The less intimidating guy

Chapter Seventeen

Andrea's POV

Tristan still has my hand as he leads me toward the front of the restaurant where the driver is supposed to be waiting, and I’m trying very hard to focus on something as basic as walking like a normal person. 

We're barely out of the restaurant when I remember.

“Wait, Mr Hale.”

He stops and turns to look at me. “What is it?”

“I left my clutch upstairs.” I can feel my face doing that thing where it stays warm no matter what I do. “Let me run back up and get it before the car comes.”

He looks at me for a second, then lets go of my hand.

“Stay here,” he says. “I'll get it.”

And he's already walking back inside before I can even say anything. I turn back toward the street and exhale slowly.

Okay. Fine. I can stand here. I can absolutely stand here like a normal person and wait.

The night air is cool against my skin and the street is quiet except for the occasional car passing. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, staring at nothing in particular, arms folded loosely across my chest like I have everything under control.

The toy is still doing its thing, not as intense after whatever he did to the remote in the elevator during our brief make out session, but quieter doesn’t mean gone. It just means I can almost pass for a regular functioning human being.

“Did you get stood up by your date?”

The unfamiliar voice comes from behind me, and I turn just enough to glance over my shoulder.

He's leaning against the wall a few feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of a soft charcoal jacket, watching me with the kind of easy smile that says he's genuinely amused and not trying to hide it. 

He's around Tristan's age, maybe a year or two younger, lighter in complexion with warm amber eyes and dark blond hair that sits like it fell that way naturally and decided to stay. 

He's actually good looking in a way that feels approachable rather than intimidating, the kind of man who probably makes friends easily and knows it. Where Tristan walks into a room and makes you feel like you should straighten your spine, this one makes you feel like you could probably relax.

“Sorry?” I say when I manage to catch my voice.

“My apologies if I startled you,” he says, his eyes moving over me briefly, not in a weird way, just… noticing. “I couldn’t help but see you looked a little tense, like you’ve been waiting for something that’s taking too long. So I figured I’d come over.”

“Thanks but… I wasn't stood up.”

“Oh.” A small grin tugs at his lips. “So you’re just out here alone then?”

I glance back toward the entrance before looking at him again. “Look, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He tilts his head slightly, the smile fading just a little into something more genuinely puzzled. He follows my glance over my shoulder, clearly trying to figure out what I'm looking for. “Are you okay? Do you need help getting somewhere?”

“I'm fine, I just…”

“Marcus.”

My heart does an embarrassing little jump.

Tristan comes up beside me, my clutch already in his hand. He passes it to me without breaking eye contact with the other man and his free arm slides around my waist like it belongs there.

The two of them look at each other and the air immediately gets about ten degrees heavier.

“What is it with you always wanting what's mine?” Tristan says, voice very controlled.

Oh, great. So they know each other.

Marcus glances at Tristan's arm around me, then back up. The easy smile is still there but it's drier now. “The lady is with you?”

“Yes,” Tristan replies. “So back off.”

Marcus lets out a short breath that's almost a laugh. “Relax, man. No need to be uptight. I saw a beautiful woman waiting alone and I said hi. That's it, no conspiracy.”

He looks at me again, and something behind his expression shifts into something more serious. “I hope you actually know who you're dealing with though. And what he's into.”

Tristan goes very still beside me.

“Watch your mouth, Laurent, before I put something in it. You’ve been running it for years and getting away with it because people are too polite to remind you that you’re irrelevant.” His voice is controlled, but barely, the kind that sounds like it could snap at any second. “Stay out of my life, or I’ll make it my personal mission to see every door you’ve spent the last five years trying to open slam permanently shut. I don’t make empty threats.”

Marcus doesn’t flinch. He holds Tristan’s stare like this isn’t new, like they’ve done this before.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Because that's what you do, isn't it. You just have a habit of claiming things that were never yours to begin with. Not everything is an acquisition, Hale. But I guess when you’ve bought your way through everything else, people start to look like line items too.” His jaw tightens slightly. “And if you want to talk about who knows who, keep pushing me and I'll make sure every investor in this city gets a very honest dinner conversation about who they're really shaking hands with.”

“You motherfucker…” Tristan seethes, clenching his fists..

“Mr. Hale.” I interrupt before things get out of hands, reaching for his arm, fingers curling lightly around it. The car swings around the corner right on time, headlights cutting through the dark as it pulls up smoothly to the curb. “The car’s here. We should go.”

Because what the hell did I just witness? I thought scenes like that only existed in movies.

The muscle in Tristan’s jaw ticks as he holds Marcus’s gaze for one more second that feels considerably longer than a second.

Marcus glances toward the car, something dry and unbothered in the gesture. “Have a lovely night, Daddy Hale.”

Then he looks at me, and his voice drops, softer this time, almost genuine in a way that throws me off. “You look really innocent, you know that? It’d be a shame.” He pauses, just enough for it to linger. “Run while you still can.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns and walks back inside, calm and unhurried, like we were just having a casual conversation about the weather.

After we get in the car, neither of us says anything for a moment and I can feel the tension sitting in the space between us like a third passenger.

I glance at Tristan. He's staring straight ahead, jaw tight, one hand flat on his thigh. I've seen him annoyed before. I've seen him demanding and cold and all kinds of intense. But this is different. This is something he's actively holding down and not entirely succeeding at.

“Who is he?” I ask finally, my voice careful because the silence is starting to feel suffocating. “What was that about, Mr. Hale?”

He turns his head just slightly, just enough to look at me from the side, and when he speaks his voice is low and even and leaves absolutely no room for debate.

“For the remaining months we have left together,” he says, “don’t you ever cut me off like that again, Andrea.”

He gives a deliberate pause before adding, “Or you'll hear from me.”