The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Page 23

  “Sorry, I’m in the waiting room at the doctors, trying not to be too loud…or lewd,” she whispered into the phone.

  Omissions, not lies.

  “Well, that explains the clipboard,” he began, “is everything ok?”

  “I’m just having a checkup; I was feeling under the weather a week or so ago and they put me on antibiotics, so now they just want to take some bloodwork and stuff,” she replied, trying to make everything sound as routine as humanly possible without directly answering his question.

  Everything was not ok, there was no way to lie about that.

  “I see,” Tristan said, almost believing her, then again, having no reason not to. “Well then, you should definitely keep your lewdness under control. I, on the other hand, have no such restrictions at the moment and therefore wish that you were here, sprawled across my desk, your legs wide for me so that I could enjoy a very sweet treat this morning, too.”

  Ellie gasped, her elbow sliding off the armrest on the chair, knocking her purse onto the ground. Her face beet-red as she tried to nonchalantly clean up her mess while the scattered patients in the waiting room eyed her curiously. Tristan, meanwhile, laughing heartily on the other end, hearing the commotion he had caused.

  “You are…” she huffed into the phone softly as she finally gathered the last of her items back into the confines of her bag, “incorrigible.”

  “Did you say irresistible?” he teased back.

  “No, absolutely –” she cut off as the door to the waiting room opened and the nurse who came in called her name, “I have to go, Tristan.”

  “I wish you didn’t,” he said regretfully, “this Saturday, my place at six.”

  “Ok, goodbye Tristan.”

  “Goodbye, siren,” he said as he ended the call. Glancing down, he saw that his attempt to unnerve her had also uncaged his arousal.

  God, this was a constant fucking problem with her.

  He’d never been so uncomfortable, so frequently in his entire life, he thought as he shifted in his seat. Next, he tapped on Sloane’s name, figuring he should probably talk to him before meeting with Pierce.

  “Hello?” answered Sloane’s reserved voice.

  “Hey, you busy tonight?”

  “Why?”

  “Pierce got back to me, he’s coming by this weekend. I thought we could grab drinks later,” Tristan said, his answers implying that he wanted to talk to Sloane about how this was going to go down. Having not seen or heard from Pierce since the other morning, there were many possible scenarios – most of them not ending well for either of them or the Guild.

  “Yeah, I can meet you later,” Sloane replied, resignation in his voice about having to be brought into their disagreement.

  “Seven at the Roof?”

  “Yeah,” his friend replied before hanging up the phone.

  He knew Sloane didn’t want to be pulled into the middle of this but too fucking bad; he was the only one who could get through to Pierce and he would be the one to know how to fix this with the least amount of damage possible.

  Ellie fumbled to put her cell away, apologizing to the nurse for being on the phone. She was glad they called her before she had finished her conversation with Tristan – having to sit in the waiting room after the embarrassing scene…scenes…she’d caused would have been unfortunate.

  She swallowed deeply as the nurse led her into one of the patient rooms, telling her to sit on the table so they could review her symptoms before Dr. Sion came in. Just as the nurse, Margaret, began to question her, the door to the room opened and Dr. Sion rushed in.

  “Hey, Ellie,” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Marge, I can take it from here.”

  Ellie smiled at her doctor gratefully. Not that she minded talking to the nurse, but Dr. Sion had been there with her through everything; she’d become more like family over the last few years, the way that she always treated Ellie with priority, answering her calls and texts, sometimes into the early hours of the morning when Ellie was truly afraid she might be dying from pain.

  “I’m so sorry to stop in on you like this, I know Amy had to rearrange the schedule to get me in this afternoon, but I’m really worried,” Ellie said, biting her lip, trying to stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

  “What’s going on? Have the antibiotics not helped?” Dr. Sion replied, handing Ellie a tissue.

  “Yes, and no. Some things are better, but I feel like I’m getting weaker. I’ve passed out four times this week,” Ellie explained.

  “Have you finished the antibiotics? Have you had any other symptoms?”

