Page 3 of The Temporary Bride

“It’ll be all downhill from here on out,” I say, glancing back toward the bartender. I can’t turn to the crowd or I won’t be able to hear what he’s saying. Besides, I ordered a gin and tonic a minute ago, and I could really use the drink.

“And let me guess, MediaSphere is waiting in the wings?”

“We’re on our way up,” I reply. “You’re on your way down. Don’t take it personally.”

Through my good ear, I can hear him chuckle. He definitely doesn’t seem to be taking it personally. “Does that sort of confidence usually play well with investors?”

“You have no idea how well. Our stock has never been this high.” At least that’s true. We’ve had an excellent month, and the past fiscal year was our best on record.

“And have you noticed Thorne Enterprises’ performance?”

“I have.” The bartender finally returns with my drink, and I give the lime on the rim a squeeze before lifting the glass to my lips. “You know the market should be read in terms of growth, right? You’ve been on a plateau for a while now.”

“There’s an ebb and flow to these things.”

“Of course there is.” I set the glass down on the counter, my gaze fixed on the illuminated liquor bottles behind the backbar. “But I don’t see ebbing or flowing with Thorne Enterprises. I see the calm before the storm.”

“And MediaSphere? You’re growing, are you?”

“Absolutely,” I say. “And we’re projected to keep going.”

“I’d like to see that.”

I glance back at him. “Why is that?”

He shrugs, still wearing that crooked, dangerously charming smile. “Maybe if the family business grows, the Dawson ice queen will finally crack a smile.”

I snort under my breath, the kind of sound my mother would hate, and turn my attention back to my drink. “Oh, give me a break.”

“What? I haven’t seen your dimples in a while, you know. They only show up when you smile.”

“Maybe that’s just because I don’t find you funny.” I take a small sip of my drink. “Did that ever occur to you?”

“Huh,” he says, unimpressed. “I’ll take that under consideration.” There’s a pause, in which he leans on the bar. Clearly, he’s not intending to go anywhere. “You’re wrong about Thorne Enterprises, by the way.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “Generally speaking, yes, our company has been in the doldrums. But you don’t see the whole picture. You’re not on the inside.”

“And you’re here to give me some insider knowledge, are you?” I say dryly. “Just in case I’m looking for stock options?” The idea is laughable. My father would never speak to me again if he knew I had stock in Thorne Enterprises.

“Sure.” Tristan gestures to get the bartender’s attention, and the man appears promptly. “Whiskey, neat.”

He settles himself against the bar, his body close to mine. Close enough that all of my senses are on alert, keenly aware of him.

He’s unfairly handsome. All of the Thorne brothers are tall and good-looking, but Tristan is almost criminally attractive. He has short, dark hair that he keeps perfectly groomed, and his eyes are blue, like a calm ocean.

My grandfather loved fishing. When I was little, he used to take me out on his forty-foot trawler to sink lines and reel in wriggling sea bass. He always warned me about the ocean, as if he was a hardened sailor rather than a hobbyist. I guess the waters don’t discriminate.

When the sea is calm, don’t be fooled, he told me. In a few days’ time, a storm will come through, and the waves won’t hesitate to sink you.

I’ve known Tristan since we were in business school together, studying for our MBAs at Wharton. He’s always been cocky and confident like this, and I hate how my breath catches as he leans closer.

I meet Tristan’s gaze and see it for what it is: a calm mask, hiding an existential threat.

“So tell me,” I say, doing my best to keep the strain out of my voice. “What’s Thorne Enterprises’ lifeboat?”

“We’re closing on an overseas distribution deal.” He shrugs languidly, smirking. “Won’t be public for another quarter, but it’s locked in.”