Resisting Mr. Kane: An Age Gap Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 2)

I leave Danny and Jack playing the last few holes by themselves. Danny gets slower every time he tries to beat me. He can have this one; today I’ve got no time. I’ve been crawling in traffic for two hours across central London and the exhibition closes in twenty minutes.

Finally, my phone tells me I’ve reached the destination, a humble-looking library in South Tooting.

I coax the car into the parking space, feeling apprehensive. I have a surprise planned for Elly, and I’m not sure how she will react to it. I’ve arranged to meet her at Megan’s art exhibition then we can drive to the surprise. I haven’t seen enough of her this week.

I have some making up to do since I over-reacted at the all-staff event. I don’t handle jealously well after my previous experiences.

It doesn’t take long to find them in the library. They are the last stall of about twenty selling various crafts, paintings and soaps. Charlie would like this. The crowd looks like it’s dying.

“Hi, ladies,” I say as I approach the table. “I’m sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous.” My mouth comes down on Elly’s, restraining myself enough to kiss her like a gentleman in public.

Her breasts press against my chest as she breaks the kiss. I resist the urge to run my hands all over her body.

“You should have taken a chopper,” she teases. “Better late than never.”

“I sold a fucking painting!” Megan cuts in. “It’s the first I’ve ever sold! A hundred quid! This time next year I’ll be a millionaire.” She grins, doing a little victory shuffle.

“That’s amazing.” I step back to take in her paintings, which are mainly landscapes. They’re not bad at all, although some look a little rushed. “You’re very talented, Megan.”

“I know.” She shrugs, making me chuckle.

“Have you been to all these places?” I ask, scanning the landscapes of Tibet, China and, I think, Peru.

She shakes her head. “Not all. Some are from pictures. You’ll recognise these ones.”

She points to a collection featuring white houses with blue domes in the signature Greek landscape.

“Beautiful.” I smile. One in particular catches my eye. It’s a girl sitting on a beach in a summer dress. Her long brown hair is flowing in the wind and the brush strokes have aptly captured her long, graceful neck and high cheekbones. “I love this one,” I murmur.

“Thought you would.” She smirks.

I cross my arms over my chest. “How much?”

Megan’s eyes light up as her brain ticks over pound signs. She knows I’m not going to hustle with her in front of Elly. Let’s hope she doesn’t say a ridiculous figure like fifty thousand.

“Tristan,” Elly starts, “you don’t need to—”

“Elly, you ain’t the seller, buyer or barter so stay out of it,” Megan cuts in quickly, her eyes glinting.

I cock my head, waiting. “Well?”

She licks her lips, sizing me up. “Three thousand!” she shouts.

“Steady on, Pablo Picasso,” Elly grumbles. “At least give him a realistic price.”

Megan doesn’t speak. She studies me, as I pretend to mull it over.

“Sold,” I say simply.

“Yessssss!” She screams, making every stall holder turn to see what the commotion is. I laugh and stand back as she fist-pumps the air.

Elly stares between both of us, dazed. “Tristan, you don’t have to do this. Megan! See sense. Three grand?”

“I want it.” I shrug. “Besides, I don’t want you hanging on anyone else’s wall. I was thinking I could put you in the Madison Legal HQ reception?”

“Wha—”

“I’ll remove the aquarium and put you there instead.”

Elly opens her mouth to say something then closes it. She looks so shocked, I almost worry she is going to faint.

Elly

We drive north towards central London. I haven’t seen enough of him since the conference last week as he had to visit the Hong Kong office for a few days. He asked me to go with him, but I’m not good at lying to pretend to my team that I coincidentally booked a last-minute Asia trip on the exact same dates as our CEO.

I’ve no idea where we are going. He says he has a surprise but is giving nothing away. I’m not sure I can handle any more surprises today after the painting purchase. Megan is bouncing in the backseat, ecstatic that the surprise, whatever it is, involves her too, and she gets to travel in a Porsche. So far, with three thousand more to her name, it’s been a good day for Megan. What a hustle.

