Tristan and Summer stood at the entrance of the luxurious Morlow Hotel, their earlier laughter fading into a comfortable silence. The hotel's façade was an impressive blend of modern design and classic Parisian architecture, with grand columns and a lavishly decorated lobby visible through the glass doors.
"That scheming bastard!" they both muttered in unison again, glancing at each other with a mix of annoyance and amusement.
As they approached the reception desk, the friendly hotel staff greeted them with warm smiles.
"Welcome to Morlow Hotel," the receptionist said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Are you here for a romantic getaway?"
Both Tristan and Summer blushed deeply, taken aback by the question. They exchanged a quick, awkward glance before Tristan cleared his throat. "Actually, we're just friends," Tristan corrected, a bit flustered.
"Oh, my apologies! You two just look so… well, never mind," the receptionist replied, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
After checking in, they were given their room keys and headed towards the elevators. The hotel's décor was a stunning mix of opulent chandeliers, plush furnishings, and elegant art pieces that lined the walls, creating an atmosphere of refined luxury.
When they reached their floor and located their rooms, they were both stunned to find that their suites were adjacent to each other. They stared at the room numbers for a moment, then at each other.
"Max really went all out with his matchmaking, didn't he?" Tristan joked, a smirk forming on his lips.
"He'll be sorely disappointed," Summer added with a playful glint in her eyes.
Tristan's heart sank slightly at her words, though he didn't understand why. He quickly masked his disappointment with a smile.
"Well, at least the rooms look amazing," he said, trying to change the subject.
Before going inside her room, Summer turned to Tristan, who was still standing behind her. "The gathering is five days from now," she said. "I'll take you as my plus one so you don't need to hover around me and can go about your business."
Tristan nodded, "That sounds good. And since we're friends now—or at least not strangers—how about we explore the city together? Or at least have meals together whenever we have time."
Summer smiled, appreciating his suggestion. "I'd like that, Trish. Exploring Paris with a friend sounds perfect."
With that, they both went into their respective rooms, a smile lingering on their faces. Inside, they found their suites to be the epitome of luxury, with large windows offering breathtaking views of the Eiffel Tower and the Seine River, elegant furniture, and soft, inviting beds.
As Summer unpacked, she couldn't help but think about the day's events and Tristan's unexpected presence in her life. She felt a mix of excitement and curiosity about what the coming days in Paris would bring.
Just as she was thinking about the events that unfolded, her thoughts drifted to the mastermind of the day's events. The more she thought about Max's scheming, the more her irritation grew. She hated being manipulated and decided it was time to give Max an earful.
She grabbed her phone and dialed his number. The call rang twice before going to voicemail. She tried again, her frustration mounting with each unanswered ring.
Meanwhile, in Country R, Max saw his phone light up with Summer's name. His heart skipped a beat. Smiling nervously, he silenced his phone and muttered to himself, "I'm sorry, Sam. I know you know that I played you, and I still love my life, so I'm not going to pick up your calls. You'll thank me later."
Back in Paris, Summer glared at her phone. "This manipulative bastard! He knows I know, and that's why he's avoiding me. Just you wait, Max Thompson. I'm going to beat you to a pulp!" she fumed, pacing her luxurious suite.
She threw her phone onto the plush bed and started pacing, her mind racing with thoughts of all the ways she would confront Max once she got back home. The image of Max dodging her calls only added fuel to her fiery determination.
Across the continent, Max was pacing too, though with a different kind of energy. "Oh boy, she's going to kill me," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But it's worth it. This is going to work out. She'll see."
He Imagined Summer's rage and couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Tom and Jerry, that's what we are. Only this time, Jerry's got to stay one step ahead of Tom."
Back in Paris, Summer, still fuming, decided to vent her frustration by furiously unpacking her suitcase. "Tricking me into thinking this trip was purely business," she muttered to herself. "That conniving little rat thinks he can pull one over on me."
She paused, imagining Max's terrified face when she finally got a hold of him. The thought brought a smile to her lips, despite her anger.
