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“She’s drunk. Very, very drunk. And I apologize; she should’ve never spoken to you like that. I spoke to her about it, and trust me, it won’t happen again. I’m very, very sorry.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “What a rough start to your first day, huh?”
Better than sleeping in my car.
“It’s fine. Please don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge.”
Tristan nods, then blows out a breath. “So ... what kind of tea are you having?”
“Chamomile.”
He pulls a face. “I can’t stand chamomile.”
“Then why do you have three tins of it in the pantry?”
He shrugs. “It’s a trademark tea. Just feel like I should.”
“Does Nina like it?”
Tristan pauses, taking a second to consider this, which surprises me. “Nina has never been a tea drinker.”
When he steps next to me and reaches into the pantry, his shoulder brushes against mine. He smells like sandalwood.
He grabs a tin of black tea and winks. “Always black for me.”
“Even at midnight?”
“Especially at midnight.” He grabs a mug from the counter and fills it from the kettle to the brim. “I work best at night.”
I take a step back to allow for distance between us. I’m not sure why. I lean against the counter. “So, where is she now?”
“Meredith?”
Of course, Meredith. Who else would I be talking about?
“She’ll be staying here tonight,” he says.
My eyes pop open wide with surprise. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. Meredith is drunk, so of course Tristan wouldn’t let her drive, but I assumed that he would either drive her home himself or call an Uber for her.
Tristan contemplatively dips the tea bag into the water.
“Meredith,” he mutters, “has some problems. Aside from being a raging alcoholic—the kind that starts drinking right when they wake up—she suffers from depression and panic disorder.”
“I could’ve guessed the panic disorder.”
“Right? And that wasn’t even a full-blown panic attack.”
I watch him closely as he sips his tea, mentally weaving more details into the story of Tristan Carrington.
Tristan’s first wife, Meredith, has a mental disorder. His second wife, Nina, also has a mental disorder (according to the prescriptions), before having a stroke that incapacitated her.
Huh.
Either Tristan is the type of man who loves crazy women, or he has terrible taste in women. Either way, I feel bad for the women.
“I gave Meredith her medicine,”—another woman on medicine?—“and she should be out like a light soon. She’ll stay here until she climbs out of this latest hole she’s dug for herself. Probably two days.”
Two days?
A million questions pummel my brain. Why doesn’t this Meredith woman have friends that can pick her up and take care of her? Or a husband, or a grown child? Is she married with a family of her own? And lastly, why wouldn’t Tristan just kick her out like I would hope any married man would do?
