The VIP Room(57)

Glancing in the mirror, I cringed. I’d already taken off my make-up for the night—at least, what little make-up I used—so I reapplied a little mascara and swiped on some tinted lip balm before pinching my cheeks for color. My hair on the other hand was hopeless. It was already kinked from being in a ponytail for so long tonight, so instead I tied it up in a messy bun, loose tendrils framing my face.

‘Errand chic’ would have to do for Tristan Blackwell.

I raced out of my room, checking the time. Ten minutes left. I tidied up the living room, straightening blankets and fluffing pillows, before making sure I’d cleaned up completely after dinner in the kitchen, just in case.

It only took about five minutes to straighten up. I was usually pretty tidy.

The remaining five minutes, I spent sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting anxiously for the sound of his car pulling up. And sure enough, right on time, I saw his sleek black car park neatly in my driveway as I peered out my living room windows. It made my relatively new grey Corolla look dismal.

Taking a deep breath, I coached myself like I did for my job.

You can do this, Noelle. Just remember to keep your head and you’ll be fine.

A knock on the door. A moment later, I pulled it open. The first thing I thought was that Tristan looked way too handsome to be standing on my shabby porch, which desperately needed a good couple coats of paint.

Still dressed in his suit from today, he gave me a heart-stopping grin. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes assessing. I blushed, much to my dismay, and opened the door wider to let him enter.

“Thank you,” I said, clearing my throat. “Did you come straight from work?”

Tristan entered, surveying my small entryway with interest. It was weird seeing him here, especially when I’d seen his massive penthouse. Well…part of it anyway. Regardless, someone like him was used to mansions and private jets and here he was, standing in my modest 1,200 square foot home. I was proud of it though and I could see myself living here for many more years to come, but it was still an odd sensation.

Maybe it was the suit…

He did look fantastic in a suit.

“Yes, I did,” he answered. “It’s been busy, with the move and all. I have to go to Germany next week for a few days, so I’m trying to finish up some work before then.”

“Germany? Is it for a business trip?”

He nodded. “We have a branch over there. I pop in every month or so to make sure things are running smoothly.”

“You go to Europe every month?” I asked in surprise and a little bit of envy. It was incredible how different our lives were.

He gave me a small smile. “It gets old, trust me.”

“I couldn’t imagine how that would get old. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe,” I told him, leading him into the living room. “London and Rome are at the top of my bucket list.”

“Maybe I’ll take you some day,” he teased, running a hand through his dark hair.

That sobered me. Because I knew that they were just words, something to say to fill the silence. He had no intention of taking me anywhere. I remembered why he was here.

Gesturing towards the couch, I hinted, “You needed to talk to me about something?”

Tristan sat down on my grandmother’s old couch, one thing I’d been unable to give up even though it didn’t go well with the decor. I wanted to laugh at the sight of him surrounded by colorful embroidered flowers.

“Yes,” he said, looking up at me. “Mostly, I wanted to apologize. For earlier this afternoon, about what happened. I shouldn’t have done that, no matter how much I wanted to.”

My heart skipped a beat, but I ignored the effect his words had on me. They were just words. “Or maybe you’re covering your bases for sexual harassment charges.”

It was a bluff. One that he called. He shook his head. “I don’t believe you’d do that, Noelle.”

“Like I said earlier, you know nothing about me,” I gently reminded him.

“Maybe I want to though,” Tristan said quietly. His green eyes sought mine and he reached out and tugged me down onto the couch next to him. Our thighs touched and he turned his body so he could look at me fully. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night. We started off all wrong. I’d like to make up for it.”

“Why the sudden change in heart?” I couldn’t help but ask. “A little under a week ago, you couldn’t get me out the door of your place fast enough.” Or elevator, not the door, in his case. “And what happened to what you said earlier? That one night was all you could give me?”

I’d thought about those words the rest of the day. I’d already known that he was a playboy, but something about the way he said it, something in his tone told me that it ran deeper than that. Much deeper.

With his jaw clenched, he looked away, towards the shelf of family photographs next to my TV. He was silent for a good minute, taking in little things here and there, like the vase of fresh daisies from my backyard, a little ceramic Dalmatian my father bought me from a county fair when I was eight, my DVD collection under my TV stand.

“I like your house,” he murmured, his eyes still flashing around. “Did you design it yourself?”

I wanted answers, but I realized that Tristan was stalling for time. “Most of it,” I said softly, glancing around the living room. It was done up in warm colors…rich burgundies, soft creams, and earthy browns. Sometimes, I lit a dozen candles and cuddled under my blankets. It made me feel safe. “But this used to be my grandmother’s house. She left it to my dad when she passed away and he rents it out to me.” But it was such an insignificant amount, the renting being more my idea than his, so I had a lot in savings.