  “Almost, I have one more day left, and other than that, nothing really jumps out – just general weakness, maybe a few days where I felt a little nauseous, but nothing more noticeable than the fainting.”

  “Ok, and were you doing anything in particular before passing out? Anything out of the usual?” the doctor asked as she scribbled notes into Ellie’s chart.

  “Not…really,” Ellie answered, “the one time I was getting out of the shower, the others, getting off the elevator.” She left out the last time after Tristan made her orgasm; it was oddly the other instances that were more concerning to her. With Tristan, she’d been exerting herself, she’d had wine, and she’d gone from laying to standing in a few seconds…that time was understandable in her mind.

  “Ok, interesting. Well, it’s still far too premature to say what is going on, so we won’t jump to conclusions, right?” she more so instructed than asked, knowing how fragile this moment was for Ellie.

  “Right,” Ellie responded with a deep breath, watching as Dr. Sion took notes in her chart.

  “Ok,” Dr. Sion replied, looking at her questioningly before going back to her note taking, “well, we’ll just take some blood and see what’s really going on.” Her reassurance fell on deaf ears.

  She didn’t want to, but she was panicking inside. “Ok,” Ellie replied with a weak smile.

  “Ellie, please,” Dr. Sion said imploringly, “please don’t be stressed about this. It will only make whatever is going on worse.”

  “I know,” Ellie whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek, her hand coming up to quick brush it away with the tissue.

  “Ellie,” the doctor said sternly, “you’ve been cancer-free for almost a year. It’s extremely unlikely that it’s beginning to recur; we hit it and we hit it hard this last time.”

  “I know,” she replied, trying to put on a brave face, “I just…I just feel like I’m so close, so close to being free of it, and now, I’m afraid that I’ll never be.”

  “You can’t think like that, ok?” Dr. Sion said, handing her another tissue and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Look, dear, I have to go. I’ll have Marge come back in and take your blood and I will call you as soon as I hear anything, alright?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Ellie said gratefully.

  “And then I want you to go home or go see your dad, eat some ice cream, relax, read a book, and not worry about what could happen. Doctor’s orders!” she exclaimed as she set Ellie’s chart down and left the room.

  A few seconds later, Marge re-entered the room, needles and vials in hand, giving Ellie the smile that she hated – the one that suggested every action, every kindness, was done out of pity.

  Poor Ellie. “Such a beautiful girl, to have her life wasted like this.” “Don’t work so hard Ellie, you don’t want to get sick.” “We don’t want to give you too much work and overtax you.” “Why don’t you go home early today, you aren’t looking well.” “Don’t beat yourself up, Ellie, you would have done great things if it weren’t for the cancer.”

  She knew she sounded ridiculous. They meant it out of kindness, compassion, she knew that, but it made her feel weak. It fueled the belief inside of her that she wasn’t good enough, that because of her cancer, she wasn’t enough and it was ok because she had a good excuse for it. That’s why she loved spending time with Tristan; he didn’t know, which meant he didn’t baby her, he
didn’t worry that the wrong food, the wrong drink, too much exertion, too much emotion, might bring back her cancer.

  She wanted to be strong, but no one would let her.

  And that was why she hated the pity-smile, because it said ‘don’t worry, dear, you’re sick, you’re weak, I’ll take care of it for you.’

  She just wanted to take care of herself dammit!

  And so, she sat, patiently and unfeeling, as the needles punctured her veins, adding to the tattoos of IV scars dotting her forearms.

  When Marge was done collecting the samples, Ellie thanked her and made her way out of the office. Pulling out her phone, she paused, unable to hit the number to call her dad; she couldn’t deal with someone else wanting to baby her. Maybe tomorrow she could call her him, or maybe stop in and see him. Now, though, all she really wanted to do was call Tristan, to talk to him, hear him tease her, hear him talk dirty to her; she’d pretend to be offended, even though it those words gave her the most incredible feelings – the ones that told her that she was enough.

  But she couldn’t.

