Three Rings (The Fairytail Saga) (9 page)

But Ivyanne didn’t take the slips-she didn’t even look at them. Her gaze was locked on Sherri’s shoulders, and Lincoln’s hands upon them.

‘Ivyanne…?’ Lincoln had to fight a triumphant smile. ‘You okay?’

Ivyanne lifted her gaze back to his, and scowled. Her eyes had never been so green. The sheer luminosity of her jealousy was dazzling to behold. And for once-he was the culprit, not the victim. She took the fliers and shoved them into her pants pocket.

‘Sure.’ She said in a tight voice. ‘I’m just peachy.’

Thorny is more like it.
Lincoln grinned, thrilled to have brought the human out in her once more.

And he intended to keep it that way, until she
wept
at his feet for forgiveness instead of demanding it.

⁓

The sound of Lincoln and Sherri chuckling quietly over something-probably
her
- followed Ivyanne all the way down to the coffee machine. They were speaking in low tones, and the warmth in their voice froze her out.

This is just fantastic!
She thought, stuffing the little waterproof bag under the counter and scowling freely now that her face was turned away from them.
I’m in love with a man who think that ‘an eye for an eye’ is an adult way to handle a hurt.

Whatever remorse Ivyanne had been drowning in all night abated in reflex to the punishment he was intent on making her suffer through. She thought of how angry Tristan had been with her the day before, but how willing he’d been to talk it out once he’d cooled down. He’d needed mere
hours
to recover.

Lincoln, on the other hand, had apparently been soaking in toxic anguish all night, and wasn’t ready to let it go in the light of day. She understood that he was mad, and she knew there was nothing she could do to make it up to him. But trying to make her jealous with the new bartender, who’s blonde hair was as good as a red flag to Ivyanne, was just petty. And insulting her work performance was just crossing a line. If it was so easy to shrug her company off, why fight so hard for it to begin with?

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. She’d gotten herself into this situation, and she was the only one who could bail them all out of it-by resisting the wave of drama. She just wished that both men understood the position she was in-had an inkling of what
she
was going through. Every time they pulled her in opposite directions, she could feel the flesh of her heart rip a little further. What was she going to have left to love either with, when they were through?

⁓

Tristan stared glumly out his third floor office window in The Rocks on Thursday morning. He was looking straight at the Harbor Bridge and the massive Australian flag hanging from it, wishing he was out there kicking up his heels instead of inside, dealing with his American clients who didn’t give a fig about what day it was down under.

He swiveled away from the sunny and bustling scene outside, reclining back in his leather office chair and despairing at the red and black abstract painting on the wall behind his desk-a piece of art which seemed to radiate anger that day.

He hated to admit it to himself-but he was beginning to wonder if his quest for Ivyanne was as equally meaningless. Two weeks ago, for a few brilliant hours, it had seemed like Tristan was about to have not only her hand, but her heart and her child to boot. Now, he wasn’t sure if he’d get any of it. And if he did manage to prevail, would it be an empty victory based on luck instead of love? The memory of seeing her turn her back to him to gaze longingly after Lincoln made his fingers curl into fists.

Yes, his impatience was turning into melancholy. He’d never been in love before, and he wasn’t handling it well. Seduction was his forte, and he’d already abused that avenue. So how did you earn a girl’s heart when she forbade you from touching her and shied away from being alone with you?

And what if you suspected that regardless of what you did, you’d never break the hold another man had on her anyway?

I said I’d be patient,
he thought to himself, twirling his chair away from the painting again.
But deep down, part of her must wish I’d just release her. She hasn’t said it, but she must be thinking it. Is that the only way I can make her love me? To do as Ardhi did-and let her go?

The phone rang, breaking Tristan out of his depressing train of thought, reminding him that he was supposed to be working-
hard
. The more he got done every day, the fewer days he had to leave her unchaperoned with the lifeguard come hotelier intent on winning her heart.

