Chapter Twelve
Molly
I had decided to wear my silver mini dress with the lace inserts. It was sexy, yet sophisticated, and it showed just the right amount of skin. I had arranged my hair into careless waves that fell over one shoulder and had applied only light makeup with dark lipstick to complete the come-hither look. I was hoping that my outfit, in combination with my date, might bring about the reaction I was hoping for.
At the very least, Gregory seemed to appreciate my effort. “Wow,” he said, the moment I emerged from my room. “You look drop dead gorgeous.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
He offered me his arm like a true gentleman, and we headed downstairs to Pepe Albero. I was looking forward to the meal and only slightly wary of taking Gregory as my date. But I figured either Tristan would be completely indifferent or only slightly indignant. It didn’t matter to me…much anyway. I was starting to resign myself to the fact that Tristan would never see me as anything but Jason’s little sister. He had frozen me in place in the image of the fourteen-year-old girl I had been when we had first met.
The first time I had set eyes on Tristan, he had been getting out of the car just in front of our house, and I had been hiding out in my room. He was over six feet tall, a particularly impressive feature considering that I was much shorter at the time. He had been wearing a black t-shirt and printed shorts, and his hair had that carelessly windblown look that every young aspiring model lusted after.
I had frozen the moment I saw him and the world had slowed down for a moment. And in those five seconds, I had gone from infatuation to love to longing. A part of me realized, as Gregory and I exited the elevator, that nothing had really shifted all that much since then. Ten years had passed, and it appeared I was still the same fourteen-year-old girl who was staring at Tristan, desperate for him to notice me.
“Just have fun,” I told myself harshly.
“Sorry,” Gregory asked, alerting me to the fact that I had spoken out loud. “Did you say something?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing.”
We entered the restaurant, and I was shown to what had now become my usual table. I looked around subtly, but it was clear that Tristan hadn’t arrived yet. Nakoa approached with his ready smile and two menus. “Good evening, Ms. Sinclair,” he greeted. I saw him turn to my date and a glimmer of surprise flitted across his face. In the next second, however, it was gone. “And to you, as well, Mr. Winchester.”
“Thank you, my good man,” Gregory nodded, as he accepted the menu.
“Thank you, Nakoa,” I said, giving him a smile. “Any recommendations for me tonight?”
“What are you in the mood for, ma’am?”
“Something light and delicious.”
Nakoa smiled. “Might I suggest the shrimp gnocchi with salmon then?” he suggested. “It’s superb.”
“Have you tried it?” I asked, with interest.
“Just yesterday,” Nakoa nodded.
“And, did you like it better than the tortellini?”
“I did.”
“That’s all the encouragement I need then,” I said. “I’ll try the gnocchi.”
“Excellent,” Nakoa nodded. “And for you, Mr. Winchester?”
“I’ll have the Ragu,” Gregory replied as he handed Nakoa the menu.
Once we were alone, Gregory turned to me with a touch of surprise in his eyes. “You’re very familiar with the waiters.”
“I come here almost every night.”
“So do I,” he pointed out. “And yet, I still don’t have conversations with any of them.”
I raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled in an embarrassed sort of way. “That came out sounding a little…”
“Elitist?” I offered bluntly.
“I suppose it did, didn’t it?”
“What’s your point, Gregory?”
“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s nice to see someone who takes such an interest in the people around her.”
“The hospitality industry is built on the backs of people like Nakoa,” I said. “They’re the unsung heroes in many ways. They do a lot of the grunt work for not much money, and very often they get treated the worst. I was a waitress once, so I understand what it means to serve people who don’t treat you very well.”
“You waitressed?”
“I did,” I nodded. “For two years before I started college, and in that time, I learned a lot about the world. I learned a lot about people, too. And sometimes, it feels as though they forget that waiters and servers and managers are people, too. They’re owed respect as much as the next person.”
“I agree,” Gregory nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment.
“What?” I asked, sensing that he wanted to ask me a question, but wasn’t sure if he should or not.
“Well… You’re from a rich family,” he said.
“I am,” I nodded, suppressing my smile for a moment.
“I guess I’m wondering why you chose to get a job in the first place?”
“Because of that precise mentality.”
“What mentality?” Gregory asked.
“The kind of mentality that assumes because I was born into a privileged home, I don’t know how to work hard. Or perhaps that I won’t do certain jobs because I feel like it was beneath me. My father used to say to Jason and me all the time when we were growing up: no job is beneath me. A job is a job, and there is dignity in working hard, no matter what it is. We all have a part to play.”
“Your father sounds like the kind of man who would have raised a woman like you.”
I smiled. “What kind of woman is that?”
“Intelligent, hard-working, strong, and ambitious,” Gregory told me. “With the ability to still be humble, empathetic, and kind.”
I smiled, touched by his words. “Thank you,” I said. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“I’m not trying to be nice,” he said. “I’m just being honest.”
