The Phillips Girl

Tristan

Tristan Salvatore hated the Ashbourne city council chamber; the grand old room had a quality that made people feel uncomfortable…definitely on purpose. The high ceilings and dark wood lining with the portraits of dead mayors glaring from above had never been a desirable place to be for him.

He had been coming to this place for quite a few years now. Right after he turned twenty-three, his father decided that it was time for Tristan to step out into the real world and face it. He hated this place then. Six years later, he still hated it.

Hate wasn’t something that mattered, though. So here he was, sitting at the city hall. Hands on the table, face calm and composed, just like the young CEO of SkyArc his father wanted him to be.

His father, Daniel Salvatore, the chairman of SkyArc, sat a bit further forward. Close to the mayor, with other chairmen and figureheads of the leading urban planning and development companies of Leoria, people who pretended to like each other, all of whom were wealthy and powerful enough to make the council listen to them.

Tristan was going through his documents once again when he felt it. Well, he couldn’t tell what it was exactly, just a familiar prickle at the back of his neck. He didn’t look up; he didn’t need to.

From the chair behind him, his executive assistant, Henry, informed him in a low voice, “HighCrest is here.”

“Of course,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

It was the annual urban development review meeting. The deals and contracts for all the big projects next year will be finalized. All the major firms were bound to be here, including, inevitably, HighCrest.

After a moment or two, Tristan glanced up. Not too obviously, though. He had never done anything too obviously.

Sitting across from Tristan…there he was. Aryan Ryder. CEO of HighCrest.

Black suit, no tie, golden hair slightly messed up, talking to the person next to him, laughing a little. Then he stopped talking and started revising his presentation, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Tristan always detested this attitude. He indeed despised this place too, but that was not the point.

His blue eyes suddenly met Aryan’s hazel ones. For a split second, neither looked away. Their expressions didn’t change. And then both looked away, at once.

When SkyArc’s slot came to present, Tristan sent Henry. It was a good demonstration. Tristan checked everyone’s looks, and he could tell that they were not unimpressed. When it ended, eventually, there was a round of applause.

He felt quite stress-free, honestly. And probably looked a little too satisfied to be polite, but he didn’t care.

Aryan Ryder presented for HighCrest himself. It was good; Tristan hated that it was good. He peeped at his father and found Daniel sitting with his jaw tightened. Then he watched Aryan’s father, James Ryder, the chairman of HighCrest, across from Daniel, who was rather pleased, naturally.

Aryan wrapped up his presentation to a gentle applause. Tristan didn’t join, nor did his father.

“Thank you, Mr. Ryder.” The mayor said, “Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yes, Mr. Mayor.” Daniel Salvatore’s steel-like voice.

Here we go, Tristan thought.

“I’d like to point out the environmental effects of the plan HighCrest Development proposed concerning the new bridge in Crissolo. It is not only hazardous, but also rather impractical due to the city’s infrastructure.”

The proposal was fairly good. It was definitely not impractical, and the environmental risks were not significant enough to create debates. But his father wasn’t going to acknowledge that, not even in private.

As Daniel stated the “very obvious” problems of HighCrest’s plan regarding the Crissolo Bridge, Tristan looked at the Ryders. Aryan was talking to his assistant in a very low voice. His face was almost expressionless.

Almost.

Tristan knew that face. It meant Aryan Ryder was annoyed. But he wasn’t going to show that to anyone. Showing feelings meant showing weakness; it was an unofficial corporate rule. Everyone knew that.

But the thing was…Tristan Salvatore had known Aryan Ryder long enough to read the expressionless face. It was nearly ironic given the fact that HighCrest had been SkyArc’s biggest rival for years, and their fathers loathed each other very passionately.

That rivalry had been imprinted on Tristan’s brain and soul since the St. Louis Kindergarten, when a golden-haired boy called Aryan Ryder was his classmate. After that, they attended the same school, Evermore Academy. They were in the same class, again, always silently competing for top marks.

Then both of them got into the University of Ashbourne, an institution where none could gain entry by wealth or power, only by academic excellence.

Their majors were different, thank goodness for that. Tristan took Finance, and Aryan studied Economics. Both of them played basketball, in which the finance and economics departments had a long history of rivalry.

Nevertheless, Tristan knew quite a few things about Aryan Ryder. For example, Aryan was popular. With a charming smile and amiable personality, he had more friends than Tristan ever did. Well, in their positions and families, it was not easy to tell who was an actual friend.