‘Lo?’ he answered, idly wondering if Lincoln and Ivyanne had made up yet-or if she was missing him at all.

‘Mr Loveridge I have Mr Schorer on the line for you from Absalom Developments in Anaheim,’ his secretary Juanita said breathily. She was an over-sexed caricature of a secretary, possibly setting the women’s movement back decades with her willingness to assist him. But she was efficient, the clients loved her and whenever Tristan had found himself too busy to pursue a social life, Juanita and her rock hard Pilates body had stepped up to that challenge as well- with no strings attached. He hadn’t laid a hand on her for six months, but he had a feeling that she and Sven had something going on the side instead.

‘He says it’s quite urgent?’

‘Absalom?’ Tristan was surprised. That was the real-estate development company in Southern California that Tristan been trying to get in with for over two years. The one he’d flown back to strategies about, because Sven had heard that Absalom was coming into a green energy grant-and would be looking for environmentally friendly ways to enhance their designs. It was a booming company, and Tristan’s mouth went dry to know he was going to have to talk to the CEO without having prepared for it properly first.

But at the same time, something inside him lit up-a spark that had been doused out in Seaview, while out of his element. He leaned over his desk. ‘Put him through.’

‘You’re on now sir,’ there was a click.

‘Mr Schorer?’ Tristan asked, easing his voice into the cajoling salesperson mode which had always worked so well for him, brushing invisible lint of his sharp charcoal CK suit. ‘Tristan Loveridge here. How can I help you?’

‘Hello Tristan,’ Mark Schorer’s accent was an amusing mix between a Californian drawl and a yiddish migrant worker’s. ‘You’re a difficult young man to get a hold of.’

‘Just busy,’ Tristan said smoothly. ‘I’m in Australia at the moment, settling a few contracts.’ He paused. ‘Let me guess; You’re calling me because you’d like to be signing one of your own?’

Mark laughed. ‘Right to the point, I like that.’ A beat passed. ‘I assume you’re familiar with my corporation?’

‘Somewhat,’ Tristan said, trying to sound casual, even though he was practically bouncing in is chair with excitement. Mark Schorer was
Big Time.
‘I was planning on calling you when I finalized my business in Santa Monica in April.’

‘Well, April you say? That’s a shame. I find myself in need of your services in the
immediate future.’

Tristan sat up straighter in his chair. ‘Is that so?’ he asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. ‘We should set up a meeting fast then. What timeline did you have in mind?’

‘Well...How does this weekend sound? In Los Angeles?’

Tristan almost fell off his chair. It sounded awful. And incredible. And impossible to say no to. Leave Ivyanne to fly to L.A? No.
Hell
no.

But try as he might, he couldn’t force himself to say those words out loud. A plan came to him swiftly, and he grit his teeth and said a silent prayer before responding.
He’d overheard Vana say to the king that Tristan’s greatest strength was the fact that he pushed Ivyanne’s boundaries and coerced her into doing things she wouldn’t have thought possible before. Well, he hoped she was right.

Because he was about to call in his I.O.U.

⁓

Lincoln began to regret his decision to give Ivyanne the cold shoulder by the time brunch had turned to lunch. The silence between them, the way she avoided his eyes-which was easy to do given how flat-out the bar was that day-caused him physical pain. It didn’t take long for Sherri’s company to lose its lustre, or for Lux’s prowling gaze to fall on a flattened ego.

Yet despite the fact that his eyes tracked her every step, and that his lungs tightened whenever she left the room to do a sweep of the pool or fetch something from reception, he stubbornly maintained his façade of oblivion. And though she attempted to start a conversation with him several times, he’d find some reason to break away from it before three words had left her mouth-usually by finding some means to approach Sherri instead. He knew it was childish, but he was too hurt, too foolish, and too hell-bent on making it clear that he wouldn’t suffer anything like that again, to risk her laying a hand on him and melting his anger. Anger he was
entitled
to feel.

