Page 31 of The Pleasure Contract
Bristol hadn’t tried to fool herself into believing that he’d forgotten what he’d said. If she knew anything about Lachlan Drummond after all this time, it was that he truly was ruthless. He might not enact that ruthlessness the way his ancestors had, using Wall Street like a weapon, but that didn’t mean he lacked it.
Lachlan preferred to wait. As long as it took, as long as was necessary.
It was a family trait, apparently.
“You know that you’re the first girlfriend Lachlan has ever introduced me to,” Catriona had said on their last night on the island. Lachlan had been called into a last-minute huddle with his staff, so she’d found Bristol tucked up in one of the lesser-used sitting rooms with the big, fat book she’d been trying to finish before they left open before her. “I don’t want to say that you’re the first girlfriend who also reads, but...”
She’d smiled at Bristol, her face open and engaging.
Bristol knew by then that those were Catriona’s sharpest and deadliest weapons.
“That’s a bit harsh, surely,” Bristol had replied, smiling brightly in return, even as she’d looked around for an escape. Because it felt dishonest, somehow, to have private conversations with a woman she would never see again once the summer was over. The kind of conversations real girlfriends might have with their new boyfriend’s family.
She’d thought again about what Lachlan had said about wanting more of her—then shook it off. Because as much as she might have enjoyed Catriona and her family and the high-spirited banter between all of them and Lachlan at their nightly dinners, none of that was hers. Or ever could be, no matter what fantasies ofmessy realnessLachlan might harbor.
Bristol knew he didn’t really want any of that. If he did, they never would have met, because he would never have created an entire system to make sure his hired companions kept their distance—up to and including the tiresome Stephanie and heragendas.
“It is harsh,” Catriona had been saying. She’d sighed. “I suppose, Bristol, that I’m just ready for my brother to have something real.”
And for a long moment, the two of them had gazed at each other across that charming room stuffed full of novels and art, a thousand things unspoken between them.
Bristol had been certain then of something she’d thought off and on throughout their stay—that Catriona knew exactly how her brother handled his intimate relationships. Just as she knew that it had been possible Catriona’s oblique reference was a test to see if Bristol would disclose the nature of that relationship now she’d mentioned it, even though it was forbidden by the contracts she’d signed.
And Lachlan wasn’t in the room, so Bristol couldn’t look to his reaction as a guide or, better yet, allow him to handle his sister.
She’d had to go with her gut and protect him.
“Isn’t that what everybody’s looking for?” she’d asked softly. “If the world was better atreal, there’d be a lot lesslonely.”
And though Catriona hadn’t said anything else that night, the interaction had stayed with Bristol.
Haunting her all the way to Hong Kong.
Even flying into a city so hectic was an adventure, especially in the downpour of a humid Chinese summer. Bristol stared out the plane’s windows at the bristling skyscrapers as they came in for their landing, as if Hong Kong wasn’t simply a single city but every city, packed into all those endless jutting buildings. As usual, Lachlan left her after they disembarked so he could go directly into his business meetings.
Meaning Bristol was once again stranded in a car with the officious and passive-aggressive Stephanie, who had taken to reading out her lists of instructions because she knew Bristol had no intention of following them.
Outside the windows, the Hong Kong weather seemed to highlight the press of so many people, the buildings piled high. Some part of Bristol found it exhilarating. Another part of her found the tumult of it all a bit hard to process after the serenity of the island.
But it was harder and harder to tell how she felt about anything. Bristol tried her best to feel nothing at all.
“Are you listening to me?” Stephanie demanded as the car inched through traffic.
Bristol looked over at her and smiled. Serenely. “I think you know perfectly well that I’m not.”
The other woman let out a huff of outrage. “This can’t continue, Bristol. Do you know how many women I’ve seen sit where you’re sitting? Here’s a newsflash. Each and every one of them thought they were special, too.”
“Stephanie. Look at me.” Bristol waited until she did. Stephanie had to be twenty years older than she was, trim and capable and currently so tense it was surprising she didn’t snap in half. “Your itineraries are suggestions. We both know it. There’s only one person who gives me orders and he’s made it clear he doesn’t care if I follow your agendas or not. That’s just a fact, so what’s the point of arguing about it, day in and day out? And what does it even matter? I’m only here for the summer. I’m sure the next one who comes along will bow to your every whim.”
“These are notmyitineraries!” Stephanie looked stung. “They’re to help you do your job to the best of your abilities—and to Mr. Drummond’s satisfaction.”
“I admire what you do,” Bristol said, soothingly. And was surprised to find she meant it. “It can’t possibly be easy to corral a variety of women into this particular box, over and over. But rest assured, Lachlan is perfectly aware which one of the two of us is responsible for the way I dress and behave. If there’s a price to be paid, I’ll be paying it. Not you.”
And for a moment, it was quiet in the car. Only the cacophony of the sprawling city outside, pressing in against the windows.
“He treats you differently,” Stephanie said, and for once, Bristol could detect no trace of snideness or passive aggression in her voice. It made her blink. “To be honest, Bristol, you’re the first one who makes me think I might be out of a job soon.”
Despite herself, Bristol felt her pulse pick up. Something in her stomach twisted, but not in a bad way. If she didn’t know better—if she didn’t know how futile it all was—she might have thought it was hope.