Tristan King secluded himself in one of the bedrooms to do something on his computer for business.
Colleen sat on the couch in the living room, her arms huddled around her knees, as she checked in with Anjali, spelling out the name of the restaurant they were going to and dropping a location pin to show that she was still at the hotel. She didn’t mention that she was about to have dinner with Russian mobsters and might be inducted into the Russian mafia before the night's end. That seemed like bragging.
Jian paced as he talked on his cell phone, speaking to people in at least three rapid-fire languages that Colleen could discern.
Within an hour, a woman arrived bearing a heavy garment bag. She whipped a golden silk waterfall of a dress out of the luggage, and Jian was ushered from the room while the woman stuffed Colleen into it and then pinned and chalked the fabric.
The garment bag was marked with round art deco letters that read Dolce & Gabbana, which meant nothing to Colleen.
The woman whipped the dress off Colleen like a magician flicking a tablecloth out from under a china set and went to work in a corner of the living room with shears and needles, leaving Colleen to breathe for a while.
After another check-in with Anjali, who texted back, hint-phone-number-hint, Colleen sidled up to Jian, who was sitting at the living room desk that overlooked the pounding surf of the Pacific Ocean and making businesslike notes on a sheet of hotel stationery.
She said, “I have an odd question to ask you. Please don’t be offended, and you can tell me to go to hell if you want.”
Jian did not look up from his work. “I am Chinese. I was born in Malaysia, and my parents still live there. They are very traditional. I am not. No, I don’t get homesick. I speak English, French, Malay, and Mandarin and have studied hospitality management and Krav Maga. Yes, I enjoy traveling and working with wealthy people. Sagittarius.”
Colleen couldn’t repress a smile at his spiel. “That’s not what I meant.”
Jian swiveled and looked up at her, one neatly groomed eyebrow raised. “Mr. King seems to have taken a personal interest in you. Naturally, as a personal assistant, I would not interrupt my employer’s pursuits.”
Yeah, he had. “Oh, no, not for me. I’m not interested in anybody. I have zero interest in everyone. But my friend saw you at the airport, and she’s a nice person. I mean, Anjali is great. I just love her. She’s the greatest, nicest person ever. So if you are interested in meeting her or talking to her, I can give her your phone number, or I could give hers to you. If you’re into girls. If you’re not, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Or even if you are interested in girls. Sorry, I mean. I’m sorry.”
Jian raised both his eyebrows.
Colleen grumbled, “I feel like I’m in junior high, telling someone to check a box if they like my friend.”
For the first time, a full smile bent Jian’s mouth and lifted the corners. “Is this the Southeast Asian girl who drove you to the airport?”
“Yeah.”
“The one with the long hair that fell past her waist?”
“Yep, that’s Anjali. It actually goes down almost to her knees.”
One of his eyebrows quivered, almost lifting. “Do you think she would prefer if I gave you my phone number for her, or if you gave me her phone number?”
Colleen sighed and chuckled in relief. “She asked for your phone number, but I would bet that she would prefer if you texted her first. Just a word of warning, she’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways. Which is why I think she might like it if you asked her out first or contacted her first or however this is going to work. I mean, I don’t even know when you guys would ever see each other because she’s in college. She was a year behind me, so she’s graduating this August. She wanted to take a summer class before she officially graduated because she has a huge scholarship that pays for everything.”
Jian nodded and pushed a piece of paper toward Colleen. “If you could write her number down for me, I would appreciate it.”
Colleen grinned. “Cool!”
Half an hour later, another woman arrived, rolling a large makeup kit behind her, and she commandeered the bathroom to do Colleen’s hair and makeup while the seamstress finished tailoring the dress.
The hairdresser stood behind Colleen, yanking her basic brown hair into place and tying it off with tight elastics, when Colleen’s phone chimed. A pang of guilt bumped her even though she had been notifying Anjali practically every hour, on the hour, as to her location.
But the chime wasn’t for a text. It was for a Sherwood Forum direct message, and her cringe turned to a blush when she saw the name on the phone read Twist the TwistyTrader.
Memories of the Devilhouse rolled back, and her skin tickled at the thought of his hands and his tongue on her.
How are you? he DM’d.
Colleen swiped her thumb over the screen without wiggling as best she could. I’m doing okay.
Are you alone?
No. There’s someone here with me.
Go somewhere private.
Embarrassment flushed through her and heated her face. I don’t know if I can.
I said, go somewhere private.
Colleen swallowed her trepidation and looked up as if she could see over her scalp and behind herself at the lady doing her hair. The bathroom ceiling was painted pristine white, and the space was larger than her studio apartment back in Phoenix. The gold marble tub was so big that she could have floated in a bath like a starfish bobbing on waves. I really can’t, but we should talk.
Twist typed, Yes, we should talk. Perhaps we could do a short voice call.