‘Can you tighten my apron please Link?’ Sherri asked, turning her back to him.

‘How tight?’ He asked, taking the thin linen strips in his fingers and knotting them.

She winked at him over her shoulder. ‘Oh baby, bind me good to your apron strings.’

He chuckled, pulling tightly around her slender waist. ‘Anytime.’

Sherri giggled and flounced off.

‘You might want to drop the bullshit, you know.’ The statement was made into his ear in a low voice just as he was watching the sun set through the windows.

He turned to see Remi standing beside him, reaching for a boutique beer in the fridge next to the one he was stacking. The light streaming in through the glassed walls gave her hair a pinkish gleam.

‘Excuse you?’ He felt affronted. Remi had never taken that kind of tone with him before! ‘What do you know about it?’

‘Nothing. But I know it’s a jealousy thing, and you’re fighting fire with gasoline by bringing a fourth party into it.’ Remi motioned towards Sherri.

‘I’m not into her.’ He said crabbily.

‘I know. Which makes it worse, because you of all people, should know how it feels to be a human caught between lovestruck mers.’ She squinted at him. ‘Hurting Ivyanne isn’t a game plan either, it’s self-sabotage. She’s a smart girl, boss, and she’s going to choose who makes her happy in the end.
Not
who throws the biggest tantrum. Take heed. And grow
up
.’

Lincoln watched her walk away, at a loss for words, trying not to let her logic in. Incensed and embarrassed, Lincoln’s hands closed around the neck of a bottle of rum. He’d think about being a mer king tomorrow. Tonight, he just wanted to nurse his human, broken heart.

It was at that moment that Ivyanne slipped in behind the bar. She looked at the bottle in his hands, then raised her eyes to his, but sighed and looked away, not commenting.

‘Are you staying here tonight?’ He asked her, needing to speak, just to make it clear that he was sober.

‘Are you talking to me now?’ Ivyanne asked, resting her hands on her hips. ‘Or just making sure that I won’t be in the position to blow Tristan on a whim?’

Lincoln wiped a lock of hair off his forehead, confused by her shift in demeanor. ‘
That
was sharp. Where’s
apologetic
Ivyanne gone?’

‘She clocked off, when
flirtatious
Lincoln shouted one random girl one drink too many today.’ She snapped. ‘You wanted to prove that you can do just fine without me? Well, point taken. And now...the
self-righteous Ivyanne
is going to clock off too.’ She reached for the time sheets on the wall, snatching the papers with a rustle and slamming them down on the counter behind her. ‘I know it’s early still, and you’ll be a bit short-handed but the way I see it….
screw it
. I’m a god damned princess. And I
want
to go home.’

Lincoln’s heart fluttered nervously. He stepped up behind her, rested his hand on her shoulder, all pretenses draining from his demeanor, along with his courage. ‘Ivyanne, no.’ He said softly. ‘Don’t swim off mad.’

‘Why not?’ She didn’t look back as she scrawled her name with a flourish then turned, putting the stapled sheets back onto their clip on the wall. ‘
You
did.’

Anger seeped into his bloodstream again. ‘Because I didn’t want to hear you try and explain your inclination to give Tristan a
blow job
when he makes
fun
of me!’

Ivyanne whirled on him. ‘Well, welcome to my side of the shark nets Link, because I don’t want to have to explain it either!’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m a whore. Maybe I’m just horny and possibly, he’s
just
that funny that it doesn’t matter
who
he’s cracking jokes at! Let’s face it-life sucks right now! The more someone can call it as the joke it is, the easier it is for me to smile.’ She swiped his hand away. ‘And I need to smile, Link. I’m hurting too.’

Lincoln didn’t know what to say. When Ivyanne bent to retrieve her bag, her phone slipped out. That’s when he saw it-twenty-six missed calls, all from Loveridge. His bowels clenched.