Although he'd said it flippantly, I sensed there was more behind his last question. Did Tristan think I was actually playing the field?
I contemplated saying yes to that, but decided that could backfire. "Just work."
"Ahh," he answered, relief in his voice. "I did a bit of research and read that fashion week is coming up."
Oh, wow. Okay. "Um, I think so?" I said, doing my best to pretend I knew nothing about that particular subject.
He laughed loudly. "I forgot how damn cute you are when you lie."
Ugh, he was impossible. "I'm—I'm serious."
And there was that easy laugh again. "Mm-hmm. So whatcanyou tell me about work and how busy it's keeping you then?"
Weirdly, despite who I was talking to, the day's huge breakthrough wanted to burst from me. After wrestling with that idea for a moment, in the end, I decided to tell him because I needed to remember what our conversations and interactions were about... making him fall for me.
"Well, I had a great day actually," I said, not having to work too hard at keeping my voice light and happy.Make him love you. Remember the end goal. "I came up with a new idea that I'm thrilled about." That was general enough, right?
"That's great. Fantastic news," he said, genuine excitement in his voice.
If only that support was from someone I actually respected and cared about, it would mean a lot more than his empty words.Play the game, girl. "Thank you."
"What is it?"
"Ha, smooth." Nice try, buddy. "All I can tell you is I think women say sorry way too much, including myself, and this is all about standing up to that."
There was a slight pause, then... "You know, that's a really valid point, something I've noticed at work with my colleagues. That's incredible that you've picked up on it, and that you're doing something about it, whatever it is."
Hmm. Okay.Nice, empty praise, I thought about saying but instead uttered, "I appreciate you saying that."
"Of course. I mean it. So did you just get home? Were you in the flow all day at work and barely stopped to eat?"
How did he know? "Yes, that's it exactly."
"I love that feeling, when everything is just clicking. It doesn't come around very often, so when it does, you've got to embrace it."
"You feel that in your line of work?"
He laughed harshly. "No. Never. But I've definitely felt it before."
"When?" I challenged him. What on earth did Tristan Hawthorne ever do where he'd be in the flow? I had to know.
"Well, let's see, sometimes when I'm fucking around on the guitar... or cooking... or playing basketball, racquetball, tennis, you name it."
Sports, I could see. I remembered him being on every team possible in high school and being the star of course. But he played the guitar too? He cooked?
"Oh? You can play the guitar?"
Another laugh from him. "I try."
"And you cook?"
"Yes. My cooking is way better than my guitar playing."
Yeah, right. "Tell me more please."
I could sense his smile through the phone, cementing my thought that this was all a big joke, an elaborate lie he was making up. There was no way in hell this man did anything in a kitchen.
"Yeah, I make a mean steak. And my risotto? People rave about it. But really, I just cook whatever I'm in the mood for. Sometimes cacio e pepe, or sometimes on a Sunday, I'll make a sauce and let it simmer all day. I do a solid roast chicken—classic, simple, crispy skin, lots of butter. Oh, and breakfast. I take breakfast very seriously."
