Author's Note: This is an AU. It's a foray in a different direction, and
hopefully, it won't be too horrible.
Chapter One: Hypothesis and Experimentation
"You should be glad you're rid of her, she was nothing but a gold digger anyway," Paris Gellar said definitively before throwing back a double shot of tequila. She sucked furiously on a lemon wedge and gingerly dropped into the shot glass. "Even you knew it from the beginning."
Tristan DuGrey refused to say anything to his friend's comment, only continued to brew as he took a long pull on his Dos Equis. Although he paid attention to her words, his eyes remained fixed on his surroundings in the loud Mexican restaurant. Or rather, to be specific, the people. He'd long ago learned to fade out the garishly bright posters, the banners with various brands of cerveza, and strings of chili pepper lights. He didn't even glance at the postcards of exotic locales and t-shirts that were tacked to the wall behind the bar, or think about the endless supply of freshly-made tortilla chips crunching under his feet as he crossed the hardwood floor. He'd even learned to tune out the never-ending flow of loud salsa music.
It was the people that he liked to watch. And tonight, they were in fine form, though moving seemingly in slow motion. It was taking people forever to get a forkful of black beans into their mouths, even longer to take a bite out of their crispy flautas. The waiters weren't coming in from their smoking break as covertly as usual. And even the bartender was sauntering rather than rushing from one end of the counter to the other.
Was there something wrong with his eyes?
"Of course he knows. Every woman that ever comes within ten feet of this jerk knows how much he's worth. They can't help but want to get into his pants and his pocketbook," Jess Mariano said with a smirk. He lifted his own beer in toast. "Isn't that right, DuGrey?"
"Shut up, Jess," Paris snapped. "That's not true."
"Don't worry about it, Paris. Even I know he's right," Tristan sighed, joining the conversation. "It's not as though a single one of my ex- girlfriends hasn't admitted that she's attracted to my money."
"Surely you didn't think it was your dashing good looks and stellar intelligence," Jess chuckled.
Tristan smiled thinly. "And you're in a position to talk, Mariano?"
Jess shook his head. "Ah, but I am. Sure, we're in the same predicament, but alas, I have not the weaknesses of the flesh as you, my friend. That is not to say that I don't readily welcome attempts by any hot, young, or mature woman—let it never be said that I don't appreciate experience…"
"I'm sure none of us has forgotten the Marcia Foster debacle just yet," Jen quipped.
Marcia Foster was the seemingly Stepford wife of a filthy rich investment banker. She didn't work, but spent her days watching the kids, baking, gardening, and even had a talent for quilting. She was an active member of the PTA and often volunteered to head fundraisers.
Unlike most of the women that circulated in Boston's upper crust society, she had never been known to have any indiscretions. Not for lack of trying on the part of the more lecherous men. Marcia was indeed quite beautiful and possessed of a natural allure that most found irresistible. Yes, many had tried, and all had failed.
Jess, being the man that he was, had taken this as a challenge; he had a vice for challenges. Using all the charms that were at his disposal, he managed to seduce the poor woman. She, being of romantic mind, fancied herself in love with him. And she told him so, only to have her heart broken by the thoughtless, but gorgeous, cad who thought of her merely as a distraction.
It was not long after that that Jess severed their relationship. He thought he'd gotten away scot-free, but it was not to be so. It turned out that Simon Foster, her husband, had learned the details either from another close friend or maybe it was even Marcia herself. In any event, he came after Jess looking for a fight to defend his honor, which really was quite foolish of him. Simon walked away with a bad limp and a broken nose and cut lip. Luckily for everyone involved, Simon made no more such attempts, and the affair proved to be only enough fodder for two weeks in the gossip mill. It wasn't all that extraordinary, after all.
Jess shot her a smug look. "Just because you've never gotten a little Mariano lovin' doesn't mean you have to get testy, Paris," he said with a raised brow. "As I was saying, I welcome any able body who wants to try to sink their claws into me. The operable word being 'try.' I see no sense in turning away a fine piece of ass."
"Call me an idiot if you must," Tristan said with a thin smile. "But I happen to like to entertain the idea of finding someone who doesn't just want me for my money."
