Page 6 of Paradise in Progress
“I’m not taking care of you tonight,” Xander groans from beside me.
I shoot him a grin. “Nah, there’s no way I’m losing to her. Never have before, why start now?”
Two hours and a deep buzz later, the four of us are making our way out of the bar. One beer chug turned into a night of friendly competition. The rest of the table joined in, and I have to say that, eventhough I hate going to Rumors, it turned into a fun night. Zoe left an hour ago when her husband stopped in with some friends, while Rafe decided to stay back and enjoy some more drinks.
Kennedy will have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, but she impressed me. For once, she let her guard down and laughed in my company. She still felt the need to compete against me, but it was done in jest rather than hatred.
“Let us drive you home.” With my arm wrapped around her shoulders, I guide her out of the packed bar and onto the street. Lana and Kennedy live in Brooklyn, which isn’t on my way home, but I’d feel more comfortable having my driver take them than a stranger in a cab. Especially when we’ve consumed as much alcohol as we did tonight.
She stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, and I’m quick to steady her. Her head whips around, mouth hanging open, breaths uneven from the near fall. “You called me pretty tonight.”
Emerald eyes render me speechless for a moment. Of course, I called her pretty. Does she not see how gorgeous she is? “I don’t hate you, Kennedy.”
“No, you just steal every opportunity that I work my ass off for out from underneath me. No one can say no to their precious Tristan Nelson.” Her comment freezes me, and she slips from my grasp. I can only watch as she climbs into a waiting cab with Lana, realizing we’re back to this rivalry she created during our sophomore year of college.
What did she mean by that?I haven’t stolen anything from her.
Chapter three
Kennedy
My head pounds asthe queasiness in my stomach takes hold. What got into me last night? I never drink like that, let alone on a work night. I don’t usually allow myself to let my hair down and act like the twenty-five-year-old I am.
Growing up in a small town, it wasn’t uncommon for my classmates to have parties in barns or even in fields. I never attended them. Instead, I stayed in reading, studying, or taking practice ACT and SATs. As much as I loved growing up in my town, I knew there was more to life than corn fields and two-lane highways. I knew deep down I was destined for more. Or at least that’s what my parents and teachers told me.
My parents were hard workers—my dad was a factory worker and my mom stayed home with me and my sister, Olivia. It’s crazy that somewhere along the way, we both got the itch to travel. She graduated high school a couple of years after me and headed to Arizona to live with my grandparents, while I headed east to New York.
Popping a few migraine relief pills, I chug the bottle of water with electrolytes I had waiting on my nightstand in hopes this hangover ends fast. The only positive so far this morning is that I’m going to a doctor’s appointment instead of heading into the office early.
Shoot, did I set my out-of-office email?
As I stare at my dresser, I’m wracking my brain, trying to remember how I left the office last night. Hopefully, nothing important pops up between now and when I get in around lunch.
I got to my appointment on time but, of course, they were running behind, no surprise there. They tell you to arrive fifteen minutes early whenever they schedule your appointment. I’ll never understand why they ask that when they’re constantly running thirty minutes late. I’m a punctual person. If you ask me to be somewhere at ten, I’ll arrive by nine forty-five at the latest.
Now here I am, exiting the cab outside of Nelson Signature an hour and a half later than I expected. I learned while I was in the waiting room that I, in fact, didn’t turn on my out-of-office notification, because emails were pouring in.
Stepping inside the lobby, I greet the security guard as I reach inside my bag for my badge to show him. As I’m walking away, my phone dings, alerting me of a new message, and I can’t help but groan in frustration. Swapping my badge for my phone, I step inside the elevator as I read the new text message.
Zoe: Where are you?
Zoe: Tristan called for an urgent meeting in five minutes.
Zoe: You need to be here.
Shit, shit, shit. I wait impatiently for the doors to open, foot tapping on the marble floor, praying no one else calls the elevator. Today, of all days, to run behind. As soon as I step off at my floor, I beeline to mydesk. Dropping off my purse, I quickly grab my laptop and open it as I make my way to the stairs. I’m typing in my login information as I make it to the floor above us.
Looking up, I notice all the seats are occupied around the large conference room table. Furious hazel eyes find mine as our gazes lock on each other. Long gone is the fun we had over beers last night. He’s back to being a prick. His chiseled jaw hardens and a fire flames inside me. Walking into the room, everyone’s heads whip in my direction and the dread of being the center of attention rachets my nerves.
“Nice of you to finally join us.” Tristan’s deep voice silences the murmurs around the room, and I feel like the size of an ant.
I realize as I scan the room that the only empty seat is next to him, which isn’t a surprise, considering most people avoid him due to his brooding, self-confident swagger. And maybe he is a little self-centered and above all of us. This is his family’s company, after all; he’s only slumming it with us peasants until he takes his rightful place as department head.
With my head held high and a false sense of confidence, I round the table until I’m sitting in the seat next to him. Our legs brush against, and I fight the sensation that forms in my stomach at that brief touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I take in his features, which seem completely unfazed by our contact. His dark, chocolate-brown suit is layered over the top of a cream dress shirt and matching brown tie. I’ve never been one for that color when it comes to suits, but there’s just something about the way he wears it that hugs his strong-muscled body and brings out the darker elements in his hazel eyes.
My phone buzzes against the table, and heads turn in my direction again. Quickly grabbing the distraction, I bring it to my lap to avoid more stares as I glance at the screen.
Zoe: Quit eye-fucking the enemy.