I really can’t right now, Twist. Maybe tomorrow? I’m really sorry, um, sir, but I can’t talk to you right now or tonight. My new job has me really busy.
Oh, she felt terrible about that.
And yet, she shouldn’t feel bad about it. Tristan King didn’t own her. He didn’t have exclusive rights to her body just because they’d boinked once. Boinking wasn’t a commitment.
She typed, But yeah, I need to talk to you, too.
Two hours later, the lady had finished doing Colleen’s hair and makeup so exquisitely that Colleen barely recognized herself in the mirror, her eyes large and doe-like and her lips a puffy Cupid’s bow. The lady had even shaped and painted Colleen’s nails.
A short time later, Colleen had been crowbarred into the gold dress, and she stood in the living room with her hands outstretched, afraid to move lest she wrinkle or smudge herself.
Jian Laio had inspected her, grinned a conspiratorial smile and winked, and left the suite.
Tristan emerged from one of the bedrooms, wearing a different, darker suit. He glanced at her and said gruffly, “You look amazing,” and looked away, almost scowling.
Colleen set her fists on her hips. Damn the wrinkles. “Is there a problem?”
He didn’t look up, just continued to scroll on his phone. “No.”
While they were on the subject of crap he was doing wrong, she might as well go whole hog. “And what was that crack about me being an easy lay at the meeting? I am not. I hate slut-shaming.”
He cracked a half-smile. “It was just an attempt to allow you to leave the meeting and get away to somewhere safe.”
“Women can’t win. If we want it, we’re an easy lay. And if we don’t, we’re a stuck-up prude. That was uncalled for.”
He swiped his phone with his thumb and then slid it into his pants pocket. “I agree.”
“Even if you were just trying to get me out of there, I didn’t like it.”
“I apologize.”
“And just to be clear, that was the only time you get to call me an easy lay. I’m not an easy lay unless I want to be.”
“Message received.”
In that instant, when irritation itched over Colleen’s shoulders and she was simultaneously trying to figure out what was wrong with her dress or hair, she noticed that Tristan was wearing a three-piece suit, the vest snug over his trim waist and broad chest underneath his suit jacket.
The back of the vest and the lining of his suit jacket were probably a contrasting color, maybe scarlet, but she bet they would all match.
When he turned, a peacock blue pocket square was folded into a slim line in his breast pocket.
Maybe the lining and back of his vest matched the blue.
Just remembering Twist’s vest he’d worn at the Devilhouse, she kind of wanted to see Tristan’s.
Not that she was comparing the two of them. Not that there was any reason she should compare Tristan King with TwistyTrader.
Not everything in life should even be a dang competition.
Tristan was there, and he was hot and available, and he’d asked her to travel with him, even though it had started as him accidentally getting her fired. But then it had turned into something else, right?
And it wasn’t just convenience on his part, right? she begged herself in her head.
But if there wasn’t something so freakishly hot about Twist, then she should’ve just sent him a message like We shouldn’t message each other anymore or something.
But she hadn’t.
And she was kind of freaked out about how she was drawing it out with Twist, like she didn’t want to let him go.
Especially when Tristan King was right there, and yet he was acting weird.
Did he not appreciate the time and effort that had been put into this dress? That was practically an insult to the hard work of the tailor and hairdresser/makeup artist. “We’re alone now, and you haven’t said anything.”
Tristan grabbed his wallet from the table and held out his coat to insert it into the inside pocket next to his chest.
The lining inside was the same peacock blue as his pocket square.
All three-piece suits must be like that. But of course, most guys would strategically match their pocket square and socks to the linings of their suits.
Tristan didn’t look up at her as he said, “I was just reminding myself that you are my employee now, and it’s official since you signed that contract an hour ago. As much as you look stunning in that dress,” his voice lowered, “and I do mean absolutely ravishing—”
Okay, that was better.
He looked right at her, “—we are not on a date tonight. We are meeting with members of the Russian mafia who might induct us, kill us, or possibly write us off as useless and forget about us, if I play my cards right.”
Us. He kept saying us.
Colleen was the weak link here. They were using her to get to him.
Tristan King could disappear if he wanted to, thanks to his algorithm that wiped the internet of his very existence.
She said, “Look, Tristan, Mr. King, if you see a chance to get yourself out of the situation, no matter what the consequences are for me, you should take it. Like he said, they can come for me whenever they want. There’s no real way I can escape them. I’m a lost cause.”
“I will get us both out of this.”
She sighed because the truth was humiliating. “You don’t have to pretend like I’m important to you. I’m just some dropout sales clerk that you felt sorry for, and I’m just an easy lay.”
Tristan looked up from where he was fastening his cufflinks. His bright blue eyes narrowed with anger, and he strode across the room like he was about to attack her.
Colleen stepped backward, and her heel scraped the wall behind her.
But he still advanced on her, his eyes furious.