"And who's to say that you won't?" Paris asked, laying a comforting hand over his. "Not every woman if after you for that. Don't listen to this jackass. He's Jess. He knows nothing," she said, only sparing a moment to send a sharp look in his direction.
"Can you honestly say he's wrong?" Tristan asked with a bitter laugh.
Paris groaned. "Oh, fuck you both. I've had enough of this," she said, throwing up her hands. Her entire expression changed as she released Tristan's hand and settle back into her chair. "I'm trying to be nice about it, but honestly, I don't care one way or another. You're just annoying me with your wallowing. This is fucking depressing."
"Meow," Jess muttered.
"Every other week one of you comes in whining about the latest trophy-wife wannabe who you've had to dump either because she was getting too clingy or she wasn't living up to your expectations. Well screw you both. Unless you look for a woman in Outer Mongolia, you're not going to find many women who don't know who you are. So suck it up and have fun for a change."
Paris let out a low, suffering breath at the end of her tirade, which had earned shared astonished gazes from both of them. Her brown eyes settled on both of them as she lifted a sculpted brow, daring either of them to challenge her words.
Jess merely laughed as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his black leather wallet. He reached in and drew out two hundred dollars bills, slipping them discreetly into Tristan's palm. The other man in turn nodded with a small smile and pocketed the money without a word.
"What the hell was that?" Paris asked angrily.
Tristan shrugged. "We just had a small bet over if you'd ever bitch us out for being so annoying and whining to you about our love lives on almost a weekly basis. Jess here," Tristan said, gesturing, "was foolish enough to think that you never would. For some reason, after knowing you for ten years, the man thinks that your resolve to spare us would hold out until New Year's." Tristan shook his head. "It was a sucker's bet."
Paris turned her glare on Jess. "What are insane? Me hold my tongue? What, were you on something when you took the bet?"
"Perhaps I was in the mood to lose two-hundred dollars to DuGrey," he said with an incorrigible grin.
"Yeah, maybe," Tristan commented, chuckling genuinely for the first time that night.
As he contemplated how ridiculous the whole bet was, his eyes stopped on a woman sitting alone at the bar. She wasn't astonishing by any means; certainly the women that frequented his company were the crème de la crème of society, beautiful to the point of absurdity. He was used to statuesque enchantresses draped in the finest clothes. So there was nothing special about the brunette with the luminous blue eyes.
No, there was nothing special, but Tristan watched her anyway, unable to tear his eyes away. They slowly trailed up her long legs, from the burgundy- enameled toes, past the leather sandals, up the long stems of brown suede clad legs that were crossed, and lingered a moment at her delicate hands. Was that a tattoo around her wrist?
With an imperceptible shake of his head he continued his visual journey. His eyes quickly swept up over the white peasant blouse, only briefly entertaining the idea that he could see straight through it to…a leopard print bra? Surely not. But then there was the telltale strap peeking out near the generous neckline on her pale shoulder.
Interesting, he thought, before letting himself take in her face. He found it odd that she didn't seem to have any makeup except around her eyes. But then again, was it possible that her lips were that pink and delectable? Were her lashes that long without the aid of some terribly dangerous- looking wand covered in black mascara? Probably not.
*Wouldn't you like to know?*
Tristan's brows creased. The pesky devil that parked its bottom on his shoulder was speaking without provocation again. Despite interrupting his thoughts, Tristan had to admit the old fellow was right. He did want to go up to the woman, even though he wasn't interested in her in the least. Nope. Not at all. She was just ordinary after all. Though he did have this niggling desire to take down the hair she had gathered up in an elastic band on top of her head, and see how it would feel to run his fingers through it.
It had to feel good, he decided. But how good?
"Earth to Tristan," Paris said, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.
"Hmm?" he asked, turning his attention back to his friends.
Paris didn't answer right away, instead she turned her head and spied the woman he was just staring at moments ago. With a sly smile she turned to Tristan and bite down on her lip. "Already looking for another bedmate?"
"Hardly," he replied with a little chuckle.
"Well now, this is most intriguing," Jess said, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her face, which was now turned towards the bar. "Don't know what her face looks like, but her body does seem to have some possibilities."
