Tristan has this worldly, rugged persona that combined with a body he keeps in prime condition, leads your imagination astray; the man looks like he has skills where it counts. But that’s the problem – I don’t want anything more from him other than an amazing fuck. I respect him too much to ever make a play for something that could cost him his job though, and I’m not attracted to him enough to want anything substantial with him.
“Age is the problem though, remember?”
“But we’re older now. An eleven-year age gap is hardly a deal-breaker.”
I look at Alex who rolls his eyes; she’s completely missed the point.
“We stopped aging at what, twenty-three/twenty-four years old? And Tristan’s kept on aging; what was an eleven-year age gap is now more like sixteen years,” Alex explains slowly.
“He’s going to keep getting older until he dies, Dee, and I’m going to stay the same. You guys are lucky; both your parents are immortal and you’ve fallen in love with another supernatural. You’ll never have to bury anyone. My parents will die and it’s going to be really tough, so I’m in no rush to fall in love with a human I’ll outlive and by the end, would look more like their grandkid instead of their wife. Tristan and I are a non-starter. Please don’t make any of your not-so-subtle-sex-hints when he picks us up later,” I plead.
“Okay,” she surrenders. “You do know that we’ll never let you go through any of that alone right?” she asks tenderly.
“Of course. I won’t let either of you back out even if you tried,” I joke to lighten the mood. I don’t like thinking about the inevitability of my parents’ passing. “And if you insist on trying to set me up then keep it to supernaturals only.”
Dee salutes and smirks as she heads into our sleek new kitchen to locate coffee.
“Bit of a tough assignment though, given that you’re already in love with an immortal. Perhaps you should call him?” she suggests all too innocently.
Only Dee is brave enough to use Jackson to poke fun at me, and these reminders that she doesn’t walk on eggshells around me makes me value her that much more.
“I don’t have his number,” I say, playing along.
“I doubt it would be too hard to track down the super-rich, high-profile owner of FireStorm. Google would probably give you his property portfolio and you can stalk him from there. Or we can call some of our contacts to see what they can dig up.” she’s all sarcasm and sweetness.
In truth, I won’t need either of those options if my suspicions are correct; super-rich, high-profile CEO’s tent to frequent glittering charity gala’s…much like the one I’m being forced to attend.
Chapter Seventeen
Most of the time I enjoy being right; tonight, I’m hoping I’m wrong…even though I know I’m not.
My apprehension has been growing jaggedly in my stomach all day, despite Gwen, the masseuse’s, best efforts. We’ve been prodded, polished and painted to within an inch of my sanity, and when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, an exuberant stylist named Stefan pulled and pinned my hair into an artfully loose, yet intricate braid. The whole ordeal was not relaxing.
I fidget the entire time Tristan drives me, my parents, Dee and Alex to the newly refurbished Ember hotel where the gala in aid of global child poverty is being held. No doubt the whole night has been organized by some vapid socialite named ‘Bunny’ or ‘Cookie’ who has no concept that maybe the money spent on hosting such a grand event could be better spent on giving the money to the charity directly. I get that nights like this raise awareness, but honestly, five-thousand-dollars-a-plate just seems excessive.
“Smile, darling. You look beautiful,” my mom says as we arrive outside the impressive red brick frontage and modern glass canopy of the Ember Hotel.
I can’t argue with her; I’m not a bad canvas after years of fitness in the Corps kept my slender curves lean and strong. Stefan had worked magic with my hair and Dee was a genius with the still-foreign-to-me concept of make-up. Combined with the elegant off-the-shoulder, Grecian style gown in shimmering gold color, I scrubbed up pretty well.
I give her a small smile as Tristan opens the door of our limo and my dad climbs out and helps my mom, leaving me, Dee and Alex alone briefly.
“You haven’t been insecure about your appearance since you started Columbia,” states Dee quietly.
“Your point is?”
“What’s really bothering you?”
“Jackson owns this hotel.” I don’t need to see the shocked expressions to know they’re there.
“Figures with a name like Ember,” mutters Alex as he climbs out after my mother.
“Are you sure?” Dee hisses.
“The name fits so I looked into it. FireStorm made the acquisition eight months ago, renovated it and renamed it.”
“This could be a good thing. He’s likely to be here and you’re not over him – maybe you guys can work out your issues.”
“Maybe. If he even wants to talk to me; six years of radio silence, remember?”
Dee gives me a sympathetic look before following Alex out of the limo.
I’m definitely tempted to just sit here; despite my recurring dreams and all our talk of calling or tracking Jackson down, I’m not ready to face him. We joke about it, which allows me to forget that he has never called or tracked me down. The more time passes since I walked off to join the Corps, the harder it is to face the man who unceremoniously stole my heart and won’t give it back…even though he doesn’t want it.
Knowing I have to face the music, I climb out of the limo muttering shit to myself. What I wouldn’t give to be having a lazy night on the sofa with a decadently cheesy pizza right now.
The cool night air prickles my exposed skin and my brain finally catches up to what should have been obvious the entire drive here; everyone is coupled up but me. Mom and Dad link arms, Alex takes Dee’s hand, which leaves me as the unescorted singleton.
My apprehension kicks up a gear.
As a dateless woman only a couple of years from thirty, I’m no doubt going to be treated to an evening of people I’m barely acquainted with making tick-tock and you-aren’t-getting-any-younger comments.
Fucking fantastic.
I wish I could shout that I’m not getting any older either, but you know, immortal secret and everything.
Just as my mood prepares to plummet irrevocably, Tristan walks towards me and links his arm with mine.
“Why else would I be this dressed up?” he winks.
“Fancied a change? Wanted to play dress-up?” I tease.
“Believe it or not, some of us can count to five and know it’s an odd number; not great when you’re surrounded by couples.”
“You clean up nice,” I smile, overwhelmingly grateful to him for saving me from a night of pitiful looks for being single.
“The suit makes the man, isn’t that what they say?”
“Something like that.”
Tristan walks me into an extravagant black and white marble lobby with an ostentatious crystal chandelier. There’s no mistaking the Ember is being marketed as a luxury hotel. The oversized reception desk and accent furniture are all dark wood and smoke gray fabrics, and black glass vases filled with deep red, orange, and yellow flowers adorn every surface.