unless you'd rather go down on me first. I'm
not going to say no to that."

Oh,
he wasn't going to let me live this down any time soon. I deserved it, though.
As I sat down in his chair, he dragged one over next to me. "I know you
want your job to involve working with art, so that's exactly what you'll be
doing. Those pictures are just ideas I have for your job."

I
looked at the pictures on the screen again, studying each of them and seeing no
common theme or period. "What exactly is my job, Tristan?"

"I
want you to choose the artwork for the penthouses and suites in my hotels.
You'll have to choose pieces for each one and pitch them to me to convince me
to buy them. If you succeed, then I'll buy them and put them in that suite or
penthouse. If not, you'll have to choose something else and pitch that to me.
I'll have the final say as to the choices, but I'm trusting that you'll show me
excellent pieces."

I
looked at him, instantly worried. "What happens if you don't like anything
I choose?"

That
gentle smile he sometimes put on spread across his lips. "Nina, I have
faith in you. I'm sure I'll love what you pick out."

There
was that word again. Love. Now he was going to love my choices of artwork in
addition to me and my penchant for honesty.

"Tristan,
this all seems odd. Don't you have curators in your hotels who do this?"

"They
deal with the museums that are housed in some of the hotels. This is different.
My hotels are the best in luxury resorts and the people who stay in them expect
the best in their surroundings. I have people who decorate them, others who do
the tile work that make some look like the finest Roman mosaics, and others who
design the rooms to be one of a kind at some of my hotels. What I want you to
do is choose pieces that will make all of their work come together."

Suddenly,
I felt entirely inept. All those times that I'd bragged that I knew about art
now seemed foolish, as did I. Tristan actually expected me to choose pieces
that the wealthiest people in the world would see when they paid top dollar to
stay in his hotels. What if all my big talk about art had been just that?

Just
talk.

"Okay.
How many will I be doing?" I asked as I folded my hands in my lap to hide their
shaking.

"I
haven't decided yet. Maybe a goal of one a week would be a nice place to
start."

One
a week. Maybe I could handle this. Okay. One was entirely doable. "I'm
going to need to know everything about each suite or penthouse. Choosing pieces
isn't something that can be done without seeing what the rooms look like and
what style is prevalent."

"Of
course. We won't be visiting every one, but I'll make sure we get to a
few."

I
collapsed back in his office chair, crashing against the padded leather.
"We're visiting some of them? Where are they located?"

"Around
the world. Why?"

"I
don't have a passport, Tristan." I don't know why, but that sounded so
common as the words left my mouth, like he'd see me as someone less than him
because I didn't routinely leave the country.

"Then
we'll have to get you one. I'll put a rush on that, but in the meantime, we'll
stick with domestic properties."

Tristan
began tapping away at his keyboard as I mumbled, "I guess that's
that." He seemed to be happy with the way things were going, but I was
still nervous and unsure of myself. While my insecurities did their best to
plague my already unsettled mind, my eyes focused on him as he searched for
something online and I was struck by how relaxed he was at that moment. If I
didn't know how much he owned or how much money he made, he'd look like any
other man working on his laptop.

I
wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he wasn't a dream. This Tristan
was so unlike the man I'd seen in the newspaper and even unlike the distant one
I'd begun to fall for. Even dressed for work, he looked similar to someone like
me.

"How
old are you?" I asked impulsively, suddenly realizing I had no idea about
that or other details that would have come to light with a boyfriend by now,
like where he went to school or what he'd majored in.

He
stopped his typing and turned to look at me. "Twenty-nine."

"What
did you go to school for?"

With
a smile, he answered, "Nothing."

His
answer surprised me. "What do you mean? You run an entire company. Didn't
you go to school for business?"

"For
a year, but it wasn't what I wanted to do. Wharton was a little stiff for
me."

"Wharton,
as in Penn? As in Ivy League?"

Shrugging,
he went back to searching for what he was looking for. "The same."

"And
that was a little stiff for you?" I found the idea that anywhere was too
stiff for him amusing. 

He
nodded. "College wasn't what I wanted."

"What
did you want?" I asked, curious about the faraway sound in his voice now
that hinted at a very different Tristan.

