The VIP Room (17 page)

“
Y
ou’re joking
,” Larene stated, very matter-of-factly as though the sky was blue or Chris Hemsworth was one handsome devil.

“I wish I wasn’t,” I said softly.

It was only six o’clock in the evening, but the autumn sun had already set an hour before. Larene had come over to my house right after she got off work once I’d placed an emergency call to her.

“You slept with Tristan
Blackwell
? I thought he looked familiar!”

My face burned bright with embarrassment. I’d told her on Sunday morning all about my night with him, including all the cringe-worthy bits. What Larene was really asking was: Tristan Blackwell kicked you out after you slept with him?!

I didn’t need to remember his words, or how pathetic I probably looked on the marble floor of his penthouse, naked and hurt. Just thinking about it made me furious. How could he treat a person like that? Even if he hadn’t wanted me to stay over, couldn’t there have been a more tactful way of asking me to leave? Or at least waiting five whole minutes before kicking me out?

I took another giant bite of ice cream before answering her. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Annie can
never
find out, at least for the next month.”

“How are you gonna pull that off?”

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard,” I said, staring down into my pint of rocky road. “I’ll hardly ever see him, except when we’re designing his office. And even if we happen to run into each other, we’ve both agreed to forget all about Saturday night.”

“That doesn’t sound like what he said, Noelle,” Larene reminded me, her lips downturned.

“He was just messing with my head.” My hands shook around my spoon. “If this got out, it’s bad for his image at the company, don’t you think?”

“From what I’ve heard, Tristan Blackwell is one hell of a playboy. I’m pretty sure his company—hell, even his family—knows what type of person he is.” Larene was always the voice of reason. “So…have you Googled him?”

“No.”

“Don’t you want to?”

I bit my lip. I’d been tempted the moment I returned to my office from the Blackwell Financial consultation. But something stopped me. I was scared at what I might find. “No,” I settled on.

“Noelle…” Larene said firmly, as though I was a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Don’t you think having all the information would be for the best? That way, you aren’t flying blind for the next month.”

“Ugh,” I moaned, flopping my head back on my couch. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just get this over with. Like ripping off a bandaid, right?”

Larene looked like a kid being told Christmas came early. She dashed off the couch and snagged my laptop, which had been charging next to the TV. She dropped it into my lap, narrowly missing my pint of ice cream, before scooting in next to me once more.

Sighing, I gave her my pint while I opened a browser window. Pulling up the search engine, I slowly pecked out ‘Tristan Blackwell,’ trying to delay the inevitable. I hit ‘enter.’

Larene gasped.

My face paled.

Because right on the front page of all the search results, under recent news, a grainy picture of Tristan and a woman in a tight black dress and stripper heels revealed itself. And that woman, under the curled hair and expertly applied make-up, was
me
.

The headline read,
Banking family heir’s HOT night out.
Someone had managed to capture a picture of us as we were emerging from
Valoir
. It was a bad quality photo. Perhaps from a cell phone? I didn’t remember anyone taking pictures. Surely, I would’ve noticed
that
.

I let out a few choice curses once I regained my ability to speak. “What if Annie sees this?” I asked, beginning to panic. “What if she just happens to do some research on our client and she sees this picture? I’m off the project, for sure!”

“Calm down,” Larene soothed. Even through her tranquil tone, I could see the uneasiness written all over her features. “Maybe she won’t even recognize you. I mean, at first glance, it doesn’t really look like you. You don’t dress like that normally. Besides, she probably won’t be reading up on gossip websites.”

I groaned. “You don’t know Annie.”

“Click on the article.”

We both read all about Tristan’s ‘HOT night out.’ I was labeled the ‘unidentified woman.’ A small reprieve, I realized. One I was truly thankful for.

From the article alone, it seemed these ‘hot nights out’ happened quite often. Tristan, as Larene said,
was
a notorious playboy. From club nights in Italy to dinner dates in New York, he was rarely ever pictured without a pretty woman on his arm.

No wonder he had no qualms about kicking me out on Saturday night. He’d had a lot of practice. Looks like Tristan Blackwell had perfected the art of ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am.’ Hell, I even
got
the ‘thank you.’

