Penthouse Player by Tara Leigh

Author:Tara Leigh [Leigh, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Swerve
Published: 2017-09-04T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

@BettencourtBets: Will what happened in San Francisco stay in San Francisco? Maybe not. Stay tuned!

Tristan

I stared at the Bettencourt crest hanging above my bed, the one that had sent Reina running the first night we met, wondering what the last few weeks would have been like if I’d elected to get us a room at the Four Seasons rather than bringing her back to my apartment that night. What would have happened once we came face-to-face in the conference room on Monday morning? Speculation was a pointless exercise, one I rarely indulged in, but everything about my relationship with Reina felt precarious and open to interpretation. I was used to dealing with risk and uncertainty at work, but in my personal life, I wasn’t a fan.

Being on the road together, away from the office, away from friends and family obligations, had been good for us. The two weeks had passed in a blur of presentations, meetings, meals on the go, and long, drawn-out lunches and dinners, the bar tab easily double or triple the cost of the food.

And sex. Lots and lots of sex. The kind of sex that would have made my horny, adolescent self cream in his pants . . . and then tilt his head in amazement at the variety of configurations two humans were capable of.

So yeah, it was a rewarding trip in more ways than one, but I was glad to be home. I’d spent the day in the office, catching up on everything that hadn’t been urgent enough to deal with while I was away. But the markets seemed calm, even for a Friday, and now I was home.

Waiting for Reina to arrive.

She hadn’t reversed her position that we’d only be together on the road. And truthfully, I wasn’t even sure she’d show up tonight. Hoping for the best, there was takeout from my favorite neighborhood restaurant waiting in the kitchen, along with a server from their staff to make it look like I hadn’t just ordered takeout for the first night Reina and I spent together that didn’t involve furtively sneaking down the hall and ducking into each other’s rooms, fingers crossed that no one would see us.

I selected a Pinot Noir to go with our dinner, plus a Sauvignon Blanc in case Reina preferred white. And as I lit the candles that had been placed on my table by whomever had decorated the apartment before I moved in, I couldn’t help but shake my head. I didn’t do this. I didn’t do cozy dinners at home. Not the kind with wine and candles and—Shit. I’d forgotten the flowers.

Of course, I had never dated a woman who refused to be seen in public with me, either. There was nothing sleazy about Reina, or my feelings for her. It bugged me that going public with our relationship wouldn’t be good for either one of us. A few years ago, maybe no one would have noticed. But my profile was higher now that I

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