Apparently they could both use a stiff drink after seeing Liv in person for the first time since Paris.
Tristan said, “It won’t be easy concentrating on business when Liv’s on the boat for the party.” Not that he’d have it any other way, but still . . .
Nate sipped, then told him, “We’re here for two weeks. More than that, if everything works out the way we want it to, with the new headquarters in San Francisco. We’ve got some time to build upon our foundation.”
“We still talking about business?”
Nate chuckled. “Yes. Though . . . damn, she was really excited to see us. I wonder exactly how much of that evening with us she remembers. She’s never brought it up.”
“Well, today she did . . . in passing.” Tristan took a long drink, then added, “We’ve never broached the subject either when we’re talking with her.”
Nate swirled the expensive whisky in his glass and mused, “We’d all had a lot of champagne. Foie gras, oysters, and every other aphrodisiac under the sun. The next day she went off to Australia—hungover—to start filming a new movie, and our London operations were just getting underway and we settled in the UK.”
Because of their extreme dedication to an industry they were enthralled with, they’d accomplished what they’d set out to do within a timeframe that had recently brought them full circle for an expansion of their enterprise.
As they’d plotted their newest strategy—establishing a presence in the Bay Area—Tristan had come to realize that he and Nate hadn’t necessarily been climbing a professional mountain to reach the sort of pinnacle that obliterated memories of their nerdy appearances, brainiac tendencies, and awkward phases. Rather, it was as though they’d been moving toward something all this time—beyond the satisfaction of mastering their technological field . . . or being ab
le to flaunt their evolution—physical, fiscal, or otherwise.
The latter was just surface vindication, after all. Not something that really satisfied the soul.
Not the way Liv Tyner did. Which had propelled both men to agree upon making a grand move in that area as well, perhaps parlaying their unexpected threesome into something more significant with Liv. Something more permanent.
But they still had a ways to go.
After polishing off his scotch, Tristan left Nate and walked to the famed town square with its grassy courtyard, featuring a massive, crisp-white gazebo, fancy topiary sculptures, and a babbling brook with decorative waterfalls. Freshly shellacked wooden-slat benches and glossy receptacle cans were sprinkled along the perimeter of the vast lawn. There were plenty of tall palm and shade trees, along with vibrantly colored bougainvillea and flowerbeds to enhance the scenery.
Most importantly, adjacent to the cobblestone walkways edging the square were high-end eateries and expensive boutiques to rival Rodeo Drive.
Tristan didn’t debate his options when it came to the shops. Liv loved Prada. So that was his first stop. The manager was Milla Keto, whom he recognized from high school. Though Milla didn’t have a clue as to who Tristan was when he walked through the door. Not even a spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. He wasn’t surprised.
“Tristan Reeves,” he introduced himself. “We had Earth Science together sophomore year. We were lab partners—I dissected the frog.”
“Oh, good Lord.” She pressed two fingers to her lips for a brief moment, then said, “I threw up on your loafers.”
Tristan laughed. “You did give fair warning it might happen.”
She gasped. “How absolutely mortifying! And you wouldn’t even let my parents buy you a new pair.”
“I had a spare.”
Milla gave him a friendly hug and said, “God, you were so nice about the whole thing. If it had been someone like Toby Anderson I’d vomited on, he would have completely bitten my head off.”
“Yeah . . . hated that guy.”
“He was an asshole to everyone, so don’t feel bad,” Milla said. “And P.S., he got what he had coming to him in the long run—he blew through his trust fund by the time he turned twenty-three and his father made him work in the mailroom of Anderson-Hoff Enterprises for two years before he’d let Toby apply for any other position within the company. Very humiliating for someone who considers himself the be-all, end-all of everything.”
“I hadn’t heard, but then . . . I’m not really in the loop. I mostly glean tidbits here and there from John McDermott and Liv Tyner.”
“John is doing extremely well, and I’m so happy that he’s getting married. Chloe is a breath of fresh air. Very sweet and down-to-earth, despite this production of a wedding she’s putting on—though she is one woman who deserves the bells and whistles. As for Liv . . .” Milla leaned in close and held a palm alongside her mouth as she conspiratorially relayed, “She’s one of my very best customers.”
“I figured as much. Is there anything in this store she doesn’t already own?” Tristan asked.
“Well, sure,” Milla told him with a flirty smile. “She sometimes cheats on us with Louis Vuitton and Dolce & Gabbana.” The pretty blonde batted her long lashes and added, “We always forgive her, though.”
Tristan grinned and congenially said, “Very understanding of you.”
“So, what are you looking for in particular?”