“I saw my father and mother work hard my whole life,” I said. “And, a part of me knew that even if I never became as successful as the two of them, I still wanted to do something all on my own, without contacts or help or support from anyone. That’s the reason I started working part-time jobs from the age of thirteen.”
“Sounds like you’ve had quite a few jobs.”
“Oh tons,” I said. “I waitressed, I had a paper route, I sold shoes in this huge department store close to home, I did grunt work at the local zoo, I worked in an old folks’ home for two summers in a row, and I worked in a couple of publication houses in the city.”
“What was your favorite job?” Gregory asked.
“Surprisingly, it was working at the old folks’ home.”
“No way.”
“Honestly,” I said. “They were all just so sweet… I made some friends while I was there. But working at the zoo was a close second.”
“Wow,” he said, and he looked impressed. “Worst job?”
I thought about it for a moment. “Waitressing, probably,” I said. “I had good moments, but more often than not you end up getting yelled at by some rude customer who’s taking his bad day out on you.”
“Hence the empathy for waiters?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
I got distracted for a moment when I noticed Tristan enter the restaurant. As his head turned in our direction, I looked away quickly so that he wouldn’t catch me staring. I realized after a second that I was actually enjoying talking to Gregory. He was easy to talk to, he was obviously interested in what I had to say, and he was actually wittier than I had expected him to be.
I decided to focus on him and push Tristan from my thoughts. Even as I resolved to that, however, I secretly hoped that he would notice and would feel a little jealous.
“What about you?” I asked. “Have you had many jobs before you made it big?”
Gregory smiled. “The truth is, I’m one of those spoon-fed rich kids. My father was a powerful man, and he pulled strings to get me into Harvard. Afterwards, he got me a job in this company and things sort of snowballed from there. I made contacts, rose through the ranks, and when I was confident enough, I started a company of my own. None of which would have happened at all if I hadn’t already been rich.”
I smiled. “It’s nice that you’re so honest.”
“You have to be honest with yourself if you expect to get anywhere in life,” he observed. “I’ve worked hard for what I’ve achieved, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I never had to start from scratch. I always had opportunities handed to me. You can’t know how much I admire you for doing things on your own, instead of relying on your parents.”
“Hey, I’m not judging,” I rushed to tell him. “There’s nothing wrong with getting help when someone offers. The point is that you take the help you’re given and make something more of it. It’s what Jason did, and it’s what Tristan did, too.”
“That’s—”
“Molly,” a hard voice said at my shoulder. “Gregory.”
I turned around in surprise to see Tristan standing over our table, staring daggers at Gregory. His expression was cold, bordering on furious, and I was shocked at how harsh his tone was.
“Tristan,” I said uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Tristan demanded of Gregory, without even looking at me.
Gregory kept calm and regarded Tristan coolly. “I’m having dinner,” he said, with a faint smile. “What are you doing?”
Instead of answering him, Tristan turned to me. “Molly, come with me.”
I bristled at his commanding tone of voice. “Excuse me?”
“I need to speak with you—now.”
“About what?”
“I think Molly just wants to have dinner with me, Tristan,” Gregory said. He put his hand on Tristan’s arm, but Tristan shook it away violently.
“Tristan,” I said, standing up. “Calm down; if you want to talk, let’s talk. Excuse me, Gregory.”
I could sense how tense and cold Tristan seemed to be. The moment we had turned into a large, deserted corridor, he rounded on me.
“What are you doing with him?” he demanded.
I raised my eyebrows. “We were having dinner,” I said. “Before you interrupted us.”
“He’s not good enough for you.”
I was taken aback by the reaction. I had hoped for a little jealousy, but I’d never expected this kind of uncontained anger. I couldn’t even be pleased because I was so shocked.
“He’s not?” I asked in disbelief.
“He plays the field,” Tristan blurted out. “He flits from one woman to another without a care in the world.”
“Something you have in common with him.”
My comment made him pause for only a second. “He’s too old for you; he’s too experienced, and you’re too—”
“Too what?” I demanded, starting to get angry myself.
“Too…young,” Tristan said, tripping over his words. “Too inexperienced…too pure.”
I blinked at him for a moment. When I found my voice, I took a step towards him and looked him directly in the eye. “I am not a child, Tristan,” I said through gritted teeth. “I am no one’s plaything, and I certainly am not yours to be told who I should or should not be having dinner with. I am a grown woman. And I will make my own decisions. If you don’t like it, then that’s your damn problem.”
Tristan was quiet for so long that I started to feel a little uncomfortable. The coldness in his eyes ebbed a little, but I could see that he was still angry.
I shook my head at him. “I can’t believe you still see me as a child.”
He looked down, breaking the eye contact between us. “I definitely do not see you as a child,” he said softly.
The change of tone surprised me, prompting me to search his face for some clue as to the cause. His intense dark eyes were masked over, and I could barely decipher what was hidden beneath them. I felt the heat between our bodies and the tension of our exchange, and for one insane second, I thought he was going to kiss me.
And just as my body leaned in towards his, Tristan turned his back on me and walked away without so much as a word or a backward glance.