Tristan shook his head. "Stop it. I'm not looking, scooping, or checking her out," he sighed, picking up his beer. "Can we just get back to what we were talking about before this detour?"
"Sure," Paris said, clearing her throat. "Do you even know what Jess and I were discussing?"
He gulped hard before taking the bottle away and licking his lips. "Okay, you got me. I don't."
"Hmm. Thought not."
"If you had been listening, you would have heard us arguing further about your love life. Yes, this is how far our conversation has fallen. Gellar here seems to think, like you, that is it possible for someone to love you for something other than your money. While I, just to play devil's advocate, chose the opposite position. And I'm not going to tell you my real opinion on this matter," Jess said with an amused smile.
"Is that all?" Tristan asked, looking suspicious.
"Just about, and really, you see, there's no way to continue this conversation because we'll just keep going around in circles. There's no way to prove our theories one way or the other until you have another love interest," Paris concluded.
Jess darted his eyes over to the brunette. "Actually, I'm going to have to disagree."
Tristan raised an eyebrow as he looked at Paris who had her eyes fixated on Jess.
"Pray tell," she murmured.
"DuGrey, you've always been a sporting man, haven't you?" Jess asked, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on the table.
"I'd like to think so. Let it never be said that I don't like a good game," he replied smoothly.
"So to say that you enjoy a bet, a venture—it wouldn't be too far off the mark."
Tristan chuckled. "Get to the point, Mariano."
"How's about we put your theory to the test? See if you two are right, or if I am," Jess offered.
"Like Paris said, there's no way to prove anything unless I have a girlfriend. What do you propose I do, go out and get one?" he asked, disbelieving, yet smiling.
"Exactly. I propose that we find a female, preferably one that doesn't know who you are. You can give yourself an alias and probably misrepresent yourself as impoverish or maybe a little bit above that. And we'll keep tabs to see your progress with her. Will she fall for you despite your lack of extensive funds? Would you fare better with her if she knew you were worth millions? The possibilities and questions to be answered are endless.
"But the ultimate point is, she'll be our means to proving or disproving the theory," Jess said with a slight grin.
"No way. That's not only stupid, but potentially dangerous and cruel," Paris contended. She turned to Tristan. "Tristan, say something."
But he couldn't. He had to think. Because as dangerous as the bet had potential to be, it was something he wanted to do. It was more than human curiosity. It was a means to answering one of the questions he had desperately wanted answered. Did that make him a bad person?
"What are the terms?"
"God, he's lost his mind," Paris muttered.
Jess laughed softly. He didn't think that Tristan would take him seriously, and he wouldn't have pushed to see it through, but Jess was never one to let an opportunity for amusement pass.
"There's no time limit, but there must be a definitive conclusion. She either loves the poor man otherwise known as Tristan DuGrey or not. It doesn't matter how you go about it. I've never doubted your creativity, so I hope you come up with some good things."
"This is insane," Paris said, retreating into her portion of the circular booth.
"Okay. And the stakes?"
"Fifty thousand," Paris interjected. They both looked at her curiously. "Hey, if you're going to be jackasses, at least make the bet interesting with high stakes."
"The woman does have a point. Fifty then, Jess?" Tristan asked. When the other man nodded, he glanced over at Paris. "I'll assume that you want no part in this?"
"So as not to betray my gender, I'll not take part in the bet, nor will I say that I condone the behavior. So I'll stay out, thank you," she sighed. "But I'll say this, as your friend, I can't help but be intrigued at the notion. However, I'll also ask you to rethink this. As much as I'm rooting for you in this bet, Tristan, I'm afraid you won't be happy with the outcome."
"It's just a game, Gellar. No one's going to get hurt over this," Tristan said, lacking conviction in his voice.
"Famous last words," she mumbled.
Jess reached over and shook Tristan's hand. "It seems we have a new bet then."
"Absolutely," Tristan agreed. "Just one thing, how will we go about finding this woman?"
"Would you object to me choosing someone for you?" Jess asked cautiously.
Tristan answered without hesitation. "By all means, please."
A slow grin spread across Jess's face.
And then the slow motion began again. Tristan watched as his friend lifted his hand in excruciating slowness and pointed at the decidedly ordinary brunette. "Her."
