“Snapping at willing submissives and scaring off everyone while scowling and brooding at my bar is though? Gotta say, friend, your style isn’t exactly working for you.”
“I’m not a social butterfly. You knew that when you accepted my application and my hefty buy-in.”
“Yes, but maybe it’s time to consider making a change.” Eric slid off the stool and clapped him on the shoulder. When pain seared through the joint and shot down his arm, Tristan barely managed not to wince. “I was resistant until a cute little curvy blonde entered my life and turned it around for the better. I also sleep much better at night. Think about it.”
Tristan watched his reflection in the mirror as he faded into the crowd. Eric had changed all right. As CFO for the Rossi Group who also did field work and master dom for a club with a diverse, edgy, and growing membership, he’d taken on a helluva lot of responsibility. He’d gained some mother-hen traits, too. Like him, his friend had seen some messed-up shit in his time. His reference to sleep told him he understood what he was dealing with, but Tristan found it hard to believe anything would chase away the nightmares and pain except time and hardening his heart. He wouldn’t risk it again; it had been ravaged enough.
Something had to give though, but not tonight. He was going to his empty home to nurse his shoulder with an ice pack then to his empty bed, in his even emptier life. It was hard to believe he preferred it that way, but he did. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
Chapter 2
STANDING ON THE SIDEWALK, a suitcase in one hand and balancing a cardboard box in the other, Piper gazed up at the wrought iron gate that led to the courtyard of her new Spanish-style, two-story condo. She had to resist the urge to pinch herself. Not so long ago, her life had been a nightmare. Now, with the sun shining warm against her back, seagulls squawking as they soared toward the nearby shore, only two blocks away, and the salty scent of the ocean permeating the air, it had turned into a dream. Piper had never imagined living in California, let alone in a Santa Monica condo only a short walk to the beach, was possible for a small-town Midwestern girl like her.
The condo was a sublet from a friend of her aunt Eileen, who was looking for a reliable tenant while she worked abroad for two years. The friend had given her a great deal on the rent, or she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.
Who was she kidding? As an out-of-work actress trying to jump-start her backup career as a mortgage notary, it wasn’t in her budget, but it was an offer too good to pass up.
After breaking up with Matt a month ago, she worried a cardboard box under a bridge was in her future. It was the sole reason she’d put off ending things with him as long as she did. He was a slob, treated her like she should be grateful he’d looked her way, and he and his friends, who hung out at his apartment all the freakin’ time, were unbelievably obnoxious. Worst of all,Matt operated under the assumption she was there to cook, clean, and otherwise serve him.
“We need another round of beers, Piper!” he would bellow at the top of his lungs while gaming or watching TV with his buddies. Once she brought them, smiling but seriously unhappy about it, he’d make other demands. “Babe. Me and the guys want a snack.” And, inevitably, in the middle of their cursing, belching, ball-scratching fest, he’d holler, “Hey, Pipe. We need you to make a beer run.”
The shortening of her name had always infuriated her. How much effort did it take to tack on a R at the end? Sheesh!
She wanted to give him a piece of her mind then and there. But, her mother and grandmother had instilled in her since childhood that it was rude to air your dirty laundry in front of company. Even slobs the caliber of their host. Instead, she’d plastered on a smile and done as he asked.
Afterward, she tried to talk to him about it more than once, but he’d smugly reminded her he was paying the bills and putting a roof over her head. “If you don’t like it,” he’d added, “There’s the door.”
What an asshole!
Assuming she wouldn’t take him up on his offer, he was stunned when she packed her stuff and walked out. Losing his chef, housekeeper, and laundress in one fell swoop penetrated apparently, but she ignored his pleas for her to stay.
“Don’t go, babe. You know you love me,” he’d said, flashing the smile that had first attracted her. It no longer worked its magic.
Matt tried apologizing, something he never did. “I’m sorry, Pipe. Give me another chance.”
Except his attempts not to be a horse’s ass were too little, much too late.
In truth, she never loved him. He was tall, dark, handsome, and seemed like a nice guy—proof she was a terrible judge of character—but he mainly was what he proclaimed to be, a roof over her head.
Piper had little faith in karma, fate, and omens. Her father had always taught her that hard work was the key to success. However, in this case, she was convinced Matt’s negative energy had rubbed off on her. Before it became permanent, ending it was the right thing to do.
With nowhere to go except back home to Iowa as a complete failure, she ended up at a long-stay hotel, which put a dent in her meager savings. But the options she could afford, not including the box under the bridge, were in sketchy parts of town. LA was a huge place with a lot of sketchy.
About that same time, things took a turn for the better. Out of the two dozen escrow companies she had sent resumes to, one took a chance on her. Although digital closings were popular, many buyers preferred paper where they could go over the copious and complicated stack of documents and ask questions. After completing her first successful in-person closing, where she diligently guided the buyers through the process, ensuring every line had a signature, initials, or date, all boxes were checked, and every I was dotted and T was crossed, they began assigning her more work.