The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Read online

  “Thanks, dad, I would appreciate that,” she said with a smile, before continuing more seriously, “but, I don’t want you to ask him to hire me. Just see if he has anything available and ask if I can send him over my resume, got it?”

  The stern look that she gave him made it clear that she was willing to take some help, but she didn’t want the job just handed to her. With his arms up in mock surrender, he agreed, promising to only inquire about any positions. They’d ended the conversation with a laugh, her father insisting that if she moved to Ireland, she’d have to learn to like Guinness. With a smile on her face, but sadness in her eyes, she hugged and kissed her dad goodbye for the day, telling him that she would let him know how what happened on Saturday.

  The rest of the week had passed in slow torment – her emotions vacillating from happiness to hopelessness. Tristan had been crazy with work, texting her when he could, telling her that he was thinking about her, that he couldn’t wait to see her, and she responded that she felt the exact same. Their mischievous banter, mostly his seductive suggestions, had pushed her to pleasure herself several more times over the past few days; a total count of which she refused to keep track of.

  “It’s not the same…without you here,” she’d told him on Thursday, lying in bed panting after he’d insisted on hearing her come twice.

  He’d originally asked her to come over Thursday night, too impatient to wait until Saturday, but at the last minute, Vanguard had their lawyers include some stipulations in the contract that weren’t previously discussed, which sent Tristan into tail spin; the deal was all but agreed upon and now Jim was trying to chance the terms. He’d called her as soon as he got home, still fired up from receiving the news, and needing to vent to her about what had happened…and Ellie had relished it; he’d rarely opened up so fully about what was going on with his business, and why would he? She attributed it to the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about investing, so why would he want to talk to her? Again, he’d proved her opinion of herself wrong.

  After relaying the entire scenario, Tristan had asked for her opinion – “what should he do?” Tristan was frustrated with the legal middlemen, frustrated with Jim, and wanted to send a proposal back telling him that the deal was either take it or fuck off. He, again, asked her what to do, at a loss for options in the fog of anger. At first, Ellie had been too stunned to answer, stuttering her canned ‘I don’t know.’

  Tristan was on edge though and would have none of it, sternly telling her “Ellie, you worked for your father, one of the largest accounting firms in the city, in a business and account management position. If you aren’t qualified to give me advice on how to manage this business situation, then I don’t know who is.” His impassioned demand had shaken her to her core.

  Maybe she was qualified. She’d dealt with and resolved plenty of similar conflicts within her father’s firm, not to this magnitude, but disputes where clients would change things at the last minute, add in certain requests to their contracts that may or may not have been legal…all sorts of things.

  Taking a deep breath and a moment to think through what he had told her, she suggested a different approach; if Jim wanted to make this happen as much as Tristan did there was no reason to mar the process by changing technicalities so, why didn’t Tristan just call him right now and hammer this out one-on-one?

  He seemed speechless at her suggestion, pondering the potential outcome. She cautioned him that in spite of his irritation, if he came on too strong or disrespectful of the protocol that Jim clearly wanted to follow, this whole thing could blow up in his face. Maybe these things were added in last minute because he’s sad to part with the company that he has grown from the ground up, maybe this has nothing to do with what was added and everything to do with his emotions.

  With a confidence that she wasn’t sure she completely possessed, she told him to call Jim and calmly figure out what was going on. There was another few seconds of silence before he’d responded, “Christ, Ellie, what would I do without you?” The words sent a bloom of pleasure straight to her stomach, the warmth of appreciation spreading throughout her body. Calling Jim meant that she wouldn’t be able to come over though; he’d tried to insist that he could just call Jim in the morning, but Ellie wouldn’t agree. She knew how important this acquisition was to Tristan and to the goals he had for his company, she would just see him on Saturday. He’d sighed, telling her how “incredible” she was, and how incredibly hard he was going to work on Saturday to make up for this. His seductive insinuation went straight to her core, so she said goodnight before that train of thought led them down a dangerously distracting path.

  Tristan had been on the phone with Jim Bose until almost ten o’clock that night, hammering out their differences in order to make this deal final by the end of the week; it had worked. She knew because she woke up to this text:

  - Thank you for listening to me last night, gorgeous, and thank you for your help. I have you to thank for my success this week and let me tell you, the words ‘thank you’ don’t even begin to come close to describing how I feel; you are incredible.

  Her joy knowing that she had been helpful to him even in the smallest way gave her such a sense of purpose, one that had been lacking ever since her last doctor’s appointment.

  ~ I’m sure you’ll figure out the right words eventually, but you’re very welcome, she’d teased back.

  - Oh, I don’t need the right words, siren. My actions will speak loud enough to drown out everything else except your screams.

  And that, had made her day. Yes, Thursday had been a good day, a hopeful one. Then, Friday had rolled around and well, Friday was only significant in that it was the day before the end…or the beginning.

  That decisive moment was almost upon her; the day that she’d been most looking forward to was also the day that she’d been most dreading. Now, getting out of the shower for the second time that day, it was time to face the anxieties that had been eating away at her all week.

