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“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I did not realize I felt this way until recently,” he admitted. “Perhaps I have been avoiding the subject myself.”
“Then what do we do?” I asked.
Tristan’s phone rang. He set down his glass and began pacing. That was a bad sign. When he hung up, he gave me a tortured look.
“I need to call Pierce.”
“He said he didn’t want to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.”
“Unfortunately, I believe this qualifies,” Tristan muttered. “The Costa Rican president is pushing the issue of a potential investment. If Pierce does not give him reassurances about utilizing his country for his new business plans, then the president is going to proactively announce a partnership.”
“But there is no partnership,” I said. “Not yet.”
“The president believes that if he makes an address tomorrow morning, he can back Pierce into a corner and force their cooperation together.”
“That’s a dumb assumption.”
“Historically, the stupidity of an idea has rarely stopped it from being seized upon,” Tristan said philosophically. He downed the rest of his drink. “I am calling Pierce.”
Once Pierce was notified, we abandoned our game and got to work. I prepared an espresso and a plate of refreshments for Pierce; he always worked best with fresh caffeine in his system, and it might be needed to counteract any alcohol he’d drank at the wedding. Tristan spent his time pacing in the study.
We heard the helicopter land on deck. Pierce and Linda came striding into the study thirty seconds later. “This had better be important,” he said, gulping down the espresso and allowing me to remove his tuxedo jacket.
“I have the conference call prepared here,” Tristan said, gesturing to the laptop.
“That son of a bitch has gotten too friendly with us,” Pierce growled as he sat down. “He’s vastly overestimated the value of his country’s role in my plans.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “Perhaps if I was made aware of your plans, I could better stave off the impatience of men such as him.”
Pierce gave him a look. “Now’s not the time, Tristan.”
“Of course,” he replied. “My apologies.”
While he got on a call with the president of Costa Rica, Tristan and I sat nearby and waited. “We have to tell him,” I said.
“His mood would suggest otherwise.”
“Then tomorrow,” I said. “But soon. It’s eating me up, Tristan. I have to get it out, even if he’s upset about it.”
Tristan grumbled something I couldn’t understand.
Pierce was on the call for half an hour. When he finally closed the laptop, he grabbed the nearby espresso cup and smashed it on the ground.
“Self-aggrandizing fucker,” he growled. “Trying to force my hand tonight of all nights. All I wanted was to impress Melinda’s family, and that third-rate world leader pulled me away. Now her family is going to think I’m just another…”
He trailed off and looked down at the mess he’d made. He sighed, then knelt and began picking up pieces of porcelain one by one.
“No,” he said when I tried to help. “I can clean up my own messes. Sorry I let my temper get the best of me.”
“Honestly, you showed admirable restraint,” I said. “I would’ve smashed the laptop against the desk.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He dumped the cup pieces into the trash, then grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped up the coffee. “It’s probably too late to return to the wedding. I don’t want to cause more of a scene by making the helicopter return to pick me up again.”
“I am sorry I could not delay him myself,” Tristan said. “He was quite insistent, unfortunately.”
“Not your fault. You did the right thing by calling.”