It’s our first time in a sports car. Megan’s and mine, obviously, not Tristan’s. The guy collects cars like they are toys free with breakfast cereal. George usually drives him wherever he needs to go in his Aston Martin. He says he needs to take ‘her’ out to push the battery.

I call bullshit. I think he’s peacocking.

In less than a mile, two other cars tried to race us despite loggerhead traffic, and a random bloke on the street clapped at Tristan. Almost every pedestrian gives the car a second glance, some curious, some hostile, some flirtatious, eager to know who owns it. I don’t think he’ll take it too kindly if I admit I’m a tad embarrassed.

“It’s just off this street,” Tristan says as he slows down to check the GPS.

Whatever it is.

We are on a main road bordering Battersea Park. He steps on the gas and accelerates down the street, the engine roaring.

“Do you need to go so fast?” I hiss.

He laughs. “Elly, we’re only doing fifty. I’ve got it on sport mode so you can feel the full effect.”

Oh. I check the speed dial. He’s right! Fifty kilometres. It feels and sounds like eighty.

After a left turn, the car slows to a crawl. The man who stood up in front of 2000 people last week seems mildly flustered today.

“Brilliant,” he says quietly. “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” I peer out the window. I’m so low to the ground in this sports car, my vision is impaired.

“You’ll see,” Tristan says, mischievously coaxing the sports car into a parking space.

A bloke stands on the street in full business attire with a waistcoat, tie and fancy shoes. It means only one thing on a Saturday, he’s an estate agent. I wonder if he always dresses like this or if it’s because he’s meeting Tristan Kane.

I take ages to step out of the car for fear of damaging ‘her.’

The young estate agent with the fancy shoes spots us and licks his lips. I’m starting to get a bad feeling. Surely Tristan hasn’t bought an apartment near us because of my lousy bed?

Since that first night, I’ve been going to his house. Part of me is annoyed for making our relationship so one-sided. After all, why am I always travelling to see him? Then the other part of me thought, how can I be so cruel to force anyone to stay overnight at my house where you can’t sleep, eat or shag in peace?

Besides, I like his lush house. It feels like staying in a five-star hotel. But some nights when I’ve worked late, I’ve grumbled mildly about travelling to him too much. Surely…he hasn’t bought this to stop me complaining?

“Mr. Kane.” The young man runs forward to greet us and shakes Tristan’s hand. “Such an honour.” He turns to us. “And you must be Elly and Megan. I’m Dave.”

“Don’t ruin the surprise,” Tristan says to Dave while smiling at me.

“Of course, sir, would you like us to start the tour?”

Tristan nods. “Lead the way.”

We follow Dave across the street to a high-rise all-glass lavish apartment block, perhaps twenty storeys high. I’m not sure if it’s offices or apartments. His dress shoes tap loudly on the marble floor as he leads us into the impressive lobby.

“Welcome to luxury living in Nine Elms.” Dave flashes his best sales smile as we approach the elevator. Almost like a robot, he says, “Amenities include a fully equipped spa with swimming pool, sauna and steam rooms, residents’ lounge, rooftop bar and twenty-four-hour concierge.”

Megan eyes me excitedly.

I shoot her a warning look. No.

I stay silent as we ascend.

Dave and Tristan converse politely about the building’s architectural features.

“You’ve certainly done your research, Mr. Kane,” Dave gushes.

“I’m familiar with most of the new builds in this area,” Tristan replies dryly. “The Lexington Property Group owner is a good friend of mine. This is one of theirs.” It’s said matter-of-fact rather than bragging.

Dave salivates, smelling money.

As I stare sideways at Tristan, I attempt to decipher his unreadable expression.

“Here we are,” Dave announces dramatically. “The nineteenth floor.”

Dave leads us down the corridor to the door at the end. “It’s the best one on the floor. You’ll see why.” He winks conspiratorially and flashes a white card across the door, like in hotels.

