“It has nothing to do with that, Daryl. Can you imagine what it feels like to know that another man will be with the woman you love while you have to stay away from her side? As if it wasn’t bad enough I can’t go back to her, now I have to agree to being replaced?”
Standing, he looked down at me in sympathy and nodded. “I get it, but it’s only for show and not for long. We just have to move fast to find out what there is at the heart of Karl’s secrets so Nina’s pretend relationship may only have to be those two dinner dates.”
Relationship. Dates.
Fuck me.
“Fine. Tell her I think this is for the best,” I bit out.
“Good, but that’s probably not going to be enough. I think you’re going to have to tell her. Oh, and no matter what she does—no matter how many times she calls you or texts you—I need you to keep your distance. This only works if she believes in this. Any sense of how much you hate this and she won’t be able to do it.”
“Fine, but how am I going to tell her?”
Daryl pointed to the notebook on the table. “Write her something. I’ll take it to her.”
I found a sheet of paper in an old desk and quickly wrote her a note telling her to pretend to be in love with someone else, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice the entire time. My notes to Nina always had been to show her how much she meant to me, and each word I wrote added to my betrayal of something I’d only done out of love before. Handing it to him, I silently prayed to God she wouldn’t be able to do it. That we’d have to figure something else out that didn’t involve her pretending to be another man’s date, or worse, girlfriend. Something that didn’t involve the woman I loved acting like I was dead.
“I’ll be back. It’s time you got the hell out of this place. We’ve got work to do.” He headed toward the door as I began to spiral out of control and stopped as he opened it. “Hey, she wanted me to give you a message.”
“What?” I asked, my heart pounding against my ribs.
“She said she’ll be waiting. Don’t worry, Tristan. Your life is waiting for you when you get back.”
Daryl left me sitting alone with nothing but my demons to torment me. Each one in turn marched through my mind flying his fucked up flag and goading me to spin out of control until I was sure I couldn’t go through with Daryl’s plan. I couldn’t go on knowing that Nina was with another man, even if it was only for show.
By the time night came, I’d drank enough scotch to drown my misery, but still I wasn’t as numb as I needed to be to feel okay with what I had to make Nina do. I wanted to talk to her—I wanted to explain that this was the only way and I hated it more than I hated being away from her. It took everything in my power not to pick up my phone and call her just to hear her gentle voice tell me she missed me or even that she was furious with me for leaving. Anything would have been better than being alone.
I closed my eyes and thought back to the night I first met Nina. I’d barely recognize that man if I met him today. Surrounded by gorgeous, vapid women with little to offer other than their bodies, I’d walked into the Anderson Gallery oblivious to anything but my own desires, intent on finding Joseph Edwards’ daughter and assuaging my guilt for my father’s crimes. I’d scanned Nina’s picture once or twice before leaving the penthouse and believed I knew what kind of person she was.
Simple. Nice. Not my type.
Not that any of that mattered. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or fuckmate. I was looking to make myself feel better about being the son of the man who’d had her father killed. Maybe I could hand her some money or at least if I could somehow find a way to repay her for what she’d lost, I might have been able to sleep better at night.
The balls I had to think that my throwing money at her would ever be enough to make up for what she’d lost. Even now as I remembered the man I was then, I cringed at my fucking nerve.
“Tristan, what are we doing here? This gallery is filled with nobodies.”
I ignored Kamara’s comment along with her clinging hold on my bicep and scanned the room. A cluster of people stood oohing and ahhing over artwork that looked like shit, but what did I know? Art had never been my thing. I wasn’t there to admire indecipherable pictures anyway.
The girls all grabbed glasses of champagne as the waitress passed by, emptying her tray. Traveling with six women in tow was a hassle on the best of nights, but having to deal with them drunk would likely hamper my efforts to meet Nina Edwards. I shot them all a nasty warning glance and saw they got the message loud and clear. Their job was to stand beside me, behave themselves, and look good, not cause me some bullshit hassle because they couldn’t handle their alcohol.
They all chattered about whatever meant something to them as I continued to look for Nina. From behind a column on the far side of the room she peeked her head out as she straightened her waitress uniform. Long brown hair fell down over her shoulders, and she had a pretty look about her in person. I had to admit she looked even better up close than she had in her picture.
I had to play it cool, so I pretended to enjoy myself with the actresses, actually paying only the slightest bit of attention to them. Vanessa beamed up at me, happy to have her turn as the woman on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nina standing with a tray in her hands, waiting to serve the semi-wealthy and society wannabes who were right at home at Sheila Anderson’s gallery. She took a step toward me and my entourage and stopped.
“Tristan, are you going to buy this picture?” Vanessa asked in her usual, cloying way. “I think it would look great hanging in one of your hotels.”
I wasn’t listening to her, though. I was too busy meeting Nina’s gaze. She held my stare and didn’t look away. She had a fearless vibe to her that impressed me. Standing there dressed like some cheap waitress, Nina looked too good for this place and her ridiculous costume. I wanted to know more about this person, but there was no way I could approach her with the gang surrounding me. I’d have to find another way.
There was a piece of art on the far wall, so I guided the actresses to that part of the room as Sheila Anderson busied herself with barking at Nina. After a few minutes of staring at another picture I didn’t give a damn about, I led the girls to the car and instructed Jensen to take me to mine at the hotel and drop the women off wherever they wanted to go. They’d done their job for the night, and I had no further use for them.