Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
It was touching how important this deal was to him—and how important his company’s goal toward sustainability was. “Just take it down here,” I said. He stared at the phone in his hand. “Either way, answer it.”
Finally, he nodded, putting the phone to his ear and walking into the kitchen.
Figuring I wouldn’t be able to write while he was there talking, I checked my email—and then my breath caught in my throat.
There it was, right in my inbox—a reply from Miranda Morales Sanchez.
Suddenly, I knew how Tristan felt as he’d stared at his phone screen. Did I want to know what she had to say? Yes, but only if it was good news.
My hand hovered over the keyboard, my fingers shaking. I’d just open it—and then I’d know. It was simple.
Except I couldn’t make myself do it.
Tristan’s voice completely faded from my mind as I stared at the director’s name in my inbox. Finally, I clicked the email open.
Five minutes later, when Tristan reentered the room, I was still staring at the screen in front of me.
“We got it.”
Tristan’s words barely penetrated my daze, so he repeated them.
“Sierra, we got the contract for the recycled steel!”
I dragged my gaze up, seeing the huge smile on Tristan’s handsome face, and recalled the words he’d just said. “You did?”
“We did.” He leapt forward, coming around to my side of the table. “It’s finally happening! We’re making connections. We’re moving ahead. Hell, we might even be able to quit our jobs a month or two early.”
“Congratulations,” I murmured.
Tristan grabbed my hands, squeezing them. “That’s all you can say? This is big news! Say something!”
“Miranda Morales Sanchez wants to see my screenplay.”
“What?” Tristan’s eyes widened. “Seriously? She’s the one you wanted to show it to?”
I nodded, too stunned to say much more.
“My god, she’s amazing. Congratulations!” He pulled me to my feet and swung me around, breaking the paralysis that’d hit me when I’d read her email. “That’s incredible!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he backed away from the table, twirling me around. It was starting to sink in… she wanted to read my screenplay. Miranda Morales Sanchez—I could barely believe it.
And Tristan was just as excited about his news. “That’s amazing for you, too,” I said as he set me back down, but he didn’t let me go. His blue eyes were inches away and the happiness in them was palpable. Then he lowered his head and his lips touched mine.
For a moment, all I felt was joy, too. At my news. At his news. And at the way he held me. But as soon as his mouth pressed against mine, I pulled back. I wanted to celebrate with him. I wanted to be close to him… but I just couldn’t.
He let me go and stepped back. “Sorry.”
The fleeting look of pain on his face stabbed me right in the heart. “No, it’s fine, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Just got caught up in the moment,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Crap.
He sat on the stool next to mine. “I still can’t believe Miranda’s going to look at your writing. I love her films.”
“Me, too.”
“Drew’s going to do cartwheels when he gets back and finds out.”
The sour taste of guilt filled my stomach. Did Tristan think I hadn’t wanted to kiss him because of Drew? Or because I didn’t like him?
“I’m really happy for you, too,” I said lamely. “Glad the lawyers came through.”
He nodded. “Every once in a while, something goes right. Hey, I think I’m going to make some sandwiches, do you want—”
“I don’t kiss,” I blurted out. Instantly, I felt my face heat. Sometimes it amazed the hell out of me that I could play any kind of character quite smoothly, yet was so awkward in real life.
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Yeah, I kind of do.” I stared down at the floor under the large table, unable to meet his eyes. “To you, and to…”
“Drew?”
Shyly, I nodded. He’d just confirmed he had some inkling of what had gone on between Drew and me. Carter probably did as well—but that was something to worry about later.
When I took a quick peek up, Tristan’s eyes were kind. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me. But let’s go sit over there. This doesn’t feel like a worktable conversation.”
Nodding, I followed him over to the sofa. I sat down, my feet tucked under me, trying not to blush from remembering the things Drew and I had done on this couch.
“Want me to make a fire?”
“No, it’s okay.”
To my surprise, he sat in the armchair that Carter usually claimed. It was only a few feet away from me, so we weren’t very far apart, but it was less intimate than sitting on the sofa together and for that, I was grateful. It was hard for me to talk about those kinds of things.