Crash Into Me(43)

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."