Chapter One Hundred- Forty One

Tristan had returned to his hotel after having failed to find Oliver’s number. It was only so long that he could walk around purposelessly. He had just entered his room when the hotel phone rang.

“Hello sir, you’re finally back into your room. Sir Bardot has called twice to ask about you, can we give him your hotel phone number?” The receptionist with the squeaky voice was on the other end.

Who was this Sir Bardot? Tristan tried to rack his brains, but he couldn’t think of anyone he knew with that name, yet he said, “Yeah, sure.”

Minutes later, the hotel phone rang again when Tristan was in the bathroom, having undressed to take a bath. He wrapped a towel around his waist and rushed into the room, “Hello.”

“Hey, Tristan?” It took Tristan a while to recognize the voice of the speaker, and it was evident as he exclaimed, “Oh, Oliver, Oliver Bardot, YOU are Bardot, of course.”

He knew that was rude because it was silent on the other end for a bit, which Tristan quickly covered by, “I a