“Good to know. And, I apologize for?—”
“No need to apologize. I wanted to…do what we did.” Her gaze drops to her lap. It’s curious how she transitions from uncertain to confident. “And I still want to… as long as we keep it between us. I can’t lose this job.”
“No one will ever know. I promise.” As I say the words, I mean them, because now I understand more about her situation. She needs this job and I have no intention of her losing it over a violation of a non fraternization clause in an employment contract. If someone leveraged her need of a job, if I can get her to open up, to tell me what she knows, then perhaps I can protect her. She might be a useful witness.
Chapter16
Lucia
The morning light filters through the gauze curtains and I stretch. A twinge of soreness between my legs brings back memories of last night. The silky sheets and thick comforter are unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and partly responsible for my staying over at Tristan’s every night this week.
We’ve fallen into a routine. He leaves the office at whatever time he chooses. I leave after everyone else, but most importantly, after Mr. Peltz has gone home, and I stop by the pub and meet Tristan. We go to dinner, then come back here to his home, the place he casually brushed off as the residence he inherited.
My place is a cozy space to live. His residence is magnificent. He said the building is nineteenth century, but everything inside feels brand new. His bedroom features a modern four-poster bed big enough to fit a family, with gray wood and an upholstered velvet gray headboard. Behind the massive bed is a dressing area with two luxurious marble bathrooms, one on each side of the room. His balcony offers an unobstructed view of Lake Geneva.
The main floor, because yes, he has two floors, is more spacious than the entire home where I rent the attic. The cabinets in the kitchen are modern and lacquered white. You have to hunt and press to find things like the refrigerator or the dishwasher because every appliance hides behind panels. A dining room and an office with a fireplace are also on the main floor.
It wasn’t until the second night that I got a tour of the upper floor, with a private home gym, what he calls a TV lounge, another office and three bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms. It’s far too much space for one, but he says that his grandmother purchased it years ago and when he inherited it, his mother took it on as a remodeling project.
He has a laundry room, a private elevator and a garage with three spots, although he says he only owns one vehicle.
I never imagined places like this existed, much less that anyone I knew would own a place like this.
I push up and look around, taking in the space. My friends would never believe this place.
My phone is in my bag, which I left in the den area on a plush velvet sofa that forms an open square in front of a television to the side of the kitchen and dining room.
A visual of my clothes cast to the floor, close to my tote bag, comes to me. I could parade nude through this palace. We’re on the top-floor and elegant window treatments offer privacy. But I find myself in his closet, fingering his clothes.
One long rack of pressed shirts hang on one section, starting with white and transitioning through the color ranges to black at the end. Glass panels cover views of watches and belts. He has many suit coats and trousers and racks of ties. The one thing I don’t see are his casual clothes. Sweatpants. Hoodies.
I pull open a drawer and am met with dozens of cufflinks positioned between velvet rolls.
The difference between me and this man couldn’t be more stark. A draft chills my bare skin and I reach for one of his many white button-down shirts. I don’t feel like standing here naked any more.
I get a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror. My hair is tousled and my eyeliner is slightly smeared as I didn’t wash my face last night, but I feel sexy. And maybe I’m not brave enough to parade through his palatial dwelling nude, but the crisp texture of his shirt against my nipples and the cool air between my thighs has me eager to find him.
It’s the voices floating from the office that stop my steps in the hall. A woman is here.
I can’t make out the words, but the voice is eerily familiar. My gut tells me to turn around, but I don’t listen quickly enough. The door opens and I am face to face with his mother.
Her polished mouth gapes, but she pulls it together faster than me.
“Tristan, is this the reason you aren’t joining me for brunch? Seriously, darling?”
He appears behind her. He looks annoyed. Probably with me. In his shirt. Or perhaps just because I’m in front of his mum.
Please let her not recognize me.
“Tristan. My god. You’re there what…two weeks?”
“Three.” He places an arm around his mother’s shoulder. “And you’d best be going. You don’t want to be late for your reservation.”
She shoots me a glare that has my insides cowering. Based on what she just said, she recognizes me. Will she turn me in? It would mean reporting her son too, but I doubt anything would happen to him.
“I asked one thing of you.” She marches through the condominium without another glance back at me. Tristan keeps pace with her, an arm out as if he’s guiding her out. “And you can’t keep your hands off the assistants. You’re just like your father.”
“That’s hardly fair.”