Chapter One: Hypothesis and Experimentation
"You should be glad you're rid of her, she was nothing but a gold digger anyway," Paris Gellar said definitively before throwing back a double shot of tequila. She sucked furiously on a lemon wedge and gingerly dropped into the shot glass. "Even you knew it from the beginning."
Tristan DuGrey refused to say anything to his friend's comment, only continued to brew as he took a long pull on his Dos Equis. Although he paid attention to her words, his eyes remained fixed on his surroundings in the loud Mexican restaurant. Or rather, to be specific, the people. He'd long ago learned to fade out the garishly bright posters, the banners with various brands of cerveza, and strings of chili pepper lights. He didn't even glance at the postcards of exotic locales and t-shirts that were tacked to the wall behind the bar, or think about the endless supply of freshly-made tortilla chips crunching under his feet as he crossed the hardwood floor. He'd even learned to tune out the never-ending flow of loud salsa music.
It was the people that he liked to watch. And tonight, they were in fine form, though moving seemingly in slow motion. It was taking people forever to get a forkful of black beans into their mouths, even longer to take a bite out of their crispy flautas. The waiters weren't coming in from their smoking break as covertly as usual. And even the bartender was sauntering rather than rushing from one end of the counter to the other.
Was there something wrong with his eyes?
"Of course he knows. Every woman that ever comes within ten feet of this jerk knows how much he's worth. They can't help but want to get into his pants and his pocketbook," Jess Mariano said with a smirk. He lifted his own beer in toast. "Isn't that right, DuGrey?"
"Shut up, Jess," Paris snapped. "That's not true."
"Don't worry about it, Paris. Even I know he's right," Tristan sighed, joining the conversation. "It's not as though a single one of my ex- girlfriends hasn't admitted that she's attracted to my money."
"Surely you didn't think it was your dashing good looks and stellar intelligence," Jess chuckled.
Tristan smiled thinly. "And you're in a position to talk, Mariano?"
Jess shook his head. "Ah, but I am. Sure, we're in the same predicament, but alas, I have not the weaknesses of the flesh as you, my friend. That is not to say that I don't readily welcome attempts by any hot, young, or mature woman—let it never be said that I don't appreciate experience…"
"I'm sure none of us has forgotten the Marcia Foster debacle just yet," Jen quipped.
Marcia Foster was the seemingly Stepford wife of a filthy rich investment banker. She didn't work, but spent her days watching the kids, baking, gardening, and even had a talent for quilting. She was an active member of the PTA and often volunteered to head fundraisers.
Unlike most of the women that circulated in Boston's upper crust society, she had never been known to have any indiscretions. Not for lack of trying on the part of the more lecherous men. Marcia was indeed quite beautiful and possessed of a natural allure that most found irresistible. Yes, many had tried, and all had failed.
Jess, being the man that he was, had taken this as a challenge; he had a vice for challenges. Using all the charms that were at his disposal, he managed to seduce the poor woman. She, being of romantic mind, fancied herself in love with him. And she told him so, only to have her heart broken by the thoughtless, but gorgeous, cad who thought of her merely as a distraction.
It was not long after that that Jess severed their relationship. He thought he'd gotten away scot-free, but it was not to be so. It turned out that Simon Foster, her husband, had learned the details either from another close friend or maybe it was even Marcia herself. In any event, he came after Jess looking for a fight to defend his honor, which really was quite foolish of him. Simon walked away with a bad limp and a broken nose and cut lip. Luckily for everyone involved, Simon made no more such attempts, and the affair proved to be only enough fodder for two weeks in the gossip mill. It wasn't all that extraordinary, after all.
Jess shot her a smug look. "Just because you've never gotten a little Mariano lovin' doesn't mean you have to get testy, Paris," he said with a raised brow. "As I was saying, I welcome any able body who wants to try to sink their claws into me. The operable word being 'try.' I see no sense in turning away a fine piece of ass."
"Call me an idiot if you must," Tristan said with a thin smile. "But I happen to like to entertain the idea of finding someone who doesn't just want me for my money."
