“And I still might. If I decide in the middle of the night that this is all too much, I will text you that I’m leaving.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“And you still have to pay me for however many days I stayed.”
“Agreed.”
“All right, then. When do we start?”
The brushed steel Rolex on his left wrist said that the time was nearing ten o’clock. “A car is picking us up at the airport. Our first meeting is at eleven, Miss Reliable. Brace yourself.”
8
Fiduciaries
Colleen
Colleen Frost was determined to earn her salary.
And by that, Colleen meant that she would earn it by being the most reliable admin or secretary or software consultant or whatever she was and would do whatever she had to in order to bring added value to Tristan King’s business meetings.
She didn’t mean that she was going to earn it on her back.
Although, if that’s what he wanted, she might have fallen onto a bed and gone for that, too.
No, no, no. Surely she didn’t mean—
Yes.
That evening at the Devilhouse with TwistyTrader had changed something for her. Once she’d processed it, it was like she’d taken three steps sideways and viewed the whole world from another angle.
So what if she had a fling? If there was a sexy, unattached guy who was interested in an evening of fun, why the hell shouldn’t she?
Everything her childhood church had ever told her about Hell and sin and punishment started whispering in her head, and she told it all to shut the Hell up.
They’d thrown her out, so she could throw their stupid shit away.
Maybe she might be a little bit sexy, and maybe she could do rash and wonderful things even if she wasn’t dressed in a Sailor Moon costume.
Granted, she could just do what TwistyTrader DM’ed to her, just follow his written instructions to get one more Good girl and a rush of pleasure that he told her was okay, and thus she’d rid herself of this tension, this hunger that she couldn’t seem to shake every time she was near Tristan King.
But maybe Tristan King might want her for an evening, too.
Just sitting next to Tristan in the car on the way over to the office had been an exercise in self-control as his fresh, sunny cologne had trickled off his skin in tiny rivulets that she could sometimes detect with a deep inhale. He’d taken off his suit jacket. His dress shirt, open at the collar, skimmed his broad chest and tight waist so closely that it had to have been tailored.
When they walked into the office, the carpeting underfoot was so luxurious that her ballet flats sank halfway up the sides. The desk looked like it had been carved to reside in a centuries-old manor house and hand-polished with artistry that had been lost over time.
The man behind the desk stood, his height barely changing from when he had been seated in the leather office chair. When he extended his short arm, he looked like a child’s stuffed toy that had been left on the adults’ furniture, and the men shook hands. “Mr. King! I didn’t think you would ever travel to the States again after Mr. Stanley Bell passed away so tragically.” He paused and lowered his head for an instant before he continued, “I assure you, however, I have not neglected your account.”
Tristan shook his hand with two dignified pumps. “May I present my associate, Ms. Colleen Frost. Colleen, my wealth management consultant, Mr. Killian Toledano.”
Colleen grinned and hoped it wasn’t too unprofessional. “Pleased to meet you.”
Tristan told the man, “I need to discuss liquidating my holdings.”
“Liquidate?” Toledano bleated. “Why would you want to do that?”
“I’ve had an opportunity,” Tristan said as he sat in one of the two chairs before the desk and motioned for Colleen to do the same. “Actually, less like an opportunity and more like an offer I can’t refuse.”
