At No Time || Bruno Mars

4

It was obvious that Trystan was frustrated; she never did hide her emotions well. Peter barely flinched when she asked—quite loudly—what the hell his problem was. "You've shot down every idea I've had."

"No offense, but we have standards, Trystan. Meet them, and I'll consider."

Trystan sat back in her chair, in pure disbelief. Both Neal and Roger ogled Peter, perplexed at their friend's rudeness, but offered no help.

If looks could kill, Peter was sure he'd be a rotting corpse by Trystan's glare. But instead of tearing into him like he knew she wanted to, Trystan grabbed the notebook she'd been scribbling in and stuffed it into her backpack.

As she stood, she muttered. "I'll be back tomorrow. Hopefully by then you'll have your drawers out of a fucking bunch." Trystan stomped out the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Silence surged into the room before Roger let out a low whistle. "Ouch," he mumbled. "Way to be a dick, P."

Peter shrugged, indifferent. "She has to work up to her hype. I don't entertain mediocrity."

"But what she gave wasn't even—,"

Neal cleared his throat, halting Roger's retort. "Rog, let me talk to P for a minute."

Roger looked between both the friends before throwing his hands up in surrender and standing. "Fine, but I don't want to have to break up any catfights."

"You know you were wrong for that, P."

A cross expression was plastered on Neal's face as he glared at Peter, who pretended to be busying himself with sound board. Neal had waited for Roger to leave before he confronted his egotistical friend, and only grew more agitated at Peter's lack of reverence for the new hand.

"All I did was be honest, Neal," Peter sighed, taking a moment to glance at him. "Is that such a crime?"

"You were being an asshole, P. Her stuff sounded good and you know it."

Peter knew as well as his comrade did that Trystan's ideas did sound good, but he wouldn't be the one to admit that. He chose to say nothing.

"Do you have beef or something?" Neal asked suddenly, throwing Peter off. "What?"

"With her, I mean. I don't think I've ever seen you treat somebody like that, and we've had some straight shit come through here." Neal dragged over a swivel chair and settled in it rearward. "She seemed to know who you were. Did something happen back when you were in New York?"

"I've never known you to be so inquisitive, Neal."

"Answer the damn question."

"No, I don't have any "beef" with her."

"Then why were you being such an ass?"

"It's all business, Neal. All business."

Neal groaned, agitated. "Well, if that's the kind of "business outlook" you're going for, you might as well kiss this position goodbye. If you aren't willing to accept new ideas, Lance will drop us and bring someone else to do the job. That's the only reason she's here. To help."

"Okay, Neal." Peter turned from him and engrossed himself in some equipment, hoping Neal would get the hint and leave him be. From the corner of his eye he saw Neal sigh and rise from his chair before exiting the room himself.

Quietude enveloped the room, but Peter was not sure if he was glad about it or not. The silence gave his mind a chance to roam free, but that chance also gave him the unwanted opportunity to bring about happenstances in which he would rather leave in the past.

Trystan, why the hell are you here? Why did it have to be you?  Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache forming right in his front lobe. He did not need anything from his precedent to make itself relevant again--that was one of the main reasons he decided to move out to California in the first place. He thought he'd left the tremors of the past, but now, they planned to resuscitate themselves full throttle.

. . .