Ignoring
my question, he turned the laptop in my direction and smiled that warm smile
that could make me give up almost anything. "We'll deal with my penthouse
first. The poker playing dogs picture isn't working out at all, so you'll need
to come up with a something else."

I
couldn't help but laugh, far louder than was likely proper. Just when I thought
he was stiff and distant, he made a joke like that and changed the entire way I
looked at him. "You didn't take me seriously about that, did you?"

Faking
sincerity, he screwed his face into a grimace. "I wasn't supposed to?
Those dogs cost me a fortune."

For
a second, I thought he was serious, and then he winked at me. "Let's get
going. Pick out what clothes you want to take and I'll have Rogers take care of
it."

"Just
like that?"

He
closed his laptop, sat back in his chair, and folded his arms. "Just like
that. I'll give you fifteen minutes."

I
began walking toward my room and turned around, feeling playful. "And if
I'm not done by then?"

Without
missing a beat, he answered, "Then you'll spend your time at the penthouse
naked, which also works for me."

He
smiled again, and I relaxed a little more. "I never know when you're
kidding, Tristan."

"I'm
not kidding. As far as I'm concerned, you could never wear anything again and
I'd be happy."

"But
what about all those clothes you bought? That's a lot of money to waste, don't
you think?" I asked, enjoying our verbal sparring.

He
stood from his chair and walked toward me like a wild cat stalking prey. When
he was only inches away from me, he stopped and lifted my chin with his finger
and stared down into my eyes. "I'd spend ten times that to make you happy,
Nina. Now go get ready or you're spending our time in the city as God made
you."

It
was nearly impossible to think about work when he was standing there looking
like that and talking about me naked at his penthouse. I hurriedly chose a few
outfits and laid them out on my bed before finding him waiting at the end of
the hallway that led to my room.

"Ready?"

He'd
asked me that right after we'd first met and just like then, I wasn't ready.
Everything was moving so quickly that I wanted to stop, ask some questions, and
get my bearings. But he never let that happen. It wasn't as if he was rushing
me, really. It was more that he expected things to go as he had planned and
there never was a moment where I wanted to risk asking what we were doing,
afraid that if I did I'd ruin everything.

What
woman wouldn't want a man like him to whisk her off her feet and take care of
every issue that came up in life?

Tristan's
penthouse was familiar to me as I stepped out of the elevator, but this time he
held my hand in his. A tiny difference, it made everything I laid my eyes on
seem changed. Still appearing disinterested in his magnificent home, he led me
to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed across from the bare spot on
the wall.

I
looked at the wall and smiled. "No dogs?"

"No
dogs. And if there's some picture that involves cats playing checkers or
something like that, I'm going on record as saying no to that too."

"There
goes my great idea. Back to the drawing board for me."

My
joke got no response, and he sat silently alternating his focus from the spot
on the wall to my face. It made me uncomfortable, so I turned my back to him
and faced my first task as his employee.

I
felt his gaze on my back, but I remained fixated on the job at hand. It was too
easy to want to just turn around and climb on top of him, straddling his hips
as my skirt rode up and my body slid over his. I wanted to show him that I
could do this.

His
home was decorated expensively in a style much like other expensive hotel rooms
I'd seen in decorating magazines. I walked around looking at the furniture and
coverings, but none of them seemed particularly him. They were luxurious but
not unique. Certainly, whoever had chosen them knew how to spend money. From
the gold and cream stripe sofas that flanked the beige marble fireplace wall in
the living room to the wingback Queen Anne chairs and large mahogany coffee
table that must have been five feet in diameter in the sitting room, the home
had been carefully decorated to apply to no one in particular. Down the hall
was a bedroom with a ceiling that showed the decorator had possessed some
flair. Hand painted, the view above the bedroom Tristan didn't sleep in was a
stunning design that depicted the seventeenth century Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam near the spot the hotel stood on now.

I
wandered to the bathroom and stood with my mouth hanging open. The time before
I hadn't gotten to see it, and as I looked around with wide eyes, I was in
love. Pale shades of marble and granite covered everywhere my gaze fell, but
the centerpiece of the room was a toss up. The deep soaker tub in the center of
the room competed with the floor to ceiling windows that showed the splendor of
the city below, leaving me unsure which was more beautiful.