  Ellie began to slowly apply a hint of makeup to her face, wanting to look even more special for Tristan, but quickly decided against it; she’d found over the years that even “water-proof” mascara and eyeliner were no match for a cancer diagnosis. Opening her closet, she picked out the only dress that she had left, a simple, white fitted sheath, long-sleeves of course, that zipped up the back. She’d bought it a few years ago when her dad’s firm had celebrated their twentieth year in business. Shimmying into it, she paired it with the same white pumps she had worn that night too.

  Her eyes widened as she took in her appearance in the mirror; the dress fit a lot more snugly now; when she had bought it, it had been right after her first round of chemo, right after she had dropped ten pounds. She hadn’t looked well in it before – too skinny to fit properly into anything; the first round of the drugs had been heavy to hit the cancer hard and it had taken a lot out of her. Her dad tried to insist that she stay home, but she would hear none of it knowing how important the night was to him, swearing that ‘a night out would be good for her.’ She’d also jokingly claimed that she needed to get out one last time before all of her hair was gone; the joke had gone over poorly, but he’d caved to her desire to accompany him. She’d spent most of the party in the bathroom throwing up, but she never had the heart to tell him that. It had been such a great night for him that she’d go again if given the same choice.

  Now, the dress hugged all of her curves, highlighting the model shape of her body.

  How did he manage to do it?

  Weeks ago, she never would have thought of herself that way. Even though her body hadn’t changed since then, except maybe for the bags underneath her eyes, she had always looked in the mirror and saw ‘poor, sick Elsa Carter.’ It didn’t matter what she actually looked like, the ghost in her mind always saw her as sick.

  Until tonight.

  When she was with Tristan, he made her realize that she was beautiful. Tonight, his conditioning had paid off that
even without him, she was finally able to truly see herself. If it was just for tonight that she felt gorgeous, felt normal, felt alive, it will have been worth it even if tomorrow she has to wake up knowing that it will all disappear.

  The confidence from her appearance held up remarkably well all the way to Dr. Sion’s office, when her resolve began to crack, fear seeping through. She arrived fifteen minutes early, not because they would expect anything less from always-early-Ellie, but because she wanted to make completely sure she would make it to Tristan’s on time.

  Her foot began to tap against the carpeted floor at four-fifteen. Her head began to anxiously look back and forth from the check-in desk to the clock at four-thirty. The door opened and she held her breath.

  The nurse who came out glanced around, her gaze stopping on Ellie. “Miss Carter?”

  Ellie nodded, swallowing hard.

  “I’m sorry for the wait. Dr. Sion got stuck in a surgery so she’s just going to be a few more minutes, I apologize. You’re welcome to come back and wait or you can stay out here until she is ready.”

  Her anxiety rising, Ellie looked back at the clock before answering, “I’ll wait out here, thank you.”

  Being back in the room would only make the potential reality of relapse more stressful.

  She waited impatiently for another twenty minutes, torn between wanting to leave and needing to stay. Ellie jumped in her seat feeling her phone buzzed from inside of her purse.

  - See you soon.

  Tristan’s text tipped her decision over the edge. She stood and approached the receptionist, “I’m so sorry,” she began, “is there any way I can reschedule my appointment with Dr. Sion? I kind of have somewhere I need to be.”

  “One moment, please,” the girl responded, standing up from her desk and walking to the back only to return about a minute later. “I’m sorry, Miss Carter. Dr. Sion really wanted to see you today but she ran into complications with another patient. I just called her and she understand if you have to go but asked if it would be ok for her to call you later to go over your results.”

  Thank God, Ellie breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed blindly, focused only on getting out of there as fast as she could.

  She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t a coward for running away from her diagnosis. She also tried to tell herself that she wasn’t being selfish for wanting one more night of what promised to be truly blissful ignorance.

  She tried.

  Her success was up for debate as the cab pulled up outside of Tristan’s apartment building, her anticipation rising as she stepped into the elevator. Her need for him vibrating through her as she stood in front of his apartment. Her hand knocked on the door, desperate for what was behind it.

  “Good evening, gorgeous,” came his deep, silken voice accompanied by the smile that took her breath away.

  “Hey,” she answered breathless with the relief of finally seeing him.

  God, he was so incredibly hot, especially when he looked at her like that. Ellie bit her lip as she walked into the condo, feeling like she could come on the spot if he just asked.

  Not even two steps into the room she barely heard the door shut behind her when she was spun around and pushed flush up against it.

  “Fuck, how I’ve missed you,” came his harsh whisper just before his lips took hers.

  Her arms immediately came up around his neck as she relaxed into his embrace. Tonight, he was hers; tonight, there would be no sadness, no regret, and no thoughts of cancer. She would live this night to the fullest for herself, for what she wanted, for what she needed, and right now, she needed the magic of his touch to transform her nightmare into fairy tale.