We clicked on several more gossipy articles, each more damning than the last. We clicked onto his Wikipedia page and my eyes skimmed over a few facts. He was thirty, just five years older than me. Internationally educated. He went to Oxford for his undergraduate degree in business and economics and then he went to an Ivy League for his MBA.

Larene whistled. Apparently, he was one smart cookie. I was, begrudgingly, impressed.

We read on. His mother passed away six years ago and since then, his father married a young socialite. He had one younger sister, who rarely appeared in public.

I started to feel uncomfortable. It felt like I was prying into his life, even though everything was public knowledge. Still…

I shut the laptop forcefully, ignoring Larene’s groan of dismay.

“We didn’t even get to his net worth yet!” she protested.

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “I don’t need to see anymore.”

We sat in silence for a little while, absorbing. Larene scraped up the last bits of rocky road from the pint.

After a few moments, I realized that searching his name had been a good thing. Seeing Tristan with all those women just drove home the fact that he wasn’t the kind of man worth being upset over. Sure, he was handsome, rich, and great in bed—or, up against the wall in my case—but he was also superficial and he used and discarded women as easily as tissue…even if he was educated at Oxford.

Why was I getting myself worked up over someone like that?

A smile spread over my face. “This is great.”

Larene looked at me like I’d lost my head. “Oh no. You’ve gone nuts.”

“No, seriously. Of course, I still have to make sure that Annie never finds out. If she happens to see the picture, I will deny that it’s me to my grave. And now I know I can handle Tristan if we’re ever alone. He isn’t worth it.”

“Uh huh,” Larene drew out slowly. She didn’t believe me. Not one bit.

“I’m serious! In fact, I don’t want to spend any more time talking about him.”

Larene sighed. She knew I had a stubborn streak a mile wide. “Alright then.”

I changed the subject, tucking my legs underneath me. “So, how’s Kane?”

Another sigh, although this one was heavier. “Kane is Kane.”

“Maybe we’re both just unlucky when it comes to men,” I commented lightly. I had nothing against Kane as a person—he was charming and fun to be around—but the way he jerked Larene around bothered me.

“No, that’s not it,” she responded. “I like to think I’m quite lucky to have found him. If only Kane could see it that way though. I love him, but when do I draw the line? I don’t know if I can keep doing this over and over again.”

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, reaching over to touch her back. “Maybe one day you’ll just wake up and know.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking at the blank TV screen. “I hope so. I hope it comes sooner than later.”

I didn’t know what else to do. I’d always been terribly lacking when it came to comforting people, even when it came to my own best friend. Words were just words. And when it came to other people’s relationship, how could I say I knew what was best? I couldn’t.

So I didn’t speak. I stroked my best friend’s back until she regained some of her cheerfulness. And then we settled down for a night of chocolate, wine, and movies.

A perfect Monday night, in my opinion. Who needed men anyways?

T
he rest
of the week hurried past. On Thursday, the contracts for Blackwell Financial were settled, signed, and filed away.

So, on Friday morning, I stood outside the imposing building with a couple of Annie’s interns, ready to begin the next month of my life. Today, we were just doing some preliminary work photographing all the spaces we were in charge of—including the bathrooms because Annie’s a cunning goddess—and taking measurements.

The lobby was the first priority. I’d probably be working the weekend coming up with various designs that I could present to Annie on Monday. But I was fine with that. I would put everything I had into this place. My effort would come across through my work and if that meant not having a day off over the next thirty days then so be it.

I entered the lobby with my heart in my throat. After the humiliation of seeing myself online, the last thing I wanted to do was run into Tristan. It couldn’t be helped and I knew that I would be in close proximity with him over the next month or so. Still, a girl could hope. Discreetly, I scanned the lobby for him, breathing a sigh of relief when he was nowhere to be seen.

I relaxed and then turned to Annie’s interns, Kelsey and Vivian. “Okay, let’s get started.”

M
y luck
only lasted so long, however.

By noon, we’d moved onto the upper floors of the building, including the executives’ offices, which Annie ordered me to handle personally. All the executives’ offices were different sizes, primarily because they were the offices on the outer flanks of the building with the most windows.

Slowly, I moved from office to office, always wondering when I’d eventually reach
his
. At the same time, I was hoping he was away traveling on business, because isn’t that what all these rich business men did?

Eventually, however, I reached Tristan’s office. I knew because of the receptionist posted at her own desk only a few strides away from an imposing steel door.