  Ellie knew how vulnerable she was right now, how emotional. The slightest hint, one poorly placed joke, and she could break – telling him everything that she never wanted him to know. So, if she couldn’t have Tristan, she decided on the next best amnesiac – a healthy glass of wine.

  When Tristan got to the bar, Sloane was already there waiting for him; he wasn’t surprised. Sloane played by the rules and was always early – the truest gentleman of them all.

  “Hey, thanks for coming,” Tristan greeted him, “sorry I’m late.” He wasn’t late, he was just later than Sloane.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. What’s going on?” Sloane asked, getting right to the point, watching Tristan with his intensely penetrating blue eyes.

  Before responding, Tristan turned to the Roof’s bartender and ordered a Jameson on the rocks – a double. He turned back to Sloane with a questioning gaze, silently asking if he wanted anything. Sloane responded with a shake of his head, lifting up a glass that was sitting on the other side of him. Again, Tristan wasn’t surprised at his refusal, and would bet his life that the clear liquid in the glass was nothing more than club soda; that was how Sloane was.

  “Pierce got back to me that he’ll stop by this weekend. I need you to tell me how to fix this,” he said bluntly.

  “Why would I know?”

  “Seriously, Sloane, I know you’ve talked to Pierce, I know he’s said something to you. I’m asking for your insight because the last time we had a disagreement, I punched him in the face; I’m trying to avoid that this time.”

  “You want my advice? Do whatever you have to do, say whatever you have to say, to make it right.”

  “What does he want?” Tristan asked, taking a sip of his just-delivered drink.

  “What do you think?” Sloane returned.

  God, he wished Sloane would just make this easy for him, but Tristan knew that he wasn’t about to go spreading information or giving advice that would draw him further into a dispute that he was originally not part of.

  “I don’t know; he probably just wants to win that goddamn competition. Is that it? I’ll submit something shitty if that’s what it takes,” Tristan offered, knowing deep down that that wasn’t going to satisfy his friend.

  “Think about why you punched him, Tris, maybe that’s where you should start.”

  That’s what he was afraid of. He didn’t want to start with Ellie; he didn’t want Ellie involved at all, but he was the one that brought her into this mess, and he wasn’t going to tear apart the Guild over it.

  Sloane stared at him, waiting for his answer. Taking a large sip of his drink, Tristan set the glass down in resignation.

  “I don’t want to tell him about her,” he admitted, refraining from meeting Sloane’s eyes. Just as Sloane began to respond, he felt his phone buzz.

  “Why?” he heard his friend ask, but Tristan’s focus drawn elsewhere as soon as he realized that it was a text from Ellie. He opened it afraid something was wrong – what if something happened at the doctor’s? He shook his head; conditioned responses like that died hard.

  - Hey

  ~ Hey, what’s up? Everything ok? He responded quickly, looking back up at Sloane as if he was still expecting him to say something.

  “I asked you why…” Sloane repeated, his eyes narrowing on the phone clutched in Tristan’s hand.

  “Because I don’t trust him with her,” he responded bluntly, waiting anxiously to hear back from Ellie.

  “Who is she?”

  “You know, you met her…” Tristan replied, confused.

  “No, Tris, who is she to you?”

  Tristan felt his phone buzz again, restraining himself from answer immediately even though it was his first instinct. Instead he focused on trying to answer Sloane’s questions.

  “I don’t know; she’s someone… I want her to be someone to me,” he replied honestly, his hand coming to wipe over his mouth in exasperation, not at the question, but at the answer that he was searching for.

  “You didn’t come here to talk about Pierce, did you?” Sloane asked, perceptively. Tristan glared at him for a second, turning then to request another double from the bartender.

  “You know Pierce is going to ask you about her, or expect you to tell him about her; you’re not an idiot. No, you’re not here because of him, you’re here because of her,” Sloane continued.

  “Fuck, I don’t know what to do,” Tristan admitted, sipping his new glass of whiskey. The alcohol made it easier for him to talk, but it also made it harder for him to resist. Opening up his phone, he looked at Ellie’s last text – or last two texts, he must have missed the second buzz.

