The corners of his mouth kick up a little further. “Not to me.”
I’m not sure what to make of that. Is it an invitation for me to ask about his sleep? That’s supposed to be the other half of this deal. He helps me with my business, and I help him with his sleep. Do we spend a half hour on each? Or do we go back and forth? How is this stuff supposed to work? So much for looking professional. I have no idea what I’m doing.
“You sound different than you do on the app.” The quiet words break the silence, bringing the spiral of thoughts in my head to a grinding halt.
My cheeks warm. I’m well aware of the wide vocal chasm between Siren Sam and my usual bumbling self. I put it down to the hour or so I spend preparing before I even begin recording a meditation for my app. Meditation takes me to another place within myself, a place where I’m grounded and peaceful. It’s quite the opposite of how I feel in my everyday life. Especially today, when I’m sitting in a public place with adrenaline spiking in my veins and Dreamy McDreamface watching me from across the table.
“Is that bad?” I ask. If he wanted to meet Siren Sam, he’ll be disappointed. It’s nothing more than a name someone else created and plonked on top of me, like an ill-fitting costume.
“No.” Tristan shakes his head. “I like your voice.” He blinks at his own words, and then it’s his face gaining colour. “I mean, both voices are nice.” That doesn’t seem to work for him either and he makes a sound of frustration. “I mean, they both have the same effect.”
My eyebrows lift and for once I don’t feel like the most awkward person in the room. “Does that mean you’ll fall asleep if I talk too much?”
“What? No. I didn’t mean—” The sentence cuts off as he rubs his hands over his face.
I can’t help but grin. Tristan Whitmore is delightful.
“Let me start again,” he says with a shadow of a smile. “I’ve gotten more sleep in ten days of using your app than I have in years. That’s why I wanted to meet you, to learn more.” He gestures towards me. “As well as provide help in return.”
My chest expands as I take a deep breath. I may not be good at much, and my weaknesses outweigh my strengths by an embarrassingly large margin, but Tristan’s words are proof I can still make a difference in the world. They fill me up in a way I don’t experience often. “I’m so glad my work has helped relieve you of your burden.”
The shadow smile, barely there though it is, snuffs out. Tristan’s face shutters and his gaze drops. He leans back in his chair, increasing the distance between us. Whatever energy connected us from the instant he walked up to the table, it’s gone now.
I have no idea what I did wrong.
Frozen in my chair, I watch Mr Nguyen bring Tristan his coffee. He thanks the older man before reaching into his backpack for a big, black notebook and a blue ballpoint pen.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” His tone is clipped now, formal. The smile he pulls onto his face is rigid and fake. “How about you tell me about your business, and we’ll see what we can do to give it a jump start.”
My hands clench tightly in my lap as I try to refrain from squirming. It turns out Tristan has two types of voice as well. I don’t find them equally appealing and they definitely don’t have the same effect on me.
“What about—” My throat closes up and I swallow before trying again. “Your sleep?”
“We can get to that later.” Opening his notebook to a fresh page, Tristan clicks the end of his pen several times in quick succession. “For now, I’d prefer to focus on you.”
But I don’t want to focus on me. That’s not what we agreed on. This is supposed to be a mutual thing; we’re supposed to be helping each other.
My gaze darts between Tristan’s face and his ready pen. He actually expects me to spill my financial guts while he gets to stay locked up tight for reasons unknown. Beneath the silent chaos of knotted fingers and twitchy limbs, my jaw clenches. That’s not going to happen.
His fake smile drops into a genuine frown at my continued silence. It’s an improvement, I’ll give him that, but it doesn’t change my mind. It took a great deal of mental effort for me to show up here today. If he can’t respond in kind, this will never work. I’ll leave empty-handed if I have to.
Granted, I’ll probably feign sickness and make a run for it before he has time to object, but the outcome will be the same. I’ll never have to see him again, so the humiliation of my exit should only haunt me for, I don’t know, a decade or so.
With a mental shrug, I look towards the cafe entrance. Who needs financial stability, anyway?
SIX
______
TRISTAN
Less than ten minutes in my company and Sam’s ready to bolt. That’s how badly I’ve fucked this up.
I didn’t mean to shut down on him. But the way he talked about relieving me of my burden—as if it was a good thing. It struck a nerve. I flinched.
He flinched back.
Putting down my pen, I close my notebook and study the man in front of me.
