Free Uncut (Unexpected Book 4) by Claudia Burgoa Page B

inside me. My only worry is that it's too cold for that skimpy dress she’s wearing.
    “I’ve been looking all over for you, Tristan.” She licks her lips as she angles her face. The practiced number is not working on me. “We have to catch up. It’s hard to get to know you when you live on the other side of the country.”
    “That’s where my life is, Victoria.” This was worse than a board meeting. “Between L.A. and Seattle. I don’t have time to come over often.”
    “I understand. I barely have time to play around, but maybe next time I’m in L.A., I can visit you.” I resist the urge to step away from her. Not because I’m enjoying the torture, but because I spot my mother watching me from the other side of the courtyard. “Maybe I can visit your offices and talk about doing the advertisement for your . . . What is it that you do again?”
    “I own bars and nightclubs along the west coast.” Her face remains indifferent.
    Is she waiting for more? Like my parents, she’s probably waiting for me to add something extra. Owning a few little nightclubs is hardly considered anything spectacular in my family. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I decided to open a pub down in San Mateo when I left.
    Once I turned twenty-one and my trust fund became available, I took advantage and cashed it. My first order of business was to donate half to the LGBT charity in Connecticut. After that, I dropped out of Yale and moved to California. The best way to start my new, independent life was by starting a business that had nothing to do with my family. A pub. Of course that independence only goes so far, like when I head back to my parents’ during the holidays and can’t seem to cut all the ties attached to them.
    “Is that all?” Her body slumps slightly, before she recovers and corrects her posture. “I get it. Why would you care when you’re going to be the one in charge of Cooperson Corporation soon? Understandable. Will you be selling them when you move back?”
    The question hits me on the chest. I’ve worked almost ten years of my life to create the name Tristan Cooperson. To become who I am. Not only my family, but everyone here swears I’m going to sell that part of myself and move here to . . . become my father. Marry this woman, who even when she’s attractive, means nothing to me.
    I push up my sunglasses. “You seem like a smart woman.” I point around the premises. “This is not my scene. I don’t belong here. You’re not my type of woman.” I pause, holding the words that we would never belong to each other—or any other shit. No need to become nasty. “Most importantly, I’m not planning on following my father’s steps.”
    Victoria’s sharp intake shifts the air around the premises. “But . . . think about everyone, not just you,” she screeches.
    My mother’s eyes land on me again. I give her a sharp nod and head to the rental. I’m glad I didn’t take down my overnight bag. The drive to JFK should take me less than two hours depending on traffic. Maybe I will make it to Seattle before the end of the day. Another place I don’t belong, but that city doesn’t make my skin prickle with distaste. Maybe I don’t belong anywhere or to anyone. Some are born to be alone, that might be me. That might be me.

S weat droplets roll down my forehead after coming back from the gym. I shouldn't have gone there when I came back from my parents’. After all, I worked all morning at their house. They needed us to move out some of their furniture to make some room for my grandparents’ stuff. They're finally moving out of Albany, and moving to Seattle to be with us. I was thrilled with the idea, and when my parents asked me to help them rearrange their house, I never considered saying no. Until my brother-in-law woke me up early and had me working with him like a dog all morning. Mason and I emptied two of the downstairs guest rooms, placed the furniture on a moving truck, and took it to a