So he decided to go back to Harrington to see if she’d come to New York with him. When he couldn’t find her in the office, the assistant had told him she was getting married. That she was at that very moment at her bridal fitting.
Not believing it, Tristan headed to the bridal shop and discovered her in the dress. But she wasn’t the same Sydney. This new Sydney was cold, and distant. There was no warmth or welcome in her eyes. No love.
No forgiveness.
When he left, he swore he’d never think of her again. It was time to start his new life. It was easier to focus on her betrayal.
Tristan finished his wine and stood. But so much had changed. Time softened the past and made him realize how many mistakes they’d both made. Maybe it was time to create a new path for them and forgive. They’d both been young and temperamental. The world was cruel to people in love. The years had ripened them and allowed enough time for them to heal. Tristan knew he’d regret not trying to see if there was a way to write a brand-new story.
With a brand-new ending.
The next morning, Sydney opened her door to a man holding a bunch of sunflowers. Puzzled, she tipped him, carried them inside, and read the card.
Dear Becca,
You danced beautifully. Congratulations.
Love, Tristan
Sydney stared at the flowers. Read the card again.
The trembling started deep inside her body and spread everywhere, until her fingers were shaking as she gripped the note.
He’d sent her daughter flowers. How many times had she ached when Becca stared at the fathers gifting their little girls bouquets of roses on recital night? She’d sworn it didn’t matter because she was able to give Becca so much more than flowers. She was able to give her a beautiful life with stability and love and comfort.
But right now, her axis shifted, and she realized everything had suddenly changed.
She just didn’t know what to do about it yet.
Dragging in a breath, she called out to her daughter. As Becca raced down the stairs, she caught sight of the sunflowers, and her eyes widened. “Mama, did you buy me flowers?” she asked with delight.
Her throat closed up with emotion. “No, honey, someone else did. Here’s your card.”
Becca read the note and gave a whoop, grabbing the bouquet and sticking her nose deep into the flowers. “I love them! Can I call Tristan to tell him I got them?”
Sydney nodded, handing her the phone. “The number’s right here. Just click on this and see if he answers.”
As Becca bounced around the room with her blooms, Sydney heard her begin to chatter with excitement. Finally the phone was thrust into her hands. “Tristan wants to talk to you!”
She put the phone to her ear. Thank goodness he couldn’t hear the wild thrum of her heart. “Hello?”
“She seemed to like them.”
His voice was smooth and poured over her like hot fudge and creamy caramel. Her thighs squeezed together. “She loved them. Thank you. How did you know her favorite flower?”
“She told me. We shared a moment over the explosion of pink sparkles.”
A chuckle escaped her lips. “What I would’ve given to see that.”
“I discovered a few other surprises. But I’ll tell you about them another time.”
“That sounds ominous.” His wicked laugh tickled low in her belly and brought a rush of heat. Oh, he was dangerous. She had to get off the phone. She tried to stick to business. “I intend to get the suppliers to sign off tomorrow and scheduled a Friday trip into the city.”
“Works for me.” He paused. “What are you doing today?”
The low rumble over the phone screamed of intimacy. Her nipples tightened. Damn him. “Exciting stuff,” she drawled. “More laundry, cleaning toilets, and prepping meals for the week.”
“I can take you both out to lunch.”
The casual offer was dangerous. It seethed with possibility and a male curiosity that hadn’t been there before. He’d invited her daughter. He wanted to share a meal with them. They’d barely been on speaking terms a week ago, and now a connection had formed.
“Thanks for the invite, but I can’t. Too much going on. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“Bye.”
She clicked off the phone and practically threw it across the table.
She would not get moon-eyed again over Tristan Pierce.
Not with this much to lose.
Chapter Ten
They walked out of the supplier’s office with a signed contract.
One more to go.
Pride burned deep. It had taken many hours, but she’d gotten the majority to agree to a further 5 percent reduction. With Anthony Moretti on board, it was much easier to convince them to agree as a group and make this the first large-scale experiment working with a big property developer.
Tristan had been brilliant.
He let her lead, but his support was crucial. When the suppliers came back with complaints, he pondered their comments with a thoughtfulness that caused them to feel respected. She always admired his patience. It was a completely underrated virtue, but Tristan never made final decisions without carefully weighing all the options. That hard-won patience made him a brilliant businessman.
And in the bedroom, it made him a devastating lover.
They walked down Main Street. The lunch crowd was out, grabbing caffé mochas and paninis as they strolled the quaint sidewalks. Shop doors were flung open, even with the brisk air, and boats cut smoothly through the calm waters to head out to bigger horizons.
“Need to take a break?”
She hadn’t slept enough, had grabbed only a protein bar and apple for breakfast, and was still jumpy in his presence. But damned if she’d allow him to see weakness. “No. I’m good. Let’s go.”
They hit the last supplier, made their presentation, and closed the deal. In the hours they were gone, she fielded desperate calls from Charlie, who was just learning the office routine, and Dalton, who thought he’d already invoiced the order for teakwood but never received it. She managed to text her sitter to make sure Sydney got off the bus okay and chat with her daughter regarding getting her homework done earlier rather than later.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to ward off the faint headache threatening. She’d have to find a decent way to deal with the higher stress load. Maybe she should take up working out with Xavier with Raven. Maybe punching the crap out of a bag would make her feel like a limp biscuit and she wouldn’t care if she dropped one of the balls she constantly juggled in the air.
“You okay?”
His gentle concern bothered her. “Fine. I can handle this.”
“Never said you couldn’t. I just know you do that when you’re getting a headache. Follow me.”
He turned into the Millennium Café and ordered her a cappuccino with skim, an almond biscotti, and a bottle of water. After leading her over to a small bistro table, he sat down across from her and snapped open his leather briefcase. “I should have insisted we stop for lunch.” He reached in and pulled out a bottle of Advil. Shaking out two tablets, he held out his palm. “Here. Take these.”
Frustration nipped. How did he still know her so well? She had low blood sugar, and a skipped meal could occasionally affect her with a brutal headache. When they had been dating, she’d loved the way he fussed over her and made sure she’d had regular meals. Now it only made her feel silly, like she didn’t know how to take care of her own self.
He raised an eyebrow as if he knew her stubborn thoughts, then motioned toward the pills. Like a good girl, she took the tablets with a sip of water and began nibbling at the cookie.
“I hate when you act superior,” she grumbled. “I can handle a simple headache, Tristan. I’m not going to fall apart or wither onto the ground.”
He studied her with a sharp, assessing gaze, those gorgeous golden eyes roving over her features, then dropping to take in the snug fit of her polished black suit. Immediately her nipples tightened into hard points, and she squeezed her thighs together in punishment. He’d always had a way of looking at her as if he owned her. As if he knew he could casually slip his hand under her skirt, in a public place, and she wouldn’t be able to tell him no.