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She comes down and hands over all her devices. I’ll go up to her room and take the cables off her TV later, for now, it’s time to deliver the final blow.
“You’re coming to the gala tonight.” I use all my years of impersonating a robot in this second. Trying not to crack up when one of your children pouts and whines is one of the hardest parts of parenting.
“Noooooo, Daaaaad. I already confirmed I’d be going to Della’s party tonight.”
“Too bad. You’re putting on whatever Ma chooses for you, smiling all night, and dancing with me at least twice.” The satisfaction I get out of dishing out her punishment is infinite, not that Ma will choose anything for her Iris wouldn’t like, but still. “Now sit and stop making everyone uncomfortable or you won’t be part of the crisis talks until you turn twenty-five.”
She wisely does as I say.
“What’s tonight?” Zoe asks while Tristan keeps staring at me, confused.
“A Christmas gala I attend every year. A fundraiser for a charity I support.”
“Right.” Zoe seems to have composed herself. “So you’re in? Because if you are, Tristan and you should make your first appearance there. It’s the perfect opportunity. It would also bring even more media attention to the event.” The last sentence convinces me, but I’m not the one who needs convincing. I look at Tristan, letting him have the last word.
He looks from his sister to me and back again at least five times until I see he needs to talk it out.
“You can talk in private if you need to,” I suggest, motioning to both of them.
“Actually, can I speak with you?” His request is a surprise, but I don’t mind. I nod.
“Follow me.”
I close the door to my office and sit on the couch I have placed facing the window. Tristan sits next to me and keeps a good foot of space between us. He runs his hand multiple times through his hair, messing up the strands and making them stand up.
He’s clearly nervous, but he also asked to speak privately with me, so I stay silent and let him take all the time he needs to compose himself.
I use the time to study his profile. He has a prominent nose, slightly crooked like maybe he broke it a good decade ago. He’s clean-shaven, his jaw not quite as sharp as mine. Outside, with the coffee table between us, he looked older than he does up close.
I know he’s thirty-five because I investigated their business when they first started leasing an office space in one of my buildings, and after learning who their clients were and how they handled them, I kept a close eye on what they were doing. I did it only because I thought if I kept seeing such amazing results from them, I could eventually recommend them to one of the Kings players, I never thought I’d need them for myself.
But no, Tristan doesn’t look like a thirty-five-year-old business owner. He has rounded cheeks, angelic curls, and no wrinkles.
Either he’s had work done or he takes great care of his skin, there’s no other option. His lips look bitable as fuck, rosy pink. I immediately picture my cock disappearing between them.
“I only want to lay out what doing this would actually mean.” I look up from his mouth to his eyes, I need to stay alert with this one because he’s probably just as observant as his sister.
I don’t know why, but I think I need to keep my attraction to myself. At least for now. I place my ankle on my knee in the hopes of hiding my growing erection. It’s beyond unprofessional.
“Great, go ahead.”
“We’d have to hold hands.”
“Yes.”
“We’d have to act like we’re in love,” he continues, voice tight. He sounds on the verge of losing his temper. Why is he pressing this?
“I know.”
“We’ll probably have to kiss.”
I stay quiet after a beat, contemplating if I really should say what I want to say. I do, I decide quickly. He’s the one who brought up kissing, and I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. Looks like I’m going with my gut.
“You do realize I’m bisexual, right?”
“Yes,” he answers with trepidation.
“Well there’s your answer, I don’t think there’s a gay, bi, or pan man alive who’d have an objection to kissing you. Is it a problem for you?”