Summer dialed Max's number again, letting it ring out. "Max Thompson, you are so dead when I get back!" she shouted at the phone.
In Country R, Max saw the call and sighed, "Sorry, Sam. I really am. But trust me, this will be worth it."
Summer finally threw herself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Just you wait, Max. When I get back, I'm going to show you just how much I appreciate your little scheme."
Despite her anger, she couldn't deny that the events had brought a new excitement to her life. She had met Tristan, who turned out to be more interesting than she initially thought. Maybe, just maybe, Max's scheme had a silver lining.
With that, she sighed, allowing her anger to dissipate slowly. She closed her eyes, imagining all the ways she would make Max pay for his audacity, a mischievous smile forming on her lips.
Meanwhile, Max, still avoiding his phone, laughed nervously. "You're welcome, Sam. Enjoy Paris. And please, don't kill me when you get back."
And so, the Tom and Jerry game continued, with Summer plotting her revenge and Max hoping his plan would ultimately win her gratitude.
Meanwhile, in his room, Tristan sat by the window, looking out at the cityscape. His thoughts kept drifting back to Summer and the surprising connection he felt with her. He knew this trip would be special, but he hadn't expected it to start unfolding in such a unique and intriguing way.
Just as Tristan returned after freshening up, he sat back in the plush leather armchair of his opulent suite at the Morlow Hotel, a glass of deep red wine in his hand. The suite was a testament to luxury: rich wooden furnishings, floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the Paris skyline, and elegant art pieces that adorned the walls. The room exuded a sophisticated charm, much like Tristan himself, who, with his perfectly styled hair and chiseled features, looked every bit the epitome of refined handsomeness.
The soft glow of the chandelier cast a warm light on Tristan as he swirled the wine in his glass, savoring the aroma. He was in a relaxed state, enjoying the serene ambiance, when his phone buzzed on the side table. The caller ID displayed Max's name. With a sigh and a hint of amusement, Tristan picked up the call.
"Max," Tristan greeted, his tone cool and composed.
"Hey, Tristan," Max replied sheepishly. "How's everything? Are the arrangements to your liking?"
Tristan chuckled, a sound that was more of a low rumble. "To my liking? Let's just say your methods are less than orthodox, Max. I don't appreciate being manipulated."
Max gulped on the other end. "I-I just thought, you know, you might enjoy Paris more with a bit of company."
"Company, huh?" Tristan took a sip of his wine, savoring the taste before continuing. "Let me tell you, while I don't appreciate being played, you did manage to make my time here... interesting."
Max let out a nervous laugh. "Interesting is good, right?"
Tristan's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Don't push your luck, Max. You know I don't like being manipulated."
Max's voice took on a hopeful tone. "If you really don't like it, you can always change hotels. I mean, if Summer or the arrangements aren't to your taste..."
Tristan smirked, leaning back further into his chair. "Nice try, Max. But actually, I have to thank you. Despite your underhanded tactics, you've managed to make this trip quite... memorable."
Max breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good to hear, Tristan. Really good. Both of you will thank me later, trust me on that."
"Both of us, huh?" Tristan raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Max, sensing an opening, began to butter up Tristan. "You know, Summ— I mean, Sam—is amazing. She's smart, talented, and has a heart of gold. You two could really—"
"Max," Tristan interrupted, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You don't need to sell her to me. She's a wonderful person. But you might want to focus on saving your own skin."
Max's tone turned pleading. "Come on, Tristan. Help me out here. Sam's going to tear me apart."
Tristan's smile widened as he took another sip of his wine. "You made your bed, Max. Now you have to lie in it. Consider it your punishment."
Max groaned dramatically. "You're really going to let her get me, aren't you?"
"Absolutely," Tristan replied, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Think of it as character-building. And a lesson in not playing matchmaker."
Max sighed deeply. "Fine, fine. I guess I'll just have to face her wrath alone."
"Good luck, Max," Tristan said, his tone both teasing and final. "You're going to need it." He couldn't help but chuckle at Summer's fiery spirit. "Sounds like Max's in trouble," he thought, amused by the thought of Max facing Summer's wrath.