Chapter 11
Finally done with the dinner, Lorraine was beyond full. Just that '82 Lafite alone, she had knocked back several glasses.
They walked down to the underground parking garage. Dylan insisted on driving her home, but she turned him down.
"No need. I've got a trip early tomorrow and I've still got plans later. And hey, don't forget - I like my car clean, got it?"
"Keep it clean" - this meaning hit deeper than he'd probably guessed.
Lorraine bit her tongue, holding back nastier things she could've said.
Sure, she'd had a few drinks, but she wasn't drunk enough to lose control. Her head was still clear. She knew exactly why she agreed to meet him tonight.
Dylan, surprisingly obedient for once, grabbed her car keys and got in.
"Lorraine! I love you!" he shouted from the window, his tone alarmingly sincere.
She almost believed him for a second. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but she didn't respond. Love? Please. Anyone can say "I love you" these days - it's basically cheap talk. For a few years, yes - they'd truly loved each other. But that was just history.
As the car disappeared out of sight, Lorraine stood there, eyes blurred. Then the tears came rushing down like floodgates had cracked.
She sobbed quietly, whole body trembling as she tried to stay quiet, cursing under her breath, "Bastard. Trash."
It felt like someone was slicing her chest open, slow and cruel - bleeding pain inching through her whole body.
Lorraine slid down against the wall and broke down into messy, choking sobs. No clue how long she sat there, but eventually even her tears dried up.
Dragging herself back together, she ran a hand through her hair, turned around - and there was Tristan.
Standing by the elevator, staring right at her.
Panicked, Lorraine quickly turned her face away and started scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks, fast and rough.
Tristan stumbled toward her, clearly intoxicated - half-lidded eyes, unsteady steps, looking like he might keel over any second. "Lorraine?"
Tristan's glasses magnified that cold, elegant air of his, even rumpled like that.
Lorraine avoided his gaze, but he leaned down anyway, quietly staring into her red-rimmed eyes.
"Knew it was you..." he murmured, only to nearly topple forward.
Lorraine caught him fast. "Mr. Seymour..." Her voice cracked from crying, and it came out barely a whisper.
She let out a long sigh. Seriously - what kind of luck was this?
Cheated on by her ex, betrayed by her best friend, and now dealing with a drunk boss? Who wouldn't want to scream?
"You've been crying?" Tristan leaned on her heavily, half his weight on her shoulder.
"Nope. Just... got something in my eye." Lorraine clearly didn't wanna talk. "Where's your car? Hand me the keys."
She coaxed him toward the wall so he could lean on it, and started digging through his pockets. Nothing. Not even in the side ones. She wasn't about to go fishing in his pants, though - she wasn't trying to grab anything she shouldn't.
"Didn't drive," he muttered, head tilted slightly as he studied her puffy eyes and pink nose.
Lorraine glared inwardly. Seriously? A few glasses of wine at dinner and you're plastered? What kind of lightweight is that?
She pulled her phone out, muttering as she dialed, "Can't believe this guy probably sleeps his way through his deals..."
She called Alexander.
"Alex, where are you? Your boss is drunk."
"Ma'am, it's late. I've finished work."
"Duh, I know you're off work. So am I! But your boss is still your boss. Don't want him anymore? I'll leave him right here."
Lorraine was fuming - so many messed-up things piling up and no one to vent to. She'd wanted to keep her distance from all this, but somehow, she always ran into him.
"Where are you?"
"Gilded Table. Basement floor."
There was a pause before he replied. "Put him on the phone."
Lorraine sighed and turned around to go hand the phone to Tristan.
"Call your assistant! Tell him to come pick you up!"
Lorraine grabbed his ridiculously toned wrist and shoved the phone into his hand.
Tristan blinked slowly, still a bit dazed, glanced at the screen, then stumbled off to the side with the phone pressed to his ear.
Lorraine took the chance to wipe her face and try to tame the mess that was her hair.
"Mmhmm," Tristan mumbled.
"Mr. Seymour, you are in Gilded Table, yeah?" Alexander's voice came through, confirming again.
"Yeah."
"You don't need me, do you?"
Alexander had worked with Tristan long enough to know the guy wasn't someone who got drunk off just a couple of glasses of wine. There was no doubt - he was pretending.
Tristan respected that Alexander picked up on it so fast.
"Yeah."
"Fine, I'm calling in sick tomorrow. Paid sick leave. This drunk act better be worth it." Smart move on Alexander's part.
"Yeah."
"You're the best boss ever. Enjoy your 'drunk time.' I'm turning my phone off."
"Yeah."
No doubts - guys just get each other.
With just a series of "yeah"s, their conversation was done. Alexander probably couldn't stop grinning on the other end.
Tristan wobbled back over, slinging an arm around Lorraine's shoulders.
She instinctively backed off but quickly reached out to steady him before he tipped over. "Seriously? Did you call your guy or not?!"
She snatched the phone back and dialed again. No use. The line was off. Unbelievable.
Left with no other option, she half-dragged, half-supported him to street level to hail a cab.
In the back seat, Tristan's head ended up on her shoulder. A soft scent of her shampoo filled her senses - kinda nice, actually.
"Going out drinking without a bodyguard? With a face like yours, you're lucky no one tried to sell you to a brothel."
Lorraine couldn't resist pinching his cheek. It was shockingly smooth. She gave it another curious squeeze, then let out a quiet laugh.
Even the driver chuckled under his breath.
Lorraine finally managed to get him inside his building and up to his apartment - it was nearly 11 PM.
Right as they reached the door, the bodyguard tried to come over.
"Back off." Tristan glared, waving the man off without mercy.
"Seriously, how the hell am I supposed to carry you? I don't have superpowers!"
The bodyguard looked stunned, eyes wide.
Lorraine, sweating like mad, eventually tossed him onto the couch in the living room. She was just about to bounce when suddenly - her wrist was grabbed. She lost her balance and fell straight into his chest, now caught in a tight hug.
"Woah-"
His chest felt the same as the other night - solid, warm, pretty nice to touch actually.
"Don't go..." Tristan mumbled.
Smack!
Lorraine slapped him across the face and scrambled upright.
Even she was shocked at what she just did. Worried she hit him too hard, she quickly touched his cheek, apologizing under her breath.
"Sorry, sorry..."
Tristan slowly opened his eyes, gazing at her with a softness that didn't match his usual vibe. Then he let himself sink into the couch, watching her.
The maid who came over to help froze in her tracks.
Lorraine straightened up, adjusted her clothes, and turned to the maid.
"If he doesn't remember any of this tomorrow, don't say I hit him. Just... say he fell or something."
"Got it..."
The maid dipped her head. Of course she recognized Lorraine—hard to forget the woman who spent the night in the boss's bed. She wasn't about to make trouble.
Lorraine spared Tristan another glance before walking out the front door.
Not even two minutes later, Tristan adjusted his clothes, picked up the hangover soup left by the maid, and took a sip.
"Hiss-"
He rubbed the spot on his cheek where she'd slapped him and looked out toward where she'd exited.
The maid covered her mouth, snickering but trying hard not to actually laugh.
Who would've thought Mr. Perfect CEO would go as far as to stage a drunken mess - just for this? And even rarer, a woman who could turn down his advances? Now that was something.
Back at her apartment, Lorraine didn't waste a second. She ripped off the clothes Dylan had hugged her in and chucked them straight into the trash, marching to the bathroom for a scrubbing shower.
