All or Nothing at All(8)

"Yes," Brady said.

"Hell yes," Dalton called out.

"It's a yes for me, too," Cal said.

Tristan remained silent. Everyone turned to look at him. A strange stirring in the pit of his stomach warned him that if he agreed, things were going to change. He wouldn't be able to constantly avoid her. He'd be in her presence, day after day, working closely with her.

But even he couldn't deny her the promotion she deserved, no matter his doubts. No matter how much he didn't like it.

"Agreed."

"Good. I'll bring her in." Cal headed out the door and returned with Sydney. Tristan had to give her credit. Even at the moment of truth, she gave off the confident vibe of a woman deserving of success. When had that happened? When had she changed from the insecure, tentative young girl who looked to him for all the answers?

"It's official. Welcome to the board, Sydney. Congratulations."

Her joyous smile poked at Tristan's heart, but he kept it firmly barricaded. Cal gave her a warm hug, Dalton picked her up for a quick spin in his arms, and Brady squeezed her shoulder.

Tristan remained seated, somehow frozen in place.

"Why don't you talk to Tristan about your next step with Cushman?" Cal suggested. "I know we have to move fast, so I'll leave you both to work out those details."

"Of course."

Everyone else filed out, shutting the door behind them. Silence descended. Tristan watched her smooth down her skirt, grab some papers, and gracefully sit in the leather chair.

He forced himself to speak. "Congratulations."

She nodded. Tilted her head. And met his gaze with full force. "You didn't want to vote for me, did you?"

He tried to keep his expression neutral. No need for her to see any type of weakness at this point. Not when they were about to spend too many hours together on a regular basis. "No," he admitted.

Her banked anger shot out at him in sparks. "Don't like sharing the spotlight?" she challenged. "Or does my being boss bother you?"

His jaw clenched. "My ego has nothing to do with my reservations."

"Then why?" she demanded. "Haven't I proved myself at this point? Or will I never be good enough for you?"

He refused to squirm in his chair. The familiar scent of orange blossoms drifted in the air and teased his nostrils. The smooth expanse of her bare legs in those ridiculous heels bothered the hell out of him. Why couldn't she wear pants? Why did she consistently emanate sensuality with every breath? He tried to snap back his focus. "It's not that you don't deserve the promotion. You've never taken on such an ambitious project, and you forced us to make a decision based on how bad we want Cushman to sign. That isn't fair."

"Bullshit," she bit out. "I forced you to make a decision you would've dragged on for way too long. And I'll relish showing you how well I can run this project on my own. I'm not about to fail, Tristan. I worked too hard to get here, and one day I'll get the satisfaction of hearing you say you were wrong. Wrong about me and my ability to handle anything you throw at me."

His dick stirred in his pants at the raw hunger carving out the lines of her face, the sizzling heat in her eyes. The same hunger and heat she used to express when looking at him, begging him with her body and voice and eyes to take her, fuck her, claim her.

The space between them shrank, filling the air with a crackling, sexual tension that exploded in the room and tried to drag him under. He sucked in a breath, got himself under control, and swore he'd do whatever he needed to keep his distance. No way was he going back down that path. He'd once begged her to choose him, and she'd turned away.




 

 

He'd never beg again.

"I'd advise us to stick to future business," he said coldly. "We'll need to set up a conference call with Cushman and get Brady working on specific plans. I hope you'll be able to work late and on weekends. This will take up all of your spare time."

Her voice went back to its rigid distance, as if she was barely able to tolerate his company. "I'll handle it."

"Good. Let's start with the first house."

For the next hour, Tristan concentrated on the task at hand, putting his body on lockdown. Work was primary. The goal was the only thing that mattered, not this strange relationship that imprisoned his body and stirred his mind.

But the past still drifted between them, curling and wispy like smoke that eventually disappears into nothing.

"Tristan! Wait for me!"

Impatience snapped at him, but he stopped running and turned. Her chubby legs pumped with effort, but the determination on her face confirmed she would have followed even if he hadn't stopped. Sydney never took no for an answer, even if it meant ruining his game.