At No Time || Bruno Mars

7

Angelique snorted and eyed her incredulously. "Are you crazy? There are women out here who'd pay millions to have the body you have. They'd kill to be as thick as you."

"Yeah-yeah," Trystan disregarded laughingly, shaking her head.

Had it not been for Angelique's constant reassurance and three bottles of water, Trystan would have collapsed into the floor before the rigorous dance session completed.

"I don't see how Melissa does this every day," Trystan panted as she began her fourth bottle, wiping perspiration from her brow.

Angelique shrugged and grinned cheekily. "That's my girl! She'll get you in shape. You coming back on Friday?"

"If my legs don't feel like jello by then, I'll see."

"You know you'll be here!" Angelique shook Trystan's shoulders jestingly. Despite Trystan's weariness, she had to admit the class had been fun. She hadn't participated in such risqué dancing since her days in college. If she had a man to perform to, she was sure he'd thoroughly enjoy it.

Trystan's phone buzzed as she'd indulged in a conversation with Melissa, a brunette who reminded her of Karla Souza. She excused herself from the conversation of "So how'd you get into pole dancing?" to answer Neal's call.

"Hey, Neal. What's up?" Trystan stood by the entrance, leaning against the metal threshold.

"I'm about to kill your best friend," she heard an affronted Neal through the receiver.

"Why? What's wrong?" Trystan waved to departing dancers before creasing her eyebrows in concern. She'd never heard the easy-going Neal sound so aggravated.

"Peter wants to change the whole song."

"Wait, what?!" Trystan received a few perplexed glances at her exclamation. Lowering her voice, she continued, "Are you serious?"

"The entire song, Trystan. He wants to change the entire song."

"Like all of the compositions we made and lyric changes and—,"

"Everything. Can you talk him out of it? Me and Roger have been trying for the past two hours and he won't change his mind." Neal sounded as though he were on his last strands of hope.

What the hell is up with him? Trystan thought, puzzled. Everything had been fine, great even, a day ago. What had changed? It was Trystan's half-day off and still had an hour before she had to report to the studio, but this was too urgent to delay.

"Alright, I'll be right there at four."

Trystan was surprised she hadn't gotten a traffic ticket for how noticeably she sped through the L.A. streets to get to the studio. After showering in the dance studio's washroom, she hopped into Angelique's car after a five-minute lecture of "If you put even a scratch in my baby I'll beat your ass," from her, and went zero-to-sixty in five-point-five. Surely Peter had lost his marbles if he thought all the hard work they'd incorporated into the song had been for nothing.

"You're starting over the song?" Trystan boomed as soon as she entered the room. Her intonation seemed to stun everyone in the capacity momentarily, all except Peter, who rolled his eyes and glared at Neal. "You called her?"

"She was gonna find out anyway." Neal shrugged him off, still obviously upset. "And we needed someone to talk some sense into you."

"I didn't need anyone "talking some sense" into me. I just feel like it doesn't sound that good and we could produce something better," Peter reasoned nonchalantly as if he weren't offending anyone in the room, including himself.

"Peter." Trystan clasped hands together and closed her eyes tightly so not to explode. "What was so wrong with the song? You liked it pretty well yesterday."

Peter didn't give her an answer, instead turning to his notepad to scribble across the pages as if Trystan hadn't been speaking to him.

She crossed her arms, laughing humorlessly. "You are such a jackass."

"Excuse me?" A look of pointedness pinned to his face.

"You are not about to sit here and act like no one else in this room's opinion matter. We worked hard on the product we developed and now you just "don't like it" anymore? You're outnumbered, Peter. I agree that we should finish with what we have. It's great."

"I don't know whether or not you're aware, but I have the final say in all of our productions. If I think we can do better, I'll say so, and I have." Peter wasn't budging, and Trystan stiffened in anger.  How egotistical could one man be?

Trystan, not wanting to have to go through what they already had only a number of days ago, she didn't curse him out like she wanted to. She surveyed the room until her eyes landed on a deck of cards that sat on top of a card table by the door.

"I'll play you for it."

"What?"

"Poker. I'll play you for it. If you win, we'll do what you want and change the song. But if I win, we continue on with what we have. That's what we're betting."

An amused cock of Peter's eyebrow insinuated he felt the woman had no idea who she was dealing with. Being a savvy poker player who won a hand more than anyone he'd ever played against, he knew Trystan would be no match in comparison. It was too easy.

"Fine. You shuffle," he told Trystan, a smirk playing along his lips. He looked to Neal and Roger. "This'll only take a minute boys." Roger seemed particularly enthralled in the potential showdown whereas Neal looked even more aggravated than he did before Trystan showed up.

Peter went to sit across from Trystan, who was already mixing the stack of cards. "Neal, can you deal for us?" Trystan asked politely in effort to ease his vexation. He groaned, mumbling something under his breath but nonetheless trekking over to obligate.

Once settled, Trystan edged on, "Hit me."

On the game went, anxious minutes passing by as the two players scrutinized their hands. Peter, who didn't have much of a "poker" face, simpered through much of the game, the smirk stretching a bit wider with every hit he got. Trystan, on the other hand, had a crease in her brow that purported nervousness. Her hand even shook slightly when she called for another hit.

Neal, who noticed her tension, shook his head in disappointment. I wonder what Peter's gonna change the song to.

The ten minutes the game took seemed like an hour, and finally, to everyone's relief, it was brought to an end. Peter displayed his cards, a knowing, jackass-ish grin spreading across his bronze face. "Straight flush," he revealed, appearing pleased with himself.

Trystan eyed his hand with prominent discouragement, sighing.

"Thinking about the changes we're making to the song?" Peter mocked cuttingly, and again, Trystan expelled a breath. "No. I was thinking about how great the song we were working on already was and how we could make it even better."

Peter's smile dropped as Trystan lied out her hand.

"Royal flush." 

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Sorry if this seems a little rushed; I had to put something out for you all. Again, school has been a killer but fortunately I've been able to write multiple future chapters, so those won't take so long to post.

Thanks for reading!