Theo tsked her tongue in irritation.
“The man has dozens of brown leather portfolio’s! How am I to know which one is yours?” She asked.
“My name is embossed on the cover,” he lied.
“If that is so, why would he take it?” Theo asked.
Tristan’s irritation ticked upward. Theo was a bright, perceptive young woman. Most of the time he was proud of her for that. Today he was annoyed.
“Mistakes happen all the time,” he said hastily, feigning a pleading look at her, “Now please, could you look for me?”
Theo tsked her tongue again, but rose from her chair.
“You men,” she sighed, “Sometimes you are as helpless as children!”
Tristan continued to pout in her direction until she left the dining room, then shifted into a deadpan expression as he whirled back around and glared at Ophelia.
“What have you said?” He demanded.
Ophelia looked at him with indignation and shoved her chair away from the table.
“Nothing!” She whispered loudly. “What haveyousaid?”
Tristan brows flew up, flabbergasted.
“Nothing! Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you asked me first!” She seethed.
“Well, I need to know,” he whispered loudly back, pushing away from the table as well, “I have more to lose here and I do not need my secret to get out!”
Ophelia’s lips drew into a smug smile as he pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Ha! I knew it! I knew you had no true care for my reputation. You only worry for yourself!” She continued in loud, accusatory whispers.
Tristan’s irritation ticked upward as he began to walk around the table.
“Oh, would youstopputting words in my mouth!? I am simply stating the facts, that it not to say that you are not also in a precarious situation!” He fired back.
“Oh, yes, poor little, handsome Lord Perfect might be in danger of people seeing him as anything less than a model gentleman,” she mocked, bobbing her head as she put her hands on her hips. She then blew a raspberry with her lips in the most unladylike fashion and rolled her eyes.
“Get over yourself, Tristan!” She hissed.
Irritation ebbed through him in great waves as he scrunched his nose and reached out his hands, showing her a slow closing of his trembling fists.
“What is that?” She scoffed, pointing with her chin at her hands, “Showing me how you want to strangle me? I thought Lord Perfect did not hurt or disrespect women?”
Tristan let out a rueful chuckle as he shook his head, a slow, wicked smile forming on his lips as he took a step toward. The air around them filled with static as Ophelia’s widened; as if she felt it too. She took a step back, her throat bobbing as if she were trying to swallow something.
“Hurt them? No. Never. Disrespect them? I would not dare. But teach them a lesson? Oh, I most certainly would. Do I need to teach you, Ophelia?”
Satisfaction roiled through him at her shocked reaction. Her mouth gaped open, but she gave no response. He normally did not like seeing women so intimidated, but with Ophelia, it sparked his nerve endings in a wickedly wonderful way. He’d argued with Ophelia often over the last several years, and her attitude had always irritated him- but now, suddenly, there was something else that pulsed along with his annoyance.
“Do not look at me like that,” she warned, lifting a trembling hand to point at him.
His expression remained steadfast, his pleasure at seeing her vexed increasing.
“Youneedto keep quiet about the club, Ophelia,” he insisted, taking a step closer to her. “Do not forget that you have just as much to lose as I do now.”
