All or Nothing at All(28)

She shook her head. "They've already taken a substantial cut."

"An additional five percent for this job is what I'm asking. Let's get it done."

She took her time. Forked up more pasta. Tristan waited for her to check in with him, even via a veiled glance, but she seemed to be running this whole deal on her own. He kept quiet, not wanting to ruin her mojo at the moment.

"I'll discuss it with them. Give me three days."

"You have two. I need to get moving on this." His shark smile was hidden under buckets of charm. "You understand how much I want you to take this deal, don't you?"

This time, she glanced over. He jumped right in.

"We do, too, Adam, but you're still looking for a lot. We'll get back to you in two days, but then I want copies of the contract expressed to us in a twenty-four-hour time frame. We need to know about your commitment, too."

"Agreed." Adam grinned. "Let's have a toast." They raised their glasses. "To a fruitful prospective partnership."

Crystal clinked. They spent the rest of lunch going over details, and Tristan and Adam shared stories of their time in Manhattan when they had tried to take the real estate world by storm. But the whole time he was aware of the woman sitting beside him. She'd come into her full power.

It was sexy as hell.

And he didn't know what he wanted to do about it anymore.





chapter six




Maybe she'd made a mistake.

Sydney tried not to chew her lower lip and lengthened her stride to keep up with Tristan. After lunch, he'd been eerily quiet. His stare had shredded her neat barriers, and then he'd turned on his polished heel and begun walking, forcing her to follow. The swish of his pressed pants and the tap of his shoes on pavement rose to her ears. She concentrated on the hypnotic pace and keeping up.

Swish, swish, swish.

Tap, tap, tap.

The March wind tugged at her neat bun, but she was already overheated from the wine and the stress of what she'd done. He was probably pissed. She'd basically risked the entire deal on a game of chicken, and now she had to convince those suppliers to take an additional 5 percent discount. She hadn't once asked Tristan for permission to push Cushman. Tristan was a control freak when it came to running a deal, whether or not he'd agreed to let her take the lead.

But she had to go with her gut and do it on her own.

Adam wouldn't have respected her if she'd looked to Tristan. She had to set the rules up front and make sure he knew she wouldn't deal with his bullshit.

They passed the parking garage and headed toward Bryant Park. The familiar sounds of the city wrapped around them, softening the silence between them. With its raw power, naked ugliness, and glorious elegance, New York was home to the very best. From Adam's stories, which she'd greedily gobbled up, Tristan had been quite the star in the real estate market, building an important list of contacts and securing a stellar reputation.




 

 

Not that she was surprised. Looking back, she was ashamed of her need for him to fill all her empty spaces. God knows she wanted to teach Becca to be her own self before belonging to another. The thought of her daughter tightened her stomach, so she quickened her pace and concentrated on walking.

Pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, pressing into an impatient mass as they waited for the walk lights. Many ignored the flashing warnings, jumping into the street to beat a rushing cab, turning up a middle finger at the beeping and loud insults from the cabbie. Vendors took up street corners selling knockoff designer bags, pashmina scarves, and sunglasses. Artists sketched and ticket scalpers shouted amid homeless people with handmade signs begging for money. The smells of exhaust, hot dogs, and grease filled the air. She jumped over a steaming metal grate to avoid getting her heel caught, then turned right where the park opened up like a cool drink of water in the desert.

Up the stairs past 'Wichcraft, the famous sandwich shop by Top Chef judge Tom Colicchio. More vendor booths spilled out and lined the grassy center, boasting painted iPhone covers, custom jewelry, and pretty hair bands with bright ribbons and crystals. Hot soup was ladled into paper cups, served alongside churros, chili, chicken kebabs, and anything else a New Yorker could possibly crave. The ice rink would soon turn to green grass and become host to concerts and other events. Tristan stopped, lowering himself onto a bench. Still not speaking, she sat next to him.

His shoulder pressed against hers. Even in the March chill, the burn of his body heat tempted her to move closer. The delicious scent of salty ocean and warm sand filled her nostrils. Where had he discovered that cologne? She cursed the designer for creating it and driving her mad with lust. She'd never realized the beach could smell so damn good.