We step inside a brilliant white apartment with panoramic views overlooking the Thames. And I mean everything is white, the floor, the walls, the sofa, all the furnishings. Like a beautiful surgery waiting room with sleek, stylish Deco.

“Whoa!” Megan and I shout simultaneously.

“Welcome to the ultimate smart home,” Dave declares, making exaggerated sweeping hand gestures. “Everything is sound-controlled or app-controlled based on your preference—heating, lighting, doors, air-con, even the underfloor heating.”

He pauses for effect.

“There’s a connected home sound system in all rooms, even the bathroom. Concealed speakers with voice control, obviously.”

“That’s good.” Tristan nods approvingly. “Hopefully, it will understand the Welsh accent.” He winks at me.

“Tristan,” I start the second Dave is out of earshot, “are you moving in here? I don’t understand why we’re here.”

“It’s yours,” he announces. “If you like it.”

I blink wildly as my brain misfires. “Mine?”

“We’ll take it!” Megan shrieks.

“I mean as a rental, not to own,” he adds quickly. “There are three bedrooms, so you and Megan have a bedroom each plus a guest room when you want someone else to stay. It means your mum can visit.”

Before I can react, Megan does a victory dance beside me.

“Thank you, Tristan!” she screams, flinging her arms around his neck.

“Megan and I can’t afford this place,” I say in a low, strained voice so Dave can’t hear me.

“Don’t worry, it’s covered.” He dismisses me in an authoritative tone like he’s telling off an employee.

Maybe he is.

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“It’s covered?” I repeat. “Cool it, Megan! We are not moving in here!”

She’s bouncing around like a refuge dog who has found a new home. “Speak for yourself.”

“Tristan,” I say in a controlled tone as Dave’s fancy shoes click out of the kitchen. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘covered’ but you’re mistaken.”

The light in Tristan’s eyes dies. “Let’s just finish the tour first. Just hear him out.” His voice is hard.

I cross my arms across my chest as we follow Dave into the kitchen. I feel more uncomfortable by the minute. What is Tristan proposing exactly? That Megan and I live here rent-free? I’d be a gold digger.

“The smart fridge!” Dave gestures to the white fridge. “There are cameras inside that send pictures to your smartphone, allowing you to see what’s inside your fridge from anywhere. So, when you’re in the supermarket, just have a look inside the fridge, and you know what to top up. Simple!”

“Thank God we don’t have it in our house.” I shudder. “Only scientists would want to watch that video.”

He opens the fridge, pointing to an appliance at the top. There’s more?

“The food sniffer is your own electronic nose. It also connects to your smartphone and tells you how fresh your food items are.”

The tour continues into the bathroom. “In Nine Elms luxury living, your bathroom is as smart as the rest of your home,” Dave explains. “The showerhead has built-in Bluetooth speakers, motion-activated night lights and a smart toilet with automated flushing and built-in cleansing technology.”

It’s every IBD sufferer’s wildest dream.

“This really is a first-world apartment,” I marvel. “I’m wondering how I survived for so long.”

“Why are there two toilets in the bathroom?” Megan asks. “In what situation would you need that? Is this for your IBD?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s a bidet.”

“This is off the charts BDE,” she says in a low voice. Thankfully, the acronym of Big Dick Energy washes over Tristan and Dave.

“Now for the bedrooms.” Dave winks at Tristan conspiratorially, directing us into one of the bedrooms. It’s white.

“We don’t want the beds supplied,” Tristan says firmly. “We’ll secure our own.”

“And will both ladies be staying in the apartment?” Dave asks.

“Yes,” Megan and Tristan both say.

“That’s the tour.” Dave beams. “It speaks for itself, really. Do you require any other apartments, Mr. Kane?”

My eyes widen. Oh my God. Dave thinks we’re part of a harem of Kane women holed up in various apartments across London.