"And who's to say that you won't?" Paris asked, laying a comforting hand over his. "Not every woman if after you for that. Don't listen to this jackass. He's Jess. He knows nothing," she said, only sparing a moment to send a sharp look in his direction.
"Can you honestly say he's wrong?" Tristan asked with a bitter laugh.
Paris groaned. "Oh, fuck you both. I've had enough of this," she said, throwing up her hands. Her entire expression changed as she released Tristan's hand and settle back into her chair. "I'm trying to be nice about it, but honestly, I don't care one way or another. You're just annoying me with your wallowing. This is fucking depressing."
"Meow," Jess muttered.
"Every other week one of you comes in whining about the latest trophy-wife wannabe who you've had to dump either because she was getting too clingy or she wasn't living up to your expectations. Well screw you both. Unless you look for a woman in Outer Mongolia, you're not going to find many women who don't know who you are. So suck it up and have fun for a change."
Paris let out a low, suffering breath at the end of her tirade, which had earned shared astonished gazes from both of them. Her brown eyes settled on both of them as she lifted a sculpted brow, daring either of them to challenge her words.
Jess merely laughed as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his black leather wallet. He reached in and drew out two hundred dollars bills, slipping them discreetly into Tristan's palm. The other man in turn nodded with a small smile and pocketed the money without a word.
"What the hell was that?" Paris asked angrily.
Tristan shrugged. "We just had a small bet over if you'd ever bitch us out for being so annoying and whining to you about our love lives on almost a weekly basis. Jess here," Tristan said, gesturing, "was foolish enough to think that you never would. For some reason, after knowing you for ten years, the man thinks that your resolve to spare us would hold out until New Year's." Tristan shook his head. "It was a sucker's bet."
Paris turned her glare on Jess. "What are insane? Me hold my tongue? What, were you on something when you took the bet?"
"Perhaps I was in the mood to lose two-hundred dollars to DuGrey," he said with an incorrigible grin.
"Yeah, maybe," Tristan commented, chuckling genuinely for the first time that night.
As he contemplated how ridiculous the whole bet was, his eyes stopped on a woman sitting alone at the bar. She wasn't astonishing by any means; certainly the women that frequented his company were the crème de la crème of society, beautiful to the point of absurdity. He was used to statuesque enchantresses draped in the finest clothes. So there was nothing special about the brunette with the luminous blue eyes.
No, there was nothing special, but Tristan watched her anyway, unable to tear his eyes away. They slowly trailed up her long legs, from the burgundy- enameled toes, past the leather sandals, up the long stems of brown suede clad legs that were crossed, and lingered a moment at her delicate hands. Was that a tattoo around her wrist?
With an imperceptible shake of his head he continued his visual journey. His eyes quickly swept up over the white peasant blouse, only briefly entertaining the idea that he could see straight through it to…a leopard print bra? Surely not. But then there was the telltale strap peeking out near the generous neckline on her pale shoulder.
Interesting, he thought, before letting himself take in her face. He found it odd that she didn't seem to have any makeup except around her eyes. But then again, was it possible that her lips were that pink and delectable? Were her lashes that long without the aid of some terribly dangerous- looking wand covered in black mascara? Probably not.
*Wouldn't you like to know?*
Tristan's brows creased. The pesky devil that parked its bottom on his shoulder was speaking without provocation again. Despite interrupting his thoughts, Tristan had to admit the old fellow was right. He did want to go up to the woman, even though he wasn't interested in her in the least. Nope. Not at all. She was just ordinary after all. Though he did have this niggling desire to take down the hair she had gathered up in an elastic band on top of her head, and see how it would feel to run his fingers through it.
It had to feel good, he decided. But how good?
"Earth to Tristan," Paris said, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.
"Hmm?" he asked, turning his attention back to his friends.
Paris didn't answer right away, instead she turned her head and spied the woman he was just staring at moments ago. With a sly smile she turned to Tristan and bite down on her lip. "Already looking for another bedmate?"
"Hardly," he replied with a little chuckle.
"Well now, this is most intriguing," Jess said, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her face, which was now turned towards the bar. "Don't know what her face looks like, but her body does seem to have some possibilities."