  - Yeah. Everythngs wondrful

  - nope, thas a lie. It would be better if u were here

  Tristan read the messages twice, making sure that it wasn’t the alcohol that he’d consumed that were making it seem like she was drunk and texting him.

  Nope, those typos were all her own.

  He knew Sloane was watching him, but he couldn’t help himself.

  ~ Have you had something to drink, gorgeous?

  Returning his focus to their conversation, Tristan looked at Sloane and shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, honestly not knowing what to do.

  “Tris, you asked me here, if you have something you want to talk about then talk. I know you have feelings for her, we’ve already established that. I’m also not going to pretend I don’t know who she is, or that I don’t have ideas about why you are involved with her, but I’m also not going to concern myself with it unless you want me to, or unless it becomes a problem for me.”

  “All I know is that I had a plan,” Tristan began, “and that plan seems to have gone widely off its charted course to the point where I don’t even know that I want to end at the same destination.”

  Buzz.

  “I know I said that I might have feelings for her, but that might has turned into a definite. Fuck, it’s like I can’t even breathe without thinking about her.”

  “So, what’s the problem? I told you none of us would care…”

  “You said you know who she is,” Tristan said, giving Sloane a hard stare before glancing down at his phone.

  - I may have. Although it’s not a fun without you…

  ~ I’m having a drink too, but it’s definitely not as good as drinking you.

  - Then what’s stopping you from having a better one?

  A small groan crept from his mouth at her suggestive response; he wanted to. Fuck, how he wanted to, but he couldn’t right now, no matter how much the hard ridge in his pants begged him otherwise.

  “So what if she’s Jack Carter’s daughter? Wouldn’t that make it more likely for him to give you back?” Sloane asked, annoyance evident in his voice at the fact that Tristan seemed only semi-participating in the conversation.

  “Not if I want planning on breaking her heart as revenge,” he answered darkly, staring down at his d
rink. The relief he felt in sharing was outweighed by the disgust he felt for himself.

  “Then just don’t. It’s not rocket science,” Sloane scoffed.

  “No fucking shit, Sloane. I know it’s not rocket science to make that choice, but what about the choice I’ve already made? The one where I made a deal with her father – her portrait for my mothers. Even if I don’t intentionally hurt her, tell me how that doesn’t fucking break her just as much? Knowing that the only reason I picked her was because her dad asked me too,” Tristan practically yelled, unable to keep his frustration bottled up inside him anymore.

  He downed the rest of his second drink, hoping the burn of the alcohol would drown out the burning in his chest. Sure, he could break it off with her and that would hurt her, but even if he didn’t, she would need to know how…why…they met, and explaining that would kill her. Somehow, he had opened up her text message again, staring at her enticingly, intoxicated words, compelled to respond.

  ~ Responsibilities, sweetheart.

  From the start, he knew that she looked down on herself, never feeling good enough or like she deserved any of his attention. He didn’t know the details, why she struggled to see herself the way that he did, but he had a feeling it had to do with the abuse she endured in the past.

  If he told her that they hadn’t met by choice, but by conspiracy – that he’d been compelled to pick her, it would solidify every assumption she made about herself that he’d been working so hard to change.

  “You broke our rules,” Sloane said, his voice eerily calm.

  “I know,” Tristan replied, not even wasting the effort trying to deny it. “I’m sorry.”

  A quick glance over at his partner confirmed the anger brimming underneath the surface.

  “Fuck, I know,” Tristan said again, running his hand roughly through his hair, “but, I needed it back; I needed the portrait back.”

  “And there was no other way?” Sloane asked tightly, not even meeting his gaze.

  “No.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, the buzz of Tristan’s phone the only sound between them. He didn’t pick it up though, as hard as that was knowing that it was Ellie. His mind conflicted in anger and frustration, knowing that he’d let his partner, his friend, down. Tristan was the leader; he’d created the Guild, he’d made the rules…and now, here he was, breaking them and, worse than trying to hide it, he was trying to justify it.