I clasp Tristan's hand as we exit the Red Cross building in the early morning sun. The breeze is refreshing, a strong contrast the stuffiness of the classroom. True to his word, he came with me to the class, pushing a meeting back to later in the day in order to make it.
And it was surreal experience. Learning what to do in a crisis next to the man who's already gone through one with me. I lean into him, smiling.
"Thank you for coming with me."
"Of course," he murmurs, nodding. "My brain is going into overdrive."
"Mine too... There is so much to remember- to know."
"Well, at least there are two brains between us that know now. I think we'll be good."
We head toward the sleek limo that is now our new vehicle for the time being and the man exiting the driver's side. My new bodyguard. He's barely said two words from me other than hello and yes ma'am. Tristan introduced him as Ryan Galpos. He's been working for Tristan since he started ten years ago so at least, I know I can trust him.
His hair is fiery red and short, contrasting his pale skin. He opens the door for us, standing up straight. He's a few inches taller than Tristan so I'm guessing this guy is 6'4 or something- huge.
We get in, still close even as we lean back into our seats.
"So, you're going into work now?"
He looks at me like I'm crazy, taking out his phone. "Work? No. I told you- we're going to meet with the architect."
"I can't believe you're serious about this! You'd be giving me hundreds of thousands to get this up, Tristan."
Looking down at his phone, he murmurs, "Millions."
Millions... Just millions he says nonchalantly. This guy has to be crazy.
"Nope. Nope. No way."
He smirks, rolling his eyes. "We're going, Gen. Deal with it."
"Genevieve, this is Angie Huston," Tristan introduces, gesturing me forward as we enter the trailer on site. Skyscrapers surround the area, making the empty plot of dirt stand out like a sore thumb. I don't know whether it's that fact of knowing this may be mine that has my hand shaking as I reach out to clasp her hand.
"It's nice to meet you," I murmur, surprised by the firmness of her shake. She nods, forcing the yellow bob on her head to shake as one up and down. She has enough hairspray in it to tackle the strongest humidity anyone could think of. She smiles wide, nodding.
"Likewise. It's a rarity to see Tristan so happy. I'm sure I, as well as everyone else at Maddox Global, have you to thank for that."
I blush at her words, smiling uncomfortably.
"Stop embarrassing her, Ang and show her the print out," Tristan murmurs, chuckling. When she rolls her eyes, turning, I begin to wonder if I'm actually meeting one of his friends right now.
"Alright, come here. Well, what kind of museum are you going for? Tristan told me you used to restore paintings and now you're a curator for them?"
"Yes, that's right... I particularly love paintings."
"Alright, any certain era or scattered?"
"Uh, scattered? Maybe?"
"I'm only asking because I'm envisioning a picturesque, vintage look. I think intricate architecture would bring just- something else out if the era were say Middle Age or High Renaissance. But if you're looking for something else-"
YOU ARE READING
What do you do when disaster strikes? You survive. On the night before her entire life changes, Genevieve Harding was walking along the shoreline with a man she'd only just met. Tristan Maddox. A man who grazed the pages of the magazines and newspa...