"I never really got to know my mother. She died when I was five, and from then on, it was just my father, my sister, and me."
Tristan's opened his eyes and turned to me, pushing my hair off my face to kiss my cheek. "I'm sorry about your mother. I guess I was lucky to have twenty-five years with mine."
"I lost my father right around the time you lost yours. Someone gunned him down one night while he was working on his latest exposé of some industrial problem or something. I don't remember. All I know is that one night he was gone, and I felt like I was alone. But then I remembered that he told me when my mother died that the people we love never leave us as long as we keep loving them. It's hard, but I think he was right. It's four years next month, but he's still with me."
Pulling me closer to him, Tristan's body tensed. "I'm sorry, Nina. I guess we've both seen a lot."
Chapter Thirteen
"So what do you think?" I asked nervously as Tristan stood next to me, his arms folded.
His face was expressionless, something I suspected was intentional, even though the twinkle in his eye made me believe he liked my choices for the Presidential Suite. The series of prints showing hand painted blue and white vases was simple, but just the thumbnails on my laptop screen gave the overly golden room an entirely different and more pleasant feeling.
I knew I was feeling pleased with my choices. Now it was just up to Tristan to give them his seal of approval.
His silence was unnerving, though. While I didn't mind standing there staring at him, I could think of better things to do that involved the two of us together.
"Well?" I asked again, hoping to egg him on.
Tristan turned toward me and smiled. "I don't think so. I'm not in favor of these."
Everything in my body sagged for a moment before my brain clicked into defensive mode. What did he mean he wasn't in favor of them? "What's wrong with them?"
He tilted his head as he looked at the pictures again. "They don't work for the feeling of the place."
"You mean the gold feeling?" I asked sarcastically.
A slow smile spread on his lips as he straightened his head and looked over at me. "I like the colors, but the images aren't right. You'll have to try again."
"Hmmmph."
"What was that you said?" he asked, obviously teasing me.
I stuck my tongue out and pouted. "Nothing. I have work to do. Art doesn't just happen you know, Mr. Stone. When I'm ready, I'll request your approval again."
He flashed me that warm and sexy smile that made me think about him on top of me in bed. "Thank you, Ms. Edwards. When you need me, I'll be in the other room. Dinner is at five."
Grabbing my laptop off the desk, I turned and walked toward the end of the suite as I yelled back, "I'll be hungry by then, so I can see me showing up, Mr. Stone."
I didn't look back to see his expression at my comment because it was too hard to keep my hands off him when he looked so good. How anyone could make a pair of black pants, brown dress shirt and a tie look so incredible was beyond me. Suddenly, an idea jumped into my mind. Who picked them out?
My curiosity quickly took up every inch of my mind, and I returned to the outer room to find him standing and reading the newspaper. "Tristan, do you buy your own clothes?"
He looked up from the Wall Street Journal and raised his eyebrows. "No."
"Oh." That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. Now I had a vision of one of his actresses trolling upscale men's stores picking out his wardrobe with loving care. Or worse, one of them picking out his clothes and then calling him like Tristan had called me in the dressing room. I was nothing if not ordinary when it came to the green-eyed monster.
"I have a personal shopper handle that. His name is Angelo. Is there something you want me to tell him for the next time he does my shopping?"
For the moment, my ugly jealousy crawled back into the dark recesses of my mind and I rejoiced at the idea that Angelo was the one with the incredible taste. "No. He's doing a great job."
Tristan put the newspaper on the coffee table and came to stand in front of me. Looking down, he ran his finger along my jaw line. "I'm sure Angelo will be happy to know my girlfriend approves of his choices."
Girlfriend. I was his girlfriend.
"Well, at least he is successful with his choices," I joked as I turned to go back to my work, pleased with that one word he'd said with such ease.
"Okay, this time you're going to be blown away by my choices. I see what the problem was with the first group, but this will get the Tristan Stone seal of approval. I know it."
To be honest, much of what I'd said was bluster, but I did want him to approve of my art choices. As much as I truly wished to succeed at my job, I wanted more to make Tristan as happy as he made me.
I held my arm out like a hostess on a game show and introduced him to the thumbnails of a series of five watercolors of blue and white Mexican owls. Charming yet sophisticated, they were more in line with a southwestern motif and still helped to diminish the effect of the overwhelming gold found everywhere around me. Now all I had to do was convince Tristan they were as perfect as I thought they were.
"Let me introduce you to the Mexican owls."
He leaned down and rested his palms on the table as he studied the pictures of those sweet birds. I saw his eyes move slowly from left to right across the screen before he turned his head to look at me. "Okay. Tell me why these are perfect."
"These are pictures of owl pottery from Mexico. Containing a number of different shades of blue from navy to royal blue along with pure white, they're examples of Mexican folk art, as can be seen in the floral motif painted on the part of the bird's body below his head. As we're in Texas, which has been heavily influenced by Mexican culture, the pictures of these pieces work with the area, and the blue and white colors are perfect to alleviate the overpowering gold your decorator seemed to fall in love with courtesy of your checkbook."
His gaze never wavered from mine as I spoke, and when I was done, he looked back at the pictures and stood to his full height. "Very nice, Nina. Very nice. Thank you."
As we were in work mode, I suspected that was all I was going to get. Perhaps I'd receive a bouquet of flowers tomorrow, though. That might be nice again, and this time I wouldn't throw them in the trash.
"Thank you, sir," I said playfully. "I'm pleased you like my choices for your suite."
"Sir?" he asked in a stern voice.
My face warmed at his question, which told me I might have taken my teasing too far. "I was just playing around. You know. Lightening the mood a little."