Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
He reappears from the kitchenette in my room and hands me a glass of water. “Here you are.”
I sit up on my elbow and take it. “Thanks.”
“Well, your voice is hoarse from moaning ‘Tristan’ all night.” He shrugs casually. “It’s the least I could do.”
I giggle. “Feeling proud of yourself?”
He puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out. He’s soft now and completely natural, but just as beautiful. “Ten feet tall, actually.”
I smile up at him and tap the bed next to me. This man is so unexpected; it’s like he’s two different people. He’s hard on the exterior for the world to see, but as soon as he got naked with me, it was like a different side of him appeared. This Tristan is a lot more appealing, and I wonder how many people get to see this part of his personality. “You should be; I’m very impressed.”
He gets into bed beside me and pulls me into his arms, and I put my head on his chest. “And before you kick me out in two hours,” he says, “I have the morning off, so I’m staying in this bed until everyone has already left for the conference, and then I will leave.” He kisses my temple.
“But if you’re still here,” I whisper, “how will I sneak in my other conference lover for a prebreakfast nooky?”
He reaches down and twists my nipple hard. “Shut up, or I’m going to fuck you into a coma.”
I burst out laughing as I try to escape his grip. “You already did that.”
“I’m going to do it again.”
The group laughs at something the lecturer says as he walks around the room.
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and I hate to admit it, but Marley was right: this conference was exactly what I needed. I feel refreshed and energized, and of course, that could have a lot to do with the nocturnal company I’m keeping, but whatever it is, it’s worked.
I’ve achieved what we set out to find—a clean and uncluttered mind. Ready to focus and tackle the next six months. I’m even considering signing up for next year’s conference as an early bird to get the pricing discount.
“Hello.” Tristan’s voice comes from the side of the room. In surprise we all turn toward him.
He’s wearing a light-blue suit, a white shirt with a paisley tie, and expensive brown shoes, and his hair is perfectly styled.
I want to beam a big smile at him, but I pretend not to care.
“Mr. Miles,” the lecturer says in greeting.
“Sorry to interrupt; I just came to say goodbye,” he replies, addressing the group.
I glance toward the door and see his black leather suitcase and suit bag waiting for him.
What?
He’s leaving?
He walks to the center of the room. “I have an unexpected meeting in Paris that I have to attend, so this is it from me. My flight leaves in a few hours. I’m on my way to the airport.” He smiles as he looks around at everyone.
What?
“Congratulations on what you have all achieved this week,” he continues. “You should be very proud of yourself for putting yourself out there and attending this conference. Success doesn’t just happen; it is a mind-set. And I urge you to put into practice what you have learned and stop and take the time to celebrate the small victories along the way.” He puts his hands in his suit pockets, and he walks across the stage. “You only get one life. So you need to grab it with both hands.”
His eyes scan everyone in the room as he addresses us, and I wait for them to come my way.
Look at me.
“Put your hands together for Tristan Miles,” the lecturer says. “He’s a very busy man, and for him to donate a week of his time is almost unheard of in the corporate world. Thank you, Mr. Miles.”
Everyone claps, and he does a demure bow. My heart begins to race into a panic. He’s going.
Look at me.
He holds his hands up and claps with the crowd and then turns toward the door and takes his suitcase. After one last wave, he leaves without looking back. I stare at the door he has just left through. Not even a goodbye?
I drop my head.
Fuck.
I know that I should have expected this from him. I knew he was a cold, soul-sucking jerk, and yet somehow I’d convinced myself that I was wrong about him.
Seems not.
“Let’s discuss the theory that was bought up this morning, shall we?” the lecturer calls.
I want to run out there and tell him off for being so insensitive.
But I won’t. My dignity will not allow it.
Like a slap in the face, I’m instantly reminded of who Tristan really is and why I’ve kept him at arm’s length. I knew this about him; I knew all along he was a cold womanizer, but for some reason my mind didn’t reconcile it with the man I’ve slept with.