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Eventually, they exited the room, and Tristan led her down a long hallway. She swiped moisture from the back of her neck. Where was he taking her?
“Here we are. My office.” He flicked on a light and led her into a large room with a vaulted ceiling. The entire wall on the right was made of glass, which she could only imagine looked out on the wide expanse of lawn and woods she’d seen behind the house. Caramel-colored leather armchairs sat in front of a wide mahogany desk with a desktop computer, and a matching couch and flat screen TV made up the wall on the left. Bookcases filled with books ran floor to ceiling behind the desk. In between the shelves hung a gorgeous painting of the night sky over the lake.
He shut the door and gestured toward the armchairs. “You’ll want to clean your dress, I’m sure, and I need to do the same. There’s a sink in the garden room next door. But first, have a seat.”
She sat on the edge of one of the chairs, picking at the hem of her dress and crossing and uncrossing her ankles. He strolled to a cabinet to the right of the desk and opened shiny doors to reveal bottles of liquor and sparkling glasses.
“Wine, beer, martini?”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
Tristan gave her an odd look. “You want all three?”
“Oh…no, I meant those are all good options.” God knows she could use all three.
He poured them each a glass of white wine and handed one to her. He held up his glass, and when she realized he wanted to toast, she clinked her glass with his. “Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers,” she echoed. She resisted the urge to down the drink but took a small sip.
“Well?” he asked.
“What?”
“You wanted to tell me about your friend?”
She set the glass on a coaster on his desk. “Yes, yes I do.” A cold chill passed through her. Maybe she should make an excuse and leave? But what would happen to Hannah if she did?
She fingered her earrings and then the back of her neck. The room was hot. Too hot. According to her research, Tristan was a brilliant technologist and philanthropist and the state’s most eligible bachelor. He’d donated millions to medical research to find a cure for his mother’s illness, but there was no indication any of the benefactors had been the company she abhorred.
She crossed her fingers, filled her lungs, and prayed she wasn’t making a fatal mistake.“My friend is not doing well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The thing is…she’s fighting for her life. She’ll die if she doesn’t get help.” She wound her arms around her middle.
Tristan moved to her side, pressing a warm hand on her shoulder, like her father had done earlier tonight. The reminder had her fighting tears. He removed his hand and moved away, leaving an aching loss in the hollow of her stomach.
“You said she caught a virus?”
“Yes, it’s called Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome, or HPS. She got it from hiking with her friends in a national park. There’s no known cure. Her dad thought it was a cold at first. But she’s in the late stages of the disease. She can barely breathe. I can’t stand to see her like this.”
“Have you talked to her doctor?”
“He can’t help her any more than he already has.” She could feel his eyes on her, digging for secrets. “But maybe you can.”
He crossed to the bar and filled a glass with what looked like brandy. “How much?”
“Pardon?”
“She doesn’t have insurance? You need help with the bills? How much money do you need?”
All the oxygen left the room, strangling her vocal cords. “I’m not after your money.”
He turned, pinning her under his intelligent gaze, the bottle stopper still in his hand. “What do you want from me, Zoey? If it’s not money, then…what?”
She took a deep breath and met his eyes. She hated the lie she was about to tell, but there was no way she could reveal her healing ability. It was way too risky, and he’d be unlikely to believe her anyway. A man like Tristan believed in ones and zeros—in computer logic—not faith in things unseen. “I’d like you to come with me…tonight…spend time with my friend.”
Tristan let out a laugh that sounded both surprised and wary. “How’s that going to help? I’m a software developer, not a doctor.”