“Not for the time being,” Tristan replies.

What the hell does that mean? Is there a harem?

“Tristan.” I smile politely for the sake of Dave. “The apartment is lovely, certainly the most intelligent apartment I’ve ever been in, but Megan and I aren’t looking right now.”

“Don’t be silly,” he says, scoffing. “You can’t stay in that house. See sense.”

“See sense, Elly!” Megan yelps behind me. “For the love of God, see sense!”

My nostrils flare. “You’re treating me like a child, Tristan. You can’t railroad me into moving.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Let’s not do this here,” he grinds out. “Don’t be rash, Elly.”

“I’m not being rash,” I say through equally gritted teeth. “Daddy,” I add with a growl. “You never consulted me on this before you sprung it on me. This is a huge deal.”

“Is it the area?” he asks, bewildered. “I was considering putting you in one of my apartments that we rent out in Mayfair, but I thought Battersea would be better for your age group.”

“Putting me…? It’s not the flat or the area, Tristan,” I say with forced calm. “I’m not accepting free rent from you…”

“Can you give us a minute?” Tristan says, turning to Dave. Dave nods and retreats into the kitchen.

“Elly!” Megan wails. “Don’t be stupid. Take the goddamn flat. I’m sick of keeping all our baked goods in my bedroom.”

My scowl deepens. “You want me to take this flat even though it would make me some sort of gold-digging freeloader? You would be a freeloader too, you know.”

“Yes!” Megan claps her hands. “Stop being a moron. I don’t want to live in our house-share. There are crumbs everywhere. No wonder we have mice. I think some of those crumbs are from the year it was built.”

“It’s Victorian.” I roll my eyes. “And what happens if Tristan doesn’t want to go out with me anymore? What if he goes off me? When we move, we move our way.”

“Elly, you are being ridiculous,” his gravelly voice cuts in.

“Stop antagonising me, Tristan!” I snap. “You do realise that Dave thinks you’re a sugar daddy? He’s looking at me like you’ve got whores holed up all over the city.”

His expression is stormy. “He thinks it now.”

I try to calm myself down. “Look, this is really sweet of you, but I can’t accept this. I’m not a charity case.”

“I’d thought you would be happy with this place,” Tristan says sullenly.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” I continue. “But you can’t make decisions like this for me without consulting me. Bringing Megan along without asking me was unfair. Now look what’ll I’ll have to put up with.” I nod to Megan standing mournfully beside the window, already grieving her loss. “Imagine what our colleagues would say.”

“Excuse me?” Dave sneaks back in. “Will you be wanting the keys?”

“No,” Tristan and I both say at the same time.

Dave looks devastated.

“I’ll be in contact,” Tristan says to Dave dully. “Let’s go, ladies.”

The elevator ride down is very different from the ride up. The longest elevator ride of my life. You could cut the awkwardness with a knife. Even Dave stands rigid in the corner, the sales fever sucked out of him by the wrath of Tristan, brooding in the other corner.

We walk out of the intelligent building and towards the car in silence, Tristan three strides ahead of Megan and me. I give her a warning look to be quiet.

Tristan jabs at the car fob opener, and the car beeps open. He gets into the car on the driver’s side and slams the door shut. I don’t know if the offer extends to Megan and I. Tentatively, I open the car door, and Megan crawls in the back.

Tristan turns on the ignition, it revs, but we don’t move. Instead, he stares straight ahead. Megan and I sit in silence, glancing at each other in the front mirror. I still my breathing so as not to disturb him. Is he going to flip? Are we about to see the full wrath of Tristan Kane?

His steely eyes turn to me. “So, I fucked up, huh?”

“A little,” I say. “It was a nice gesture but heavy-handed.”

He exhales heavily. “Sorry.”

“You made a mistake,” I say softly. “Since when are you afraid of making mistakes?”

“When it comes to you, I am.” His hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Tristan, if I have sex with you, can I stay?” Megan pipes up from the back seat.