Clearing my throat, I approached her. She was a beautiful blonde, dressed in a tight, knee-length navy blue dress. Her blazer hugged the chair she sat in. Not a hair was out of place and the tight ponytail only emphasized her sharp features. She smiled, but it wasn’t warm. It was professional.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Noelle Travis, from Irving Designs,” I responded, giving her a professional smile of my own. “I’ll need to take some measurements of this office. Is someone in?”

“Mr. Blackwell is just finishing up with a conference call at the moment. You’ll have to wait.”

I strained my ears, listening for the baritone rhythm of his voice, but I heard nothing. Either the door was sound-proof or she was lying. I went with the latter.

“Do you know how much longer he will be?”

A shrug of her thin shoulders. “He has a meeting in fifteen minutes, so I’d assume then.”

“I’d like to get in there before the meeting, if at all possible. This is one of the last offices I need to measure and I have a meeting myself in an hour.” A lie, but a small one.

She studied me for a brief moment, but I kept my face politely blank. When it came to my professional life, I could hold my own, even if I was a coward in my personal life.

She caved. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Blackwell. If you’ll please wait a moment.” She gestured over to a couple plush armchairs in the corner. I frowned. Those would be one of the first things to go when I reached this floor.

“I’ll stand, thank you,” I told her. The sooner I got this over with, the better. And I knew that receptionists hated people wandering around their space.

I listened as she placed an immediate call. “Mr. Blackwell, there is a Noelle Travis from Irving Designs here. She says she needs to measure your office…yes…alright.”

I inwardly smiled and gave her a sense of privacy by turning to inspect the sole art piece in the reception area. It was a beautiful painting, full of abstract colors. I looked at the bottom, where I could make out the initials:
A.B.

The painting looked so out of place surrounded by the starkness of grey and steel.

“Mr. Blackwell will see you, Ms. Travis. Go straight through,” came the receptionist’s voice, a slight edge to it.

“Thank you,” I said, nodding at her before swinging my gaze towards the steel doors. My palms were slick from nerves, but I took a deep breath. Tristan Blackwell shouldn’t have power over me. I was being ridiculous feeling this way. But every time I thought that, an image of me naked, on his floor, with red knees came back to me and I felt helpless and used all over again.

No
. I wouldn’t let him have power over me here, whether he was a client or not.

My hand pushed down the door handle and I stepped through. It was on a spring, so it automatically closed behind me and I was forced further into the office.

My eyes immediately sought out Tristan. As I suspected, he wasn’t on a conference call. Instead, he looked unbelievably handsome sitting behind his desk in a crisp white button-up, with the sleeves rolled back. He was reading through a stack of papers, but when I entered the office, his eyes were suddenly on me. His gaze hit me like a sledgehammer and just like that, the tension between us rose. It was tangible; I could feel every pulsing wave of it.

He dropped the papers. I had his full attention.

“Noelle,” he greeted, his lips quirking.

I cleared my throat, hoping that my expression was one of indifference and not one of frustrated desire. Because despite everything, he was still one hot son of a bitch.

“I need to measure the dimensions of your office, Mr. Blackwell,” making sure to put extra emphasis on his title. “For my firm’s 3-D rendering program. And I’ll need to take a few photographs, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means, take as many photographs as you like.”

I was determined not to blush at the obvious innuendo in his tone. He was determined to get under my skin, it seemed.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I moved around his office, taking in the large windows that revealed an amazing view of the city. The space was bare, save for his desk, two sturdy chairs across from it, and a neat line of cardboard boxes lined up against the left side of the office.

Tristan must’ve seen me eyeing them because he said, “Didn’t make much sense buying cabinets when you will probably change them anyway.”

“You leave confidential bank documents in boxes on the floor?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Whatever would your customers think of you?”

He grinned, but it was a predatory smile, the smile he no doubt used in business negotiations. “I can assure you that all of
those
documents are locked up tight. I would never compromise my customers’ information.”

I’d never really thought about Tristan as the Blackwell family heir. I’d never really thought about him as a businessman, but his success was undeniable. Or, at least that’s what Larene told me. She’d done a report on the Blackwells back in college. Their family stretched back generations and their wealth seemed to increase exponentially with every passing year. They were at the top of the top 1% and Tristan was the successor to it all.

