"Yeah, I mean, this is serious shit. What if they're criminals or have ties to the Russian mafia or they're harboring illegal exotic animals or they host secret fight clubs—"
I cracked up laughing again. "Oh, my God."
"And I might be tracking Archie's whereabouts via his phone and making sure he doesn't go anywhere he's not supposed to."
"What if he doesn't take his phone with him though?" I asked in a teasing voice.
Tristan scoffed. "His phone is pretty much glued to his fingertips. But if I have to, I'll send a drone to spy on the house."
That sent a shudder through my spine because what if Tristan decided to turn all this attention and hyper-focus on me?
"Wow, it seems like you have all your bases covered. And seriously, you have access to a drone?"
"Of course I do. It's just a phone call away. And I'm not afraid to use it."
I swallowed hard. Ethan and I needed to have a conversation very soon about what he was doing to cover my tracks and how secure I actually was. But for now, I needed to guide this phone call in a different direction.
"Well, maybe talking to me is the distraction you need," I said. "Because I'm sure he'll be fine. I had tons of sleepovers as a kid and nothing went wrong, and I guarantee you my parents didn't put in all the workyoudid."
"That's reassuring."
"He'll do great. I know it. And he's probably having an amazing time. And if he doesn't for some reason, he'll just call you."
"Yeah, you're right. I did tell him to call me or text me, and I'd go get him in a heartbeat."
"And what did he say to that?"
"'Chill, bro,' I believe were his exact words."
Once again, I found myself cracking up. There was just something about Archie and Tristan's relationship that made me laugh.
"Okay," he said, "I promise to move on and I won't bring it up again. Unless he calls. Or the police call. Or—" He stopped himself and laughed, then cleared his throat. "So how was your day?"
"My day?" What could I say that wouldn't give it away? "Hectic. But good. But hectic."
"Oh yeah? Are you all set for fashion week?"
The bastard. He was so certain and smug about it, but damn if he wasn't right. "IfI had anything to do with fashion week," I began, "I would not be ready for it. No."
"Really? But it's less than a week away now."
"Oh, is it? That's good to know."
His low chuckle sounded through the phone. "Well, if there's anything I can do for you to help you with fashion week, please let me know."
"If there were, Imightlet you know. But I'm also a big girl and can handle my problems on my own."
"I know you can, baby."
I smiled to myself. "What about you? How was your day?"Are you having any trouble with your latest project?I wanted to ask, but held back obviously.
He didn't say anything for a long moment, and I thought he might not respond at all. But finally he spoke up. "Work is okay. But honestly, having you on the phone, my job is the last thing I want to talk about."
What exactly did that mean? Was it good that he didn't want to talk about it? Maybe things weren't going well?
It was strange though, because most men I'd met in the upper echelons of Manhattan's skyscraper set loved to talk about their jobs. Or I should say,bragabout their jobs. That's what it all boiled down to. Boasting, smug assholes. And I would have bet my last dollar that Tristan fit right in there with that group.
So his silence on the subject was odd. If his job was rough at the moment, surely he would have just lied about it to me and said he'd just closed some multi-million dollar deal.
