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“How have you been, man?” he asks as if we’re friends. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you at one of these things.” Yeah, no shit, he’s never been to the gala of this particular charity because all his charity work revolves around paying for politicians' campaigns.
“Well, we probably have different interests when it comes to charity,” I say mildly. “This is Tristan Jones, Tris,” I decide on the spot to give him a nickname, “this is Garret Prodi.” I don’t offer a title, first because I’m confident Tristan knows who Garret Prodi is, but also, to humiliate Prodi a bit. I don’t like him, and I take any chance I get to do it.
“Nice to meet you,” Tristan murmurs without smiling, and damn, he does look like he’s mad as hell when he isn’t smiling. I can see his perceived lack of decorum throws Prodi off, but I don’t care.
“You, too,” is all the older man says.
“What do you want, Prodi?”
“What? I just wanted to say hi.” He tries that fake as fuck smile again, so I roll my eyes in response.
“You ambushed me at the entrance so there must be something you want. Just spit it out already so I can get on with my evening.”
He straightens and puffs his chest out. I don’t know why he feels the need to do this whole posturing thing, it’s tiring honestly.
“I want to talk about the building on Convent Avenue.”
“What about it?”
“I wanna buy it.”
“Why?” It’s a residential building in Harlem, it’s well managed as all my residential properties are, and the prices are reasonable enough considering it’s still in Manhattan. Not luxury apartments by any means, but it’s a good building.
“I want to do a full remodel,” he says vaguely, and I catch on immediately and roll my eyes again as soon as I do.
“Let me guess, you want to evict more than two hundred people so you can turn it into an ugly as fuck glass monstrosity where they can’t afford to live, right?”
“What? No, of co—”
“Forget it, you know I’m not selling you anything, especially a building full of tenants. Now get out of our way so I can join my family.”
When he doesn’t, I step around him and start walking deeper into the ballroom. I see Mike’s big head tower over everyone else so I head that way. I find him teasing Iris, and before I can reach them, Connor who’s been silently behind us this whole time clears his throat.
“What’s up?” I ask looking back at him.
“Prodi’s team has been trying to hack your database, you know this.”
“Yeah, and there’s nothing else I can do about it since we already turned it in to the FBI,” I remind him.
“I know, but the attempts have been more frequent in the last few days.”
“What are you thinking?” Connor’s eyes shift to Tristan, then to me.
“We can discuss it tomorrow,” he says, and there aren’t a lot of things Connor wouldn’t be comfortable saying in front of Tristan specifically. He knows about the NDA Tris signed, so whatever he’s thinking has something to do with Gab—which I doubt—or with Eian—my two big secrets—and I don’t like when Connor starts thinking of solutions that involve Eian.
Now isn’t the time to deal with it though, so I just nod and tell him “We can talk tomorrow, but I trust you completely, Connor, you know this. If you think something more can be donesafelythen do it.” I shrug.
I can see questions swirling in Tristan’s eyes, so I shake my head at him subtly. This really isn’t the time.
“Hey, Dad. You finally made it.” Theo greets me with a hug and Tristan with a friendly pat on the shoulder. I see the corners of Tristan’s mouth lift in a barely there smile when Theo greets him, and something inside me cracks.
Open? Closed? Free?
I don’t know, but the change is instant. I see the hint of a smile not on his cheeks, but in his eyes, as he looks at Theo. And as they talk about whatever it is I should probably be listening to, all I can see is the way Tris looks slightly up at my son like he’s actually listening, like whatever Theo is saying is important.
So many people dismiss my son easily because he doesn’t work with me. He doesn’t correct people when they say he’s an unemployed trust fund baby, but my Theo is a genius, and because he doesn’t want anyone to know, no one will ever know. I’ve made sure of it, and I’ll keep making sure of it.
“Right, Harrison?” I snap out of it when Tris takes my hand. I look down at the picture our intertwined hands make. How can it feel so right, so inevitable, so new, but so comfortable?
