Page 77 of Third Time is the Charm (Passion and Perseverance #3)
“I see,” Mr. Carter responded, his expression becoming shuttered, “I see that you will not listen to reason, which means that I’m left with no choice. I said that if you agreed to speak with me, that I might consider returning the drawing. I did not guarantee its return.”
“Are you fucking serious right now? I’ll just go in there and have the auction company get my drawing back and return your money. Hell, I’ll sue you for it if it comes to that,” Tristan spat, vengefully.
“Or, you could make me a portrait of my daughter and I will return your drawing with no issue upon receipt of it, and you can keep the money.” Jack quickly finished before Tristan walked away to make good on his threat.
Tristan stared at the man standing in front of him. For the first time in seven years, he not only revealed his identity to a patron, but was now actually considering creating a piece of artwork on request.
What in the royal fuck was happening today?
He ran his hand through his hair again, angry and frustrated, stuck between a bad and an even worse decision.
If he refused, who knows how hard it would be to get his drawing back, or how long it might take, especially if lawyers were to get involved.
If he accepted, he would be going back on the promise that he had made to himself and the Guild to abide by the set of rules that they had decided on at the start.
He’s not paying you for the piece, so at least it’s not like you are profiting.
It was still a request.
This is the portrait of your mother; sometimes, exceptions to the rule must be made even if it is just this once.
Before he could think the better of it, Tristan extended his hand.
“Fine,” he all but spat. “I’ll draw your daughter, but I will have your word that upon completion of her portrait you will return that of my mother.”
“You have my word,” the older man said, taking Tristan’s hand firmly to seal their agreement.
“She can’t know who I am,” Tristan continued coldly, the potential repercussions of his choice now starting to become clear.
His secrets couldn’t spread any farther after this moment.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” Jack agreed. “In fact, I ask that you do not tell her what I’ve done to acquire her portrait; I want her to know about no part of this deal.”
Tristan stared back, his curiosity only slightly peaked about why Jack would want to keep something like that from his daughter, but it wasn’t any of his business, and he was already far more involved than was a good idea.
“What is her name?”
“Elsa,” he responded. “Do you need her information? How will you contact her?”
With a sharp stare, Tristan pulled out a pen from inside his tux, motioning for Jack to give him his auction handout. He scribbled on the paper a date, time, and address.
“I won’t be contacting her,” he began bluntly. “Have her be there for the audition.” Handing him back the information, Tristan didn’t bother to wait for a response before he turned and stalked back into the gallery to find the devious asshole who had gotten him into this mess.
By the time he got back inside, most of the crowd had cleared out, including the specific Lucifer he was searching for; Pierce was nowhere to be seen in the giant hall.
That motherfucker.
Even though Tristan knew that this whole ordeal was Pierce’s idea of an entertaining revenge for what he had said earlier, as well as an attempt to level the competition for this stupid fucking contest that he desperately wanted to win, Tristan still couldn’t believe that he’d done this.
What had Pierce been thinking? Hell, what had he been thinking?
It was his own damn fault for agreeing to the stupid competition – agreeing and then, out of frustration with his own weakness, upping the ante by mocking his friend.
After a decade of being friends with the man, Tristan should have known better than to provoke him.
The fact was that Pierce couldn’t have known that Jack Carter wouldn’t return the painting; he couldn’t have known that Jack was only there to try to find an ‘in’ with the Guild, to personally request a portrait.
He couldn’t blame Pierce for that, no matter how much his anger wanted him to at the moment.
Although, if Pierce did this to make sure that he wouldn’t submit his mom’s portrait to the competition, then he would have had to have known that Jack wasn’t going to give the drawing back, right?
Tristan pinched his temples; trying to get inside Pierce’s head was an impossibility.
You never knew what Pierce knew and what he didn’t, whether it was all part of his plan or it just magically worked out in his devious favor; that was the entire reason that Pierce enjoyed life, to keep those around him on edge, always guessing about him.
Either way, he was going to lay into the bastard, that was for damn sure – if he could just find him.
“Did you get it back?” Tristan turned, hearing Sloane’s voice approaching from behind him.
“No,” he responded, his eyes shadowing, “but I will. Where’s Pierce?”
“I think he left already, something about a hot date…”
“Dammit,” Tristan spat, pulling out his cell phone to dial Pierce’s number.
“Also, you should know that Pierce had Bernard come up at the end of the auction and announce that the Guild would be participating in the Met competition next month.”
“Of course, he did,” Tristan responded sarcastically. Not that he had even thought about pulling out from the competition, especially now; there was no way he was going to let Pierce win this after everything he had just put him through.
Dialing Pierce’s number, Tristan gave Sloane a nod before walking out of the gallery again towards the museum exit; this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have anywhere near a group of people.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Confidence,” Pierce answered the phone smugly. “How are you feeling about winning that competition now?”
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Tristan responded, his voice eerily calm.
“What! Just a little fun; couldn’t have you getting too sure of yourself,” Pierce paused to laugh. “He seemed like a nice enough guy, the one who won your mom. I’m sure he’ll give her back to you if you ask nicely.”
“He wasn’t willing to exchange or give the drawing back,” Tristan bluntly informed him.
Pierce began to laugh on the other end of the line. “Oh, that is fucking rich. Well, looks like we have now both lost an important piece for each other. At least you fucking know who has yours,” he snarled, bitterness creeping into his tone.
Why did he have a feeling that was going to come up? Pierce was never going to let what happened three years ago go, no matter how many times he’d told Tristan it was ‘all good’ and that he ‘didn’t give a shit about the painting anyway.’
“Jack Carter has my mother’s portrait and if I’m unable to get it back from him, I swear to God, you will regret the day that you met me,” Tristan threatened darkly before hanging up the phone.
Let him stew over that for a little while. No need to tell Pierce that he was already working on getting the drawing back.
Tristan climbed into the black car waiting to take him back to his One57 condo, dialing Morgan as he shut the door behind him.
“Hey, did you get the drawing back from Carter?” Morgan answered.
“No. I need you to set up an audition for me – Wednesday of this coming week at three,” Tristan responded, unwilling to elaborate more on what had just happened in the gallery.
“What do you mean ‘no’? What are you going to do? Why do you need another audition?” Morgan persisted with his questions.
“Can you set up the audition or not? I’m handling Carter.”
“Yeah, I’ll do it. Where do you want to have it?” Morgan gave in, exasperated.
“Same location as last time.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit risky? Using the Plaza again?”
“I don’t care,” Tristan responded, knowing that he didn’t have a choice. The meeting room and address that he had given Jack Carter were for the plaza. He didn’t want to jeopardize anything by switching the information.
“Alright, if you say so.”
“Thanks.” Tristan shoved his phone into his jacket pocket as he got out of the car in front of his apartment building.
One57, also known as ‘the Billionaire’s Building,’ stood impressively over one thousand feet tall, overlooking Central Park from West 157 th street.
Tristan had purchased his penthouse condo back in 2012, for a sum that most would consider staggering; he didn’t care.
It was a great location and a great space, and therefore, worth the expense.
Unbuttoning his jacket, he brushed passed the doorman with a quick acknowledgement, heading towards the elevator.
He was the only person on the ride up to the eighty-fifth floor.
As the doors opened, he yanked off his tie, unable to shake the frustration over the situation that he’d managed to get himself into.
Seven years…blown in one day.
It wasn’t true; nothing was blown, but Tristan had always been the leader; he’d called the shots, proposed the rules, and made sure that the other members of the Guild abided by them.
He was the one in charge and he knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, if Sloane or Pierce had done what he had just done, he would have demanded that they leave the Guild immediately.
Hypocrite.