“Why don’t you let me help you?”
“And how would you do that?”
“I could buy fifty percent of Anderson Media and take over half the debt. We could work together. I could even be a silent partner, if that’s what you prefer.”
“What?” I frown. This is the first time he’s ever mentioned anything like this.
“I’m serious. I have the contacts, and we could really build it up for the boys.”
I stare at him.
“And then”—he sips his drink casually—“when you got back on your feet, you could buy my portion back from me.”
“You’d do that?”
“Of course, anything for you. You know that.”
I frown and sip my drink.
“Claire Anderson,” the familiar voice says from behind my back.
Fucking hell.
I turn and see Tristan standing beside the table. “Oh, hi,” I stammer. I look between Gabriel and Tristan as they glare at each other.
“Drinking on a school night?” he asks.
“She’s on a date with me,” Gabriel snaps.
Tristan smiles sarcastically and pulls up a stool, as if undertaking a silent dare.
“Is that so?” He sits down and turns his attention to me.
The blood begins to drain from my face . . . get me out of here.
“Ah, Tristan, do you know Gabriel?” I ask nervously.
Tristan smiles and puts his hand out to shake Gabriel’s hand. “Hello, I’m Tristan Miles.”
Gabriel glares at him but doesn’t shake his hand. “I know who you are.”
Tristan smiles broadly and winks at him. “No handshake?”
Arrogance personified.
Fuck.
He’s my son’s boss. I have to be civil, and he knows it. Bastard.
“Tristan, if you don’t mind . . . we are in the middle of a business meeting,” I reply.
“I thought you were on a date?” he replies calmly.
“She is. We are,” Gabriel fires back.
Tristan steeples his hands in front of him, as if amused. His eyes are alight with troublemaking mischief.
“What do you want, Tristan?” I snap.