In the end, Willa stepped out of the elevator first, just before seven in the morning. She wore a simple navy T-shirt and jeans that belied her dastardly, scheming ways. Henry rose and met her outside on the sidewalk. “We should talk.” This wasn’t his preferred plan—he would have preferred the fantasy plan where he ran into Tristan and they decided love was enough and they’d be able to get by—but it might be the best.
“We talked last night, Henry. Cavorting withallyour fellow competitors, now?” She faced him head on. “What didn’t I make clear?”
Nothing. She'd left not one damn thing unclear, but Henry needed to do something, do whatever he could manage to make this up to Tristan. TosaveTristan from Henry’s own damn selfishness. “If you leave Tristan alone, fight it out fair and square in the final, I’ll leave without a fuss. Please.”
“You actually do care about him.” She smiled, shaking her head. “If you’re worried about him dealing with me by himself, then tell him to throw this round, thenyoucan join me next time.”
“He doesn’t need to know about any of this.” Would anything Henry said get through to her, make her have half an ounce of compassion? “He’s struggling, okay? He needs this money. I will step out of your way gladly, but give him a shot. Be a decent human being and let him have his chance to win.”
“Why?”
Henry sighed. “Because you have a heart, and I’m coming to the negotiating table and willing to do what it is you want. I may have my life under control, but he’s still trying to sort his out. So I’m begging you. I’ll get down on my knees if I have to.” If she asked, he would drop down right on the pavement. “Let Tristan have a fair shot. Your business is going to amp way up anyway just from being in the finals.” She had to give him an inch here. This was his only way of getting Tristan a chance.
A car pulled up at the curb and Henry checked his phone, but his ride was still on the way. Willa opened the back door. “Negotiations have fallen apart, Henry. I want to win this. I’m old, I’m tired, and I’m not making you any promises.”
Damn it.Only one option left to try. “Then consider this.” His stomach was tight as he spoke, but this wasn’t abouthisfeelings. For once, it wasn’t. “You agree, or I out the whole thing. The blackmail. Bertha. We can all go down with the ship.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t. Not if it hurts him.”
“You don’t know jack about me. You were right that I’m a threat, though. Being gay’s given me a lifetime of experience dealing with people trying to make my life worse. That might not be whyyou’retargeting me, but I can handle you too.” That realization had been the only silver lining of the evening. It had cleared some of the baggage from Henry’s head. He was a contender. Being gayhadn’tspoiled that. His mother’s worst fearshadn’tcome to pass. “Don’t know if you’re familiar with your gay history, but we’ve always fought back. Sometimes with bricks, sometimes with lawsuits, but we fight.I’ma fighter.” And unfortunately, in a fight, sometimes there were casualties. Throwing Willa under the buswouldhurt Tristan. Materially. But Henry had minimal leverage here. He had to pull every single lever at his disposal. “If the options are you get away with this and we both lose, or you don’t get away with this and we both lose?” Henry shrugged, feigning as much nonchalance as he could. “And maybe I’ve been recording this conversation. Did you consider that?”
Thatseemed to knock her back a little, and Henry shook his phone. Her face tensed. Henry raised an eyebrow and shrugged, leaving his comment to stand.
Finally, she snorted, face contorted into a scowl. “I want to see you off the show first. Then we can talk.” She slid into the back seat without another word.
Henry shivered. His play had been pure bluff.Wish I would have thought to actually record the conversation.But it seemed to have put Willa back on her heels. He felt a little better about leaving. He’d won himself some room to maneuver, and hopefully won Tristan a chance to get the money he needed. It pained Henry to think about leaving Tristan to deal with her by himself . . . but Tristanneededthe money.
And Tristan’s need to protect Lucia was way, way more important than his own desire to prove himself. He would give up every ounce of recognition for Tristan.And I might have to if I’m going to get us out of this.
The kitchen didn’t bustle, was dead quiet as they all worked their chocolate, fighting with temperature and crystal structures. Tristan pointedly didn’t look away from his station. He didn’t want to see Willa, and he couldn’t risk seeing Henry. His stomach still roiled when he thought about the scrape of his stubble and his coconut cologne. Too many conflicting emotions, all clashing into a mess in his middle.
Tristan couldn’t keep his mind off Henry though, looking at him or not. A voice in his head constantly sang Henry’s virtues. He was perfect and lovely and talented and he opened Tristan up in a way Tristan hadn’t let himself be opened in too long.
He’d also been the one-way ticket straight out of the money Tristan needed for Lucia. Henry was obsessed with his own pleasure, his own wants... even though Tristan could have pulled his hand away that night, could have not drank so much that he hadn’t noticed the flash from Willa’s phone.
“Can you grab that whisk?”
Tristan automatically turned at the voice. Henry stood at the counter behind him as always. Scruffy already in spite of shaving clean the night before, wearing a tight T-shirt. Dark crescents sliced away under his eyes, and he was pale, his body tight. Henry’s visage tore apart Tristan’s middle. He still cared about Henry. Cared so much that his skin burned to touch him, to be near him. So much that he could wind up doing something immensely stupid like fucking over his sister, his life, if he let himself relax.
So Tristan bent down and picked up the whisk. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Henry touched Tristan’s knuckles briefly as he took it, and he locked his eyes on Tristan. “Something came up at the shop... so I might have to head home.”
And that one stilted, softly whispered sentence crashed into Tristan, shattered all his conflicting feelings and left a gaping maw in its wake. “Henry.”
“Good luck if I have to head home.” Henry briefly washed the whisk, then went back to his ganache.
Tristan turned off his burners and his oven, forcing his breath to steady. A cigarette was the answer. Now. He double-checked to make sure everything was off, that he wouldn’t burn the place down, then beelined for the back door. Out in the wide world, Henry wasn’t talking about forfeiting, about leaving. There was just fresh summer air that knew nothing of Tristan’s panic.
He’s leaving for me.Henry wouldn’t back down from this fight for shits and giggles. No, this was Henry tossing all his desires aside to get a highfalutin caterer one more round's worth of pay.
Tristan’s hands shook so hard he struggled to light up, had to flick the lighter a full five times before he finally got the flame steady enough to light his cigarette. Then he sucked in deep and waited for the nicotine to wind its way around all his concerns and worries and anger and... everything.
Nothing. The fragrant smoke did nothing for him as it filled his lungs. No calm. No peace. Not even a glimmer of something that resembled that normal, drug-induced relaxation.
His phone buzzed. It was a notification from his cloud storage.Classic chiffon recipe.rtf privacy settings changed.He tapped the notification and saw Henry Isaacson had relinquished access to the file. With a note.
Just in case.
