Think Outside the Boss - Olivia Hayle Page 0,64
general direction of his bedroom, but there’s no response. Right. You probably need walkie-talkies in this apartment.
I’ve just figured out where you add water when a sharp elevator ding sounds from the living room. Someone’s here. I tug at the hem of Tristan’s shirt and head into the living room. He’s told me he has a housekeeper and a driver. It’s mildly embarrassing to be seen like this, though.
The woman I encounter in Tristan’s living room is very clearly neither. Snow clings to her black puffer jacket, flakes in the blonde curls of her hair. She’s a few years older than me, perhaps, a pair of mittens in hand.
She stares at me like I stare at her. From the shock in her gaze, she might as well have been confronted with a unicorn or a yeti.
“Hello,” I attempt. “I realize I’m not who you were expecting. Tristan’s in the bathroom.”
“Right,” she says. “Okay.”
“I’m Frederica.” Manners kick in and I step forward, offering her my hand. She shakes it woodenly, her gaze drifting to my shirt. It’s very clearly not mine.
“Linda. I’m his son’s godmother.”
I smile. “Oh, that’s right. He’s told me about you. Joshua stayed with you last night?”
Her eyes widen further, but then she gives me a tentative smile back. “That’s right. He’s downstairs.”
“Well, that’s good. I should probably change.” I glance down at my shirt. Mortification nips at my heels, but I don’t let it in. Tristan and I have done nothing wrong.
Well, not unless this woman is also an Exciteur HR rep.
“Probably,” she says.
“Tristan should be done any minute now.”
“Right,” she says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone. He doesn’t often have guests over.”
“I see.”
“With his work and his son, he’s a busy man.”
I nod. “Yeah, he is that. Did you perhaps want a cup of coffee? I was going to make one, but I can’t seem to figure out the machine.”
“No, thank you. I just came up because—”
“Freddie?” Tristan’s strong voice echoes from the hallway, and then he emerges, dressed in slacks and a barely buttoned shirt. His eyebrows rise at the sight of Linda. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she assures him. “Absolutely. Joshua’s downstairs.”
“Right.” The question is clear in his voice, now colder. “Didn’t know you were coming up.”
“I tried to call ahead. A few times, actually. But there was no answer.”
He nods. “Sorry about that.”
Linda gives us both a genuine smile. “It’s snowed. Look outside.”
We turn toward the window-clad wall, and yes, Central Park is covered in a blanket of thick, white snow. My breath catches in my throat.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Joshua is downstairs with Mark and Andrew. They’ve got a head start into the park. The boys want to have a snowball fight. Or build a snowman. Or a fort. They kept changing their minds.”
Tristan snorts at my side. “Of course.”
“I just came upstairs to tell you about it, and to grab Joshua’s mittens and snow pants. He told me where they are.”
Tristan nods. “I’ll join you. I’ll bring his stuff, too.”
“That works.” She steps back toward the elevator. “We’ll be by the ice-cream shop, but just call if you can’t find us.”
“Will do.”
She gives me a little wave. “It was nice to meet you, Frederica.”
“Likewise.”
The elevator doors close behind her, and then we’re once again alone. Tristan runs a hand through his hair and steps past me to the coffee machine. A few wan clicks of his fingers and it whirls to life. Responding to its master in a way it had refused to do for me.
“I know I can’t be angry at her for coming up, but I still am.” He shakes his head, back turned. “All for snow pants.”
“Was it bad that she saw me?”
He hands me a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “No.”
“Thanks,” I say, the heat warming my hands. “I’ll leave in a few minutes, Tristan.”
“I don’t want you to,” he says, but the conflict is there on his face.
“I know. But you need to go meet your son and play in the snow.”
“Your apartment has no heat,” he retorts. “I still haven’t called my electrician to have a look at it.”
“That’s okay, I’ll figure something out.”
His jaw works with the force of his thinking. “I’ve never introduced him to a woman I’m seeing before. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell him about us unless it’s… well.”
“Unless it’s serious,” I finish, putting the cup down. “God, I understand, Tristan. Completely. Let me just pack my stuff.”
He follows me down the hallway, clearly displeased with