Still, Tristan was envious. He could barely talk to people without necessity.

Aryan Ryder was really smart, too. Not only the charming kind of smart, but also intellectually smart. In all the meetings they had attended representing their firms, Tristan could never help feeling a little impressed with Aryan’s notions.

“Mr. Salvatore raised valid points,” Tristan got back to the present, hearing one of the councillors, Harington’s voice. “We have to review the environmental regulations before reaching a conclusion.”

Harrington was one of Tristan’s father’s men.

James Ryder spoke up, with a pleasantly neutral face and rigid manner, “With due respect, Councillor, all of our documents were examined by one of the best legal teams in Leoria. Unless you have any doubts regarding their competence…”

“No, Mr. Ryder, absolutely not. I’m sure they are more than capable.” Harrington interrupted with a fake courtesy. “I’m simply saying we should be clear of all the Ifs and Buts before proceeding forward.”

James’ jaw tightened, “There are no Ifs and buts.”

“That should be the mayor’s judgment,” Daniel said, apparently to the entire room, even though everyone knew who the intended recipient was.

Everyone looked at the mayor for a decision, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Tristan couldn’t stop feeling a little sympathetic towards him. No one wanted to be in the position he was in now.

“The council will take Mr. Salvatore’s arguments into consideration,” he spoke at last. “We will settle the discussion at the next meeting.”

A draw. Neither won, which practically meant both lost. At least that was what it was to Daniel and James anyway.

Eventually, the meeting ended. Daniel immediately left the room. Tristan stood for a brief moment and then followed his father towards the aisle.

The next incident was almost inevitable.

The doorframe was not wide enough for two people to pass at the same time, and Tristan stood there, stuck, with…Aryan Ryder!

“Salvatore,” Aryan spoke up with a tone that was anything but friendly.

Well, they were not friends. Not even close.

“Ryder,” Tristan returned the favour in the same manner.

For a moment, both of them just stood there, neither willing to make the first move to step aside.

Typical.

Tristan could smell Aryan’s cologne. Something like sandalwood, expensive and strangely familiar. It deeply annoyed him that he could recognize the scent. He could also see Aryan’s golden hair betraying the initial organized chaos and now becoming actual chaos.

“Your father really knows how to interrupt any perfectly normal discussions,” Aryan said, just to him. “Everyone knows there’s nothing wrong with our plan.”

“That should be the council’s decision,” Tristan repeated his father’s words almost frame to frame.

“The council of which half the members sold themselves to you.”

“Funny how you bought the other half.” Tristan shot back.

Aryan’s mouth twitched.

Was it a smile or a sneer? Hard to tell.

“I understand, though,” Aryan spoke with fake compassion. “SkyArc probably isn’t good enough to ensure a deal without degrading other firms that undoubtedly stand above it.”

“Above SkyArc?” Tristan raised his eyebrows.

“Of course. Maybe you should stop giving all your time to demeaning HighCrest and start focusing on constructing something efficient instead of things that block out the sun while looking like sadist glass towers.”

“Oh, please,” retorted Tristan, “At least our buildings don’t look like some modern nightmare. I’m talking about the one you just finished downtown. What is this thing? A detention center?”

“It won an architecture award,” Aryan scoffed.

“By people who actually think having a backyard in a house is a waste.”

This time, Aryan smiled, for sure. But then he stopped himself in no time and cleared his throat, stepping aside. “After you.”

“How generous,” Tristan walked past him and found himself almost smiling.

He always hated that some stupid, tiny part of his brain found these brief interactions fun, which was absurd, really. Because Aryan Ryder was his nemesis, always had been, and always would be.

When Tristan got out of the council building, the chilly December air sent a shiver down his spine. The sun was starting to scatter across the western sky, and Ashbourne’s snow-covered streets were glowing like a lady in orange. His father was walking towards his car and talking on the phone. Tristan stood outside for a moment, looking at the sky. He heard the Ryders talking behind him.

James Ryder was certainly not pleased with the meeting’s outcome. And there was Aryan’s low voice, “Yes, Papa, I know. I’ll handle this.”

Tristan wondered, just for a moment, if Aryan ever got tired.

Tired of being the perfect son of James Ryder, the competent CEO of HighCrest, the worthy heir of the Ryder legacy. If he ever wanted to stop being all these and wanted to be…Aryan! Just Aryan!

Or is it just me?