Tristan shook his head. "Stop it. I'm not looking, scooping, or checking her out," he sighed, picking up his beer. "Can we just get back to what we were talking about before this detour?"
"Sure," Paris said, clearing her throat. "Do you even know what Jess and I were discussing?"
He gulped hard before taking the bottle away and licking his lips. "Okay, you got me. I don't."
"Hmm. Thought not."
"If you had been listening, you would have heard us arguing further about your love life. Yes, this is how far our conversation has fallen. Gellar here seems to think, like you, that is it possible for someone to love you for something other than your money. While I, just to play devil's advocate, chose the opposite position. And I'm not going to tell you my real opinion on this matter," Jess said with an amused smile.
"Is that all?" Tristan asked, looking suspicious.
"Just about, and really, you see, there's no way to continue this conversation because we'll just keep going around in circles. There's no way to prove our theories one way or the other until you have another love interest," Paris concluded.
Jess darted his eyes over to the brunette. "Actually, I'm going to have to disagree."
Tristan raised an eyebrow as he looked at Paris who had her eyes fixated on Jess.
"Pray tell," she murmured.
"DuGrey, you've always been a sporting man, haven't you?" Jess asked, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on the table.
"I'd like to think so. Let it never be said that I don't like a good game," he replied smoothly.
"So to say that you enjoy a bet, a venture—it wouldn't be too far off the mark."
Tristan chuckled. "Get to the point, Mariano."
"How's about we put your theory to the test? See if you two are right, or if I am," Jess offered.
"Like Paris said, there's no way to prove anything unless I have a girlfriend. What do you propose I do, go out and get one?" he asked, disbelieving, yet smiling.
"Exactly. I propose that we find a female, preferably one that doesn't know who you are. You can give yourself an alias and probably misrepresent yourself as impoverish or maybe a little bit above that. And we'll keep tabs to see your progress with her. Will she fall for you despite your lack of extensive funds? Would you fare better with her if she knew you were worth millions? The possibilities and questions to be answered are endless.
"But the ultimate point is, she'll be our means to proving or disproving the theory," Jess said with a slight grin.
"No way. That's not only stupid, but potentially dangerous and cruel," Paris contended. She turned to Tristan. "Tristan, say something."
But he couldn't. He had to think. Because as dangerous as the bet had potential to be, it was something he wanted to do. It was more than human curiosity. It was a means to answering one of the questions he had desperately wanted answered. Did that make him a bad person?
"What are the terms?"
"God, he's lost his mind," Paris muttered.
Jess laughed softly. He didn't think that Tristan would take him seriously, and he wouldn't have pushed to see it through, but Jess was never one to let an opportunity for amusement pass.
"There's no time limit, but there must be a definitive conclusion. She either loves the poor man otherwise known as Tristan DuGrey or not. It doesn't matter how you go about it. I've never doubted your creativity, so I hope you come up with some good things."
"This is insane," Paris said, retreating into her portion of the circular booth.
"Okay. And the stakes?"
"Fifty thousand," Paris interjected. They both looked at her curiously. "Hey, if you're going to be jackasses, at least make the bet interesting with high stakes."
"The woman does have a point. Fifty then, Jess?" Tristan asked. When the other man nodded, he glanced over at Paris. "I'll assume that you want no part in this?"
"So as not to betray my gender, I'll not take part in the bet, nor will I say that I condone the behavior. So I'll stay out, thank you," she sighed. "But I'll say this, as your friend, I can't help but be intrigued at the notion. However, I'll also ask you to rethink this. As much as I'm rooting for you in this bet, Tristan, I'm afraid you won't be happy with the outcome."
"It's just a game, Gellar. No one's going to get hurt over this," Tristan said, lacking conviction in his voice.
"Famous last words," she mumbled.
Jess reached over and shook Tristan's hand. "It seems we have a new bet then."
"Absolutely," Tristan agreed. "Just one thing, how will we go about finding this woman?"
"Would you object to me choosing someone for you?" Jess asked cautiously.
Tristan answered without hesitation. "By all means, please."
A slow grin spread across Jess's face.
And then the slow motion began again. Tristan watched as his friend lifted his hand in excruciating slowness and pointed at the decidedly ordinary brunette. "Her."