  Chapter 22

  Tristan groaned against her mouth, enjoying the vanilla sweetness that he’d been craving all week. He hadn’t been able to resist, especially when he saw the way that she was dressed tonight; her dress hugging every part of her body that he ached to touch, a body whose softness was pressed tightly up against the hardness of his, his muscles tensed with their need to have her closer…to have her.

  Something was different about tonight though. Maybe she had finally just become that comfortable with him, but her kiss was eager and earnest, and if he were a betting man, he’d say that it was desperate. She returned his kiss immediately and enthusiastically telling him that she needed him just as much as he needed her.

  The only thing was that he needed her in more ways than this one and her kiss suggested the same.

  Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to deny her; if she needed this from him, he wouldn’t turn her away. No, he let her take control; opening his mouth to the insistent touch of her tongue, he teased and toyed with it until he felt her moaning into him in return. When she purposefully pressed her hips against his, he knew he had to draw the line or they would never make it to dinner.

  His hands came up to cup her face, pulling back from the kiss, their panting breaths mingling in front of them.

  “I’ll take that as an ‘I missed you too, Tristan,’” he said with a grin, enjoying the color that had flooded her cheeks from his embrace.

  He watched her bite her lip, and push her hands against his chest, stepping back from him. “You can take it however you want,” she said saucily, turning to walk further into the apartment.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her back up flush against him, his other hand firmly pushing on her back to press her stomach against the solid ridge of his erection. “If that smart mouth of yours keeps it up, I’ll take you however I want,” he rasped, his eyes dark with the sincere promise of his words; a wicked smile spread over his face as her eyelids widened, revealing her emerald eyes deepening to a hunter-green with desire.

  He stared at her a second longer, on the verge of making good on his promise anyway, before he abruptly released her.

  “We should get going, I don’t want us to be late for dinner; you’re going to love this place,” he said with grin, always eager to watch her experience new things. However, the new thing that he was just on the verge of experiencing would have to wait until later; there was a celebration to be had.

  “You look beautiful, Ellie,” Tristan said as they took their seats at Petrossian the French restaurant practically around the corner from his condo.

  He’d said those words, or a variation of them, to her probably ten times since she got to his apartment, but it was all his Neanderthal brain could think of. It wasn’t just what she was wearing, although the dress that she chose looked like it had been stitched right onto her because it fit like a glove. No, it was her in what she was wearing – from the confidence and demand in her kiss when she walked in the door, to her smart retorts, to the way that she carried herself…something had changed.

  Just a few weeks ago when he met her, he could have drawn her a thousand times, he could have stood her in front of a mirror and pointed out every attractive thing about her, hell, he could have told her that she just won Miss Universe and she still would have seen herself as unappealing; she still would have carried the look of uncertainty in her eyes, enslaved by her own self-doubt. Tonight, when he’d opened up his door, the only thing he saw staring back at him was the vibrant sureness and desire of her eyes. It was in everything that she did – the way she kissed him, the way she moved, she felt beautiful and he only hoped that he had played some small part in it.

  That was why he felt like a broken record all the way to the restaurant; her confidence in her appearance and her appeal to him was like fucking gas to the already raging flame of his desire for her, pushing his body dangerously close to combustion.

  “Is my hair ok?” Ellie asked, breaking through his thoughts.

  “It’s perfect, why?”

  “Because you’re staring at me like it’s on fire,” she half-whispered with a laugh.

  “Sorry, you just look so fucking exquisite tonight, Ellie,” he bit out just as the waiter came over to take their drink ord
er. “We’ll take a glass of your best Chardonnay and two glasses of Cristal, please.” The waiter’s eyes widening at the expensive choice in champagne.

  “So, things went really well then, I take it?” Ellie prompted, watching the brief exchange before her and eager to hear the story.

  “Better than well,” Tristan began with an appreciative smile, “and all because of you.” He reached his hand across the table, needing to touch some part of her. She bit her lip, hesitantly reaching up to take it with hers. “I talked to Jim, like you suggested, and it worked. You were one hundred and ten percent right; he was sad about losing his company to me, even though he wants to retire and has no children to take it over. It was his life’s work and I’ve been so busy with other stuff the past few months that I never took a minute to just sit down and talk with him throughout this whole process; I let my staff and my lawyers handle everything because I thought that would make everything proceed as smoothly as possible, but I forgot about the human element, the one that you so graciously reminded me of.”

  In more ways than one.

  Even though Ellie blushed deeply, her gaze never broke from his, taking in his story and his compliments with pride.

  “Of course,” she replied, a brilliant smile breaking over her face, “I’ve had to deal with a lot, well, not a lot a lot, but several disputes between either employees or between accountants or managers and the client. People always like to go into business with the presumption that ‘business is just business,’ but the fact is that business is about people and if something doesn’t seem right or rational, it’s because there are emotions involved that need to be addressed and not ignored because ‘it’s not protocol.’”

  Tristan stared at her, in awe of the strong, capable woman before him; she’d been doing this, handling these things for years, and yet still managed to hold such a poor opinion of herself up until very recently; the thought floored and infuriated him.