Mona didn’t interrupt, which was considerate, instead waiting patiently while I finished talking to the potential buyers.
I sized her up with furtive glances as I chatted.
I had no notion of why she was there. My best guess was that she wