Chapter Three
Tristan
I whistled as I pulled into the parking lot at Frank’s. Coming to Frank’s is almost as good as watching minor league hockey, but since the season was over, that wasn’t even an option. Besides, I was taking Amy, my PA who had taken Adrienne’s place, out to lunch and you can never go wrong with a steak from Frank’s.
As much as I had loved working with Adrienne for so many years, the truth was that Amy was so good at the job, it would have been better had she started a few months earlier.
In fact, though I had no clue about the details, I was sure she’d pulled off a last-minute coup barely a week after she’d taken over the job, somehow helping us keep my firm’s top client in the fold after he had already seemed to be out the door. Drake Mathison, the NFL’s best tight end and a guaranteed first ballot Hall of Famer, was still with Thorne Enterprises, and it was because of Amy. I just knew it.
In the meantime, I had to keep my mind on work and that meant focusing on my team. And, I owed Amy a lunch. Maybe she’d spill about what went down with Drake, maybe not. I wasn’t going to press. I was still basking in the relief of her unexpected competence in the job. She was my new right-hand.
As I helped Amy out of the car, I couldn’t help but notice through the fog of whatever whipsawed emotions I’d been going through, that she more than held her own in the looks department. To this day, I still can’t figure out how I didn’t notice it sooner. All the times she’d filled in at Adrienne’s desk for sick days or long lunches, I really should have noticed. I admit, having someone who can turn a few heads was good for business, at least in our sector.
Everyone had loved Adrienne, but she was like the favorite aunt who helped you out when you had nowhere else to turn. I’m not knocking her, she was attractive in a motherly way, but nobody ever accused her of stopping traffic.
But Amy, well . . . I was fully aware there had been a few heads turned since she’d begun manning the bullpen outside my office door. Mine being one of them.
I still found myself thinking about what had happened a few weeks back in my office after Amy had somehow saved my ass and convinced Drake to stay with Thorne Enterprises instead of signing with my arch competitor and former boss, Liam Rose. I’d tried to give Amy a hug. It was one of those we-both-turned-our-heads-the-same-way moments. Next thing I knew, I was kissing her, and I didn’t pull back right away. She didn’t, either. Then after my embarrassed apology and our agreement to forget it ever happened, I sure as hell hadn't been able to forget, and I wasn’t that sorry.
Along with her promotion, she’d started wearing clothes more fitting for her new position in a more high profile area. We represented superstars — athletes who mingled with pop stars and Oscar nominees. Amy’s attire had gone from a little conservative to sharp and hip but still professional…and certainly a little more form fitting.
As her boss, I completely approved.
As a red-blooded, recently ditched, possibly broken hearted male, I couldn’t help but enjoy the distraction.
That’s what it was, though—a distraction. Out of nowhere, I would find myself looking at her perfectly shaped lips and thinking about that kiss. It was very distracting. But the last thing I needed was to risk losing someone who was keeping the office running like a damned Super Bowl team. Amy had told me this was a dream job for her, and I respected that. Taking her to lunch wasn’t for me to make a move. It was work. We were here because she’d saved my bacon, professionally, and I’d promised her a steak from Frank’s.
Frank’s was a phenomenal restaurant just outside of downtown with a classy sports bar smack in the middle of the main dining room. Drake’s team was a little under an hour flying time to the south, but this is where he was born and raised, and he was the very definition of a hometown hero.
The permanent denizens of the bar, a bunch of retired old coots, worshipped Drake, and by proxy, I was reasonably popular in the establishment, too.
I tried not to think about the evening Peyton and I had spent, before she’d become Drake’s girlfriend. That wasn’t a memory I could allow myself to dwell on.
Forcing myself back to the present moment, I held the door open for Amy and walked in behind her.
“Mr. Thorne, so good to see you.” Antone greeted us in his perfectly tailored white dress shirt and black jacket. He never wore a tie.
“Thanks, Antone, good to see you, too. This is Amy Nolan. She’s taken over for Adrienne.”
“Ms. Nolan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Antone, and if there is ever anything I can do for you, please ask.” He reached out to shake her hand, but pulled it to his lips and kissed the back instead. I smirked a little. Already, Antone was charmed by my new right-hand.
She smiled. “Nice to meet you, Antone. Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
“Have you never been to Frank’s before?” he asked.
She grinned. “First time.”
“Then what will it be?”
Maybe it was her smile that got me. “We’ll take a private room, thanks.”
Antone turned to signal something to his staff. Three busboys in white shirts and black slacks began to move.
“Wait, sorry, Antone. I don’t know what I was thinking. For Amy’s first time she should be getting the real experience. Let’s take a booth in the main room instead, if you have one.”
“Of course.” The maître d’ let out the slightest little whistle through his teeth and the busboys stopped almost as though shock collars had gone off. They pivoted and saw Antone’s new gesture and in zero point two seconds, without a single clatter, fresh settings, including a single giant red rose and bread still steaming from the oven, appeared on the table before we’d even started moving.
I watched that infectious smile of hers spread over her face as they worked and caught the aroma of her perfume as she glided in front of me, following Antone to our booth. The way she looked back over her shoulder at me with those excited blue eyes made me wish I hadn’t suggested we sit in the main room after all. The urge to hold her hand, to kiss her again, for real this time, to take her away with me was as strong as it had ever been. Of course, my wishy-washy emotions made me one hell of a pathetic mess and Amy didn’t need nor deserve to see it. So, on third thought, a private room would have been a disaster.
“Tristan!” The barstool residents sent up the call like a bunch of ahoys from a pirate ship. It made Amy grin and I introduced her around.
“He gives you any trouble young lady, you just call us. We know where he lives,” a bearded older gentleman at the end assured her.
That wasn’t a lie. Many of them had been over a time or two after Drake’s games.
“You sure you ready to put up with this mutt? I hear Adie’s happier’n a freakin’ clam to be done with it,” the man next to him added.
The ribbing continued. Amy took it well. She smiled and gave the old bastards that perfect mix of shocked and delighted, her hand going to her cheek and red lips forming a perfect oh before laughing at their terrible jokes. Their gooses were cooked.
“Alright, alright. Leave her alone. This is a business lunch for chrissake!” I said with a hint of seriousness.
“Ah, Tristan, you’re a slave driver. Pull up a seat at the bar.”
I just grinned, and Amy took my arm while managing to act disappointed at being dragged away from such impeccable entertainment. Her hand on my forearm made me feel taller, which was both extremely welcome and made me think I was an idiot.
After we were seated, I said, “I could use a beer. You?”
“Love one.”
I saw Antone glance over in our direction. I smiled and let my head dip about a twentieth of an inch. From across the room, Antone repeated the gesture, and within five seconds two perfectly poured amber beers in frosted mugs were set in front of us.
Amy grinned. “Show-off.”
“I’m just trying to make Antone look good.”
“I don’t think he needs much help in that department.”
We laughed.
“Want to see another one?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Mind if we let Antone decide our meal?”
“Not at all, long as I get that steak you promised me,” she said.
I liked that game, but still knowing exactly what she wanted. “Oh, you will. Lean over so you can see.”
She obliged, and while it was truly the last thing I had intended, I got a sudden glimpse at the top of her black bra down her black button-down shirt.
“What am I looking for?” she asked.
I finished gulping. Then I let my hand fall to my side and in the smallest little circle gave my index finger a twirl. She sat back up and watched Antone. The man turned his head an inch to the side, and a waiter was at his arm, no pen or paper in sight. We couldn’t even see Antone’s lips move, but the waiter nodded as he muttered and left for the kitchen.
“This is fantastic!” she said with her smile lit up.
“Old school.”
“What’s he going to give us?”
“He mixes it up. Could be New Yorks or rib eyes. He won’t give anyone a filet unless they ask.”
“Good, boring,” she said.
I laughed. “You won’t get a better steak; I’ll promise you that. But he’ll give us some classic sides along with a few surprises.”
“My mouth is watering already,” she said.
“So, I feel like I’ve been rude as hell to you,” I said, changing the subject.
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know exactly, other than it’s like you just appeared in my office in a flash. What’s that old mythological story? Born whole right from a god’s thigh or something?” I tried to remember the tale.
She looked at me curiously. “You mean Dionysus. Zeus had to stitch the baby into his thigh after he burnt his mother to a crisp, just by showing himself to her.”
Something about the expression on my face made her blush.
“I think I’m in over my head,” I said.
“Oh, I’m such a nerd.” Her blush deepened.
“Are you kidding? I love that. Nerds are some of my favorite people.” I nodded in encouragement. “Tell me more.”
“Well, it was Hera, Zeus’ wife. She spent pretty much every minute of her immortal life in a state of hysterical jealousy over Dionysus’ mother, Semele. Hera was sneaky and disguised herself and convinced Semele to make Zeus promise to show her his true form, which Hera knew no mortal could survive. Semele asked Zeus to promise to grant her one wish, which he did because he was in love with her. When she announced that she wanted to see his true form, Zeus was devastated because he knew it meant her death, but he had given his oath. Zeus stitched the premature infant she was pregnant with into his thigh and carried him there until the baby was ready to be born. It was tragically romantic.” She sighed heavily and picked up her beer. “On a side note, Dionysus is said to have invented the process of growing grapes and making wine. Can’t blame him. Who wouldn't need a drink after all he'd been through!”
“We could switch to wine if you like?” I said, raising my mug.
“No, beer’s good. Great, actually.”
We toasted and drank. I remembered the first time I’d had a beer with Peyton. The foam on her lip had turned me on, and then when she had licked it off…
Amy managed to not have to bother. She didn’t even have to wipe her lip. It made me wonder just how accidental Peyton’s mustache had been.
“You’d think he would have broken that promise for the woman he loved,” she said. “Typical male. But he couldn’t go back on his promise. All the stories say the one thing gods were bound by was their word.”
“How do you know so much about it?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Some things just stick like glue in my memory. I never forget a great story.”
“Speaking of… are you ever going to tell me what went on that day Drake changed his mind?” I was smiling when I asked it, but she was blushing again. It really was rather attractive. “No pressure. Someday when you feel like it. I just wanted to say thanks.”
There was that smile again. I tried not to gulp, again, but I don’t know whether I succeeded. She looked down at the table.
I suddenly realized I’d better shift gears, if not stomp on the damn breaks and throw it in reverse. “So, the draft. Who do you think’s going first?”
She didn’t even have to pause to think. “Well, New York’s got the pick, and Stuecey retired at the end of the season.”
“So you don’t think they’re trading?”
“Not with Ben Gregor coming out,” she said.
“I agree. So, first pick’s a defensive lineman this year?”
“That’s what I’m putting my money on.”
She was full of pleasant surprises.
“You’re betting in the pool?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said it like I’d be ridiculous to think she wouldn’t be.
“Can I see your picks?” I raised an eyebrow. It was a bold question. I pulled out my phone. “C’mon, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She laughed, reaching for her phone. “Fine.”
We both saw the alert on our screens at the same time. New sports stories scrolled across my phone at all hours, but big ones got flagged by anyone in the office bullpen. We both stopped talking and to read the alert.
I let out a few grunts of disbelief, while Amy just looked a little grim as she read. Finally, I said, “What a bunch of horseshit!”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “The double-standard for women in media or the part where those jerks got physical with her for asking real questions?”
I blinked. Part of my brain was acting like a flagman on an old aircraft carrier, Emergency! Coming in too low! Wave off, wave off!
I cleared my throat and spoke my mind anyway. “I mean the part where she asked Parker questions he couldn’t have answered more thoroughly than he did when he announced he was coming out for the draft, and then acted offended when he decided not to take her bait.”
We stared at each other. With perfect timing, our food arrived. She broke eye contact first, but that may have been only because she was a virgin at Frank’s and it’s hard not to stare at the plates when they arrive. They are practically a work of art. The steak sizzled on its crust from super-heated clarified butter.
I laughed. “You can get pissed at me later. Let’s enjoy the food.”
She was already carving. With her first bite, the noises she began to produce were almost obscene.
“Uh, need a little privacy?” I joked.
“Oh my God. Maybe,” she mumbled. Her mouth was still full, but I couldn’t blame her. Everyone had the same reaction. “Oh my God.”
Just as I peered at the plate in front of me, our waiter materialized at the table with the side dishes. “Whole white buttons, seared brown on top until they give up their liquid, then finished with lemon juice and zest, toasted garlic, and parsley. May I?” he asked.
“Thanks,” I said as he spooned the food onto our plates.
He vanished as quietly as he appeared and all I could do was look at Amy.
I’d seen the expression before. Everyone who’d ever had their first bite of a steak at Frank’s wore it.
We ate in silence for a while, guzzling our beer and shoveling food into our mouths. I half suspected she wouldn’t have heard me even if I did try to say something.
Toward the end of the meal, I noticed she did what most regulars do. Her final four bites were steak only. When there was only one left on the plate, she took one more swig of beer then popped the steak in her mouth, closed her eyes, and savored the last bite.
Whe the waiter arrived with the dessert cart, she smiled and shook her head. “If the last thing I ever ate was that steak, I’d die happy.”
I couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t acting like she was so full she was going to die, although she’d matched me bite for bite and I sure as hell felt like taking a two-hour nap. She didn’t moon over the chocolates and sorbets like she wished she could have some if only there were room.
“What?” she questioned, seeing my smirk.
“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about that article,” I lied. I was being a sap, and I hated myself for it. She was my personal assistant. She worked for me. Part of me was trying to fall for her, and I wondered if whatever that part was didn’t actually care who I was falling for — Peyton, Amy, some other woman who could come into my life when I was about as needy as a soggy puppy wandering a busy freeway. Then again, that might not be it at all.
“Well, you’ve got a meeting with Parker tomorrow,” she said.
“Yeah, and I feel like this could be an opportunity to help him out.”
“Before he even signs?”
“Especially then,” I said. “But, even if he doesn’t sign, nothing wrong with helping the kid out. I think we need to see what Peyton thinks.”
I wasn’t sure if it was her or me, but I thought I saw her flinch. I know when Peyton’s name came out of my mouth it felt like something clanked inside my head, so it was definitely possible I had just been projecting. Nonetheless, I tilted my head and gave Amy a look that must have questioned her reaction because she responded to my curiosity without me even asking.
“It’s not for me to say,” she replied with a tight-lipped expression.
“Sure it is. I definitely want your opinion,” I told her. And I did.
“Well, she’s just signed on. Has she ever managed a crisis before?”
“Oh, you’re right, definitely. But I want to talk it over with her. She’s got excellent instincts. At the very least, she’ll be a good sounding board.”
Amy smiled and didn’t challenge me further. She took in a deep breath, and for a second I wondered if it was because she was full or because she was trying to keep calm.
“Thank you for the most amazing lunch I’ve ever had,” she said.
One corner of my mouth crooked up and I couldn’t help the teasing tone in my response. “I’m just glad I could be here to witness your first time.”
She shook her head, smiled, and blushed. “If Antone weren’t watching, I’d throw my fork at you.”
There went that hole in my chest again. “Let’s get back to work. I want to get moving on this Parker Starr thing.”