Daryl left me sitting alone with nothing but my demons to torment me. Each one in turn marched through my mind flying his fucked up flag and goading me to spin out of control until I was sure I couldn’t go through with Daryl’s plan. I couldn’t go on knowing that Nina was with another man, even if it was only for show.
By the time night came, I’d drank enough scotch to drown my misery, but still I wasn’t as numb as I needed to be to feel okay with what I had to make Nina do. I wanted to talk to her—I wanted to explain that this was the only way and I hated it more than I hated being away from her. It took everything in my power not to pick up my phone and call her just to hear her gentle voice tell me she missed me or even that she was furious with me for leaving. Anything would have been better than being alone.
I closed my eyes and thought back to the night I first met Nina. I’d barely recognize that man if I met him today. Surrounded by gorgeous, vapid women with little to offer other than their bodies, I’d walked into the Anderson Gallery oblivious to anything but my own desires, intent on finding Joseph Edwards’ daughter and assuaging my guilt for my father’s crimes. I’d scanned Nina’s picture once or twice before leaving the penthouse and believed I knew what kind of person she was.
Simple. Nice. Not my type.
Not that any of that mattered. I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend or fuckmate. I was looking to make myself feel better about being the son of the man who’d had her father killed. Maybe I could hand her some money or at least if I could somehow find a way to repay her for what she’d lost, I might have been able to sleep better at night.
The balls I had to think that my throwing money at her would ever be enough to make up for what she’d lost. Even now as I remembered the man I was then, I cringed at my fucking nerve.
“Tristan, what are we doing here? This gallery is filled with nobodies.”
I ignored Kamara’s comment along with her clinging hold on my bicep and scanned the room. A cluster of people stood oohing and ahhing over artwork that looked like shit, but what did I know? Art had never been my thing. I wasn’t there to admire indecipherable pictures anyway.
The girls all grabbed glasses of champagne as the waitress passed by, emptying her tray. Traveling with six women in tow was a hassle on the best of nights, but having to deal with them drunk would likely hamper my efforts to meet Nina Edwards. I shot them all a nasty warning glance and saw they got the message loud and clear. Their job was to stand beside me, behave themselves, and look good, not cause me some bullshit hassle because they couldn’t handle their alcohol.
They all chattered about whatever meant something to them as I continued to look for Nina. From behind a column on the far side of the room she peeked her head out as she straightened her waitress uniform. Long brown hair fell down over her shoulders, and she had a pretty look about her in person. I had to admit she looked even better up close than she had in her picture.
I had to play it cool, so I pretended to enjoy myself with the actresses, actually paying only the slightest bit of attention to them. Vanessa beamed up at me, happy to have her turn as the woman on my arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nina standing with a tray in her hands, waiting to serve the semi-wealthy and society wannabes who were right at home at Sheila Anderson’s gallery. She took a step toward me and my entourage and stopped.
“Tristan, are you going to buy this picture?” Vanessa asked in her usual, cloying way. “I think it would look great hanging in one of your hotels.”
I wasn’t listening to her, though. I was too busy meeting Nina’s gaze. She held my stare and didn’t look away. She had a fearless vibe to her that impressed me. Standing there dressed like some cheap waitress, Nina looked too good for this place and her ridiculous costume. I wanted to know more about this person, but there was no way I could approach her with the gang surrounding me. I’d have to find another way.
There was a piece of art on the far wall, so I guided the actresses to that part of the room as Sheila Anderson busied herself with barking at Nina. After a few minutes of staring at another picture I didn’t give a damn about, I led the girls to the car and instructed Jensen to take me to mine at the hotel and drop the women off wherever they wanted to go. They’d done their job for the night, and I had no further use for them.
A half-hour later I was parked behind the Anderson Gallery unsure of what the hell I was doing there but sure I wanted to meet Nina in person and not only to make amends for what had happened to her father. I hadn’t planned on being interested in her. All I wanted to do was see if I could find a way to help her, but something in the way she held her head high as she did the dirty work dumped on her at the gallery impressed me.