Page 27 of Lorcan's Obsession

I didn’t like that thought. It was like telling a hungry man to be wary of the food before him.

“Hey, Lorcan,” Brad asked suddenly. "You have plenty of women at your disposal. Why her?"

"She is peace and provocation, and I want her," I answered.

"Fuck, Loki. You sound like you know how to read," Brad taunted, his lips curving into a wide grin.

"I know how to read, dumbass."

"Sure thing, princess. Remind me to sign you up for my aunt's Christmas Eve spelling bee competition."

"I'd rather wipe the toilet with my tongue than go to your aunt's Christmas parties ever again."

“Damn, I knew you were kinky but that’s—”

"Loki,” Ashton interrupted, “you should get laid before you meet her again. You need a clear mind because this one is above your league. Way above your league. When was the last time you overworked your hips?"

"I dunno, maybe three months? I'd been on a sabbatical for two months before leaving LA. It hasn't been fun for a while."

Brad's jaw dropped, and his eyes damn near popped. It was five seconds before he managed to sputter, "You’ve got two weeks to unsabbatical yourself with her. If you don’t, I will fly to Vegas, fill my plane with the nice ladies of the strip, and dump them on your doorstep."

"But—"

"Nonnegotiable, Lorcan. Non. Fucking. Negotiable."

“Okay, okay! It’s on. You don’t need to panic. Tris and I are gonna be rolling in the sheets before the week is out.”

“Knock her dead, Lorcan,” Keaton quipped.

After ending the call with the guys, I poured two fingers of Macallan whiskey, relaxed in front of the TV, and sent an email to my assistant to clear my calendar for Tuesday afternoon. I wanted enough time to ensure all my plans were good to go. I was going to play my cards right and make sure Tristen never wanted to leave when she returned.

Over the following days, I kept stringent routines with four a.m. workouts, back-to-back board meetings, regional marketing strategies, and global market catchups. But every single day, my thoughts always circled back to her. What was Tristen doing? Was she looking forward to meeting me as well? Was she keeping busy to manage the tension and anticipation of our next meeting? I wished I had her number so I could check on her. Could I convince her to give it to me when we meet later tonight?

My doting thoughts about Tristen were interrupted when a member of our legal team came to invite me to the Gremco deliberations. Gremco was a partner supplier in our plastics manufacturing division, and they were disgruntled with our Going Green Initiative. Despite all efforts and offers to subsidize the process, what should have been an amicable, easy transition now threatened to be a long mediation or lawsuit.

And this case was reason enough for my father to call me every day complaining about our misaligned strategies. Refusing to cave into his demands pissed him off even more, but if he was ever going to see me worthy of taking over his company, I needed to follow my gut, work with our lawyers, and do it my way. I ordered the company secretary to brief him of the meetings’ outcome, and I continued about my day.

With just under six hours left until I picked up Tristen, I doubled my efforts to clear as much work as I could. Since learning of my dyslexia diagnosis as an adult, I had adapted to easier ways of consuming copious amounts of written information but kept it a secret from everyone, including my dad.

I inserted the pods inside my ear and resumed listening to the audio version of Gremco Enterprise contracts and memos lying on my desk. I occasionally picked a celebrity-signed baseball from my sports memorabilia display and tossed it in the air while pacing about my office, listening to the summaries. Soon after, I’d begin drafting emails via speech-to-text.

Before wrapping up my afternoon, I called the black card concierge team to verify my plans at the club we were meeting at tonight. Ashton was right; I had to use all the resources at my disposal to erase the misstep of two days ago from Tristen’s mind. The club manager confirmed all my requests before I left to get ready.

I went straight for the wet bar as soon as I walked into my apartment. Pouring a generous measure of the single malt whiskey, I relished the smooth burn down my throat and the smokey, spicy aroma across my nostrils. I strategized as I calmed the aggressive nerves gnawing at me.

Up till now, our meetings had been short or boozy. But I had a feeling tonight would be different. She had an agenda, and so did I. After seeing her vulnerable side, I was going to play to her tune and learn everything about her. Once we got on track, Tristen would be screaming my name at the top of her lungs. And tomorrow morning, she'd leave my apartment walking the walk of surrender.

Tristen had been very intentional in choosing our location. Her friends would be there, which put the chips in her favor. So far, I'd only met Dom, who had given me conflicting pieces of information about her. The rest of her friends were wildcards, and my first impressions with them could make or break my success in getting Tristen’s trust.

Since we’d be meeting on her turf, I did what any good prospector would do—cased out the place. An hour before our evening rendezvous, I arranged a meeting with Club Zeta's manager at their private VIP entrance. After brief introductions, he escorted me into the elite club, past the main floor that was already raging with deafening music. My table was upstairs, with a view of the onlookers below, the perfect spot for a stakeout. I wanted to know their preferred mains, favorite drinks, appetizers, or anything I could use to my advantage to charm them into going easy on me.

Shortly after, a server arrived with my requested drink, smiling flirtatiously at me. She took her time to set down the coaster and napkin, making sure I could see her cleavage as she leaned over the table. It was pleasant, but not what I came for. With a polite smirk, I unclipped two hundred dollars from my wallet and handed them to the waitress, motioning her away with my hand. Nothing would distract me tonight.

Drink in hand, I craned my neck to look at the table down below and spotted Dom walking into the club in a hurry, carrying a gift-wrapped box. Whose birthday was it? Or were they celebrating something else? Was Tristen testing me and expecting me to have brought a gift?

All my worries evaporated the moment I spotted her. Saints.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. My heart slowed to erratic, misplaced beats as I gaped at her angelic and sinful body.

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