It was mind boggling. I couldn’t even imagine the pressure of it. Although looking at him now, remembering all of his womanizing Larene and I had read up on, he seemed to be handling it alright.
More than alright,
I thought.

I wanted to be out of here as quickly as possible, so I went about my work. I had an inkling of an idea of how I’d decorate the office, but it was a bit dramatic and I needed to remember that this was corporate designing. It wasn’t home designing. His office would be sleek and intimidating, just like the man himself. Something simple, yet powerful.

It was hard to work when I knew Tristan was watching me. It was unnerving. What was even more unnerving was that a small part of me couldn’t help but feel aroused by it. His gaze felt like a caress and the office was so damn
quiet
that every rustle of his shirt or every creak of his leather chair shot a zing of awareness through my body. After about five minutes of logging dimensions in my notebook, I straightened and looked at him. “Is there something you need, Mr. Blackwell?”

He studied me, his green eyes calculating, speculative. He wasn’t even hiding the fact that he’d been looking at me. “You’re different at work.”

“Oh? How so?”

“You have this wall around you. You’re colder, shut off from everyone.”

My lips parted in disbelief and then I glared at him. “You know
nothing
about me. So don’t you dare try and make generalizations about who I am.”

What I didn’t want to acknowledge was that a part of me knew he was right. It scared me how easily he could peg it.

Tristan rose from his chair. I almost gulped, but I told myself to stand my ground. I kept telling myself that even as he rounded his desk and came to a stop a few feet away. I could smell him now, that spicy scent that had wound its way into my brain Saturday night and made me stupid with desire.

Staring down at me, he rumbled, “You don’t like me very much, do you?”

I stared up at him and said honestly, “You’ve given me no reason to like you.”

He smiled. It wasn’t the business smile. It was something else entirely. It was the smile he gave me when we got to his penthouse, when we emerged from the elevator, aroused and crazy with lust. It was warm and sensual. And suddenly, I was caught.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he told me.

I gave a short laugh, but it came out more nervous than incredulous.

“You loved every second of what we did on Saturday night. You liked me well enough then.”

I realized that he’d stepped closer and I pushed him away angrily. “That was before you completely humiliated me!”

He snagged both of my wrists in a tight grip and brought me closer. He was no longer smiling. “You told me all you wanted was one night, Noelle,” he growled quietly. “That’s all I can give, okay? And I did!”

“You didn’t give me one night, you bastard,” I shot back. “More like five minutes!”

He laughed, but it was dark, sarcastic. His eyes flashed dangerously. “Five minutes, huh?”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t all that gre—“

He slammed his mouth down over mine.

I struggled for all of two seconds, embarrassingly enough, and then I was clutching his shirt with tight fists. Our kiss started out angry, furious, punishing. But whether we were trying to punish one another or ourselves, I didn’t know. Our teeth clicked together and our tongues dueled, stoking embers that had been burning since Saturday night. Tristan gripped the sides of my face, bringing me closer, encouraging me. It seemed the only way we knew how to communicate was through our bodies.

Then the kiss changed. Tristan slowed it down, nibbling on my bottom lip, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs to soothe me. I gave a soft moan and I felt his smile against me. I found myself relaxing into him, forgetting that I was supposed to be angry and hurt.

Tristan pulled back slightly. He gazed down at me and that same odd expression from Saturday night stole over his face. The one that told me
I’d
caught
him
. Ensnared him.

“There,” he whispered. I felt his warm breath dance over my cheek. “This is you. This is you with that wall down. And you’re beautiful. So
goddamn
beautiful, Noelle.”

I broke away from him, taking a few wobbly steps back as I tried to regain my breath. My notebook and pen were on the ground and I bent down to retrieve them, fumbling with my pen since my hands were shaking.

“Noelle…” Tristan started, running a hand through his hair, his shirt rumpled from my fists.

“Don’t,” I whispered, holding out a hand when he started to follow me. “Please, Tristan, just…don’t.”

I turned around and left his office, hearing the click of the door behind me. I didn’t pay any attention to his secretary but I could only imagine how I looked in her eyes, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled.

I went into Tristan’s office feeling confident that he wouldn’t be able to affect me. But in less than ten minutes, I came out feeling more confused than ever.

And his words kept running around and around in my head.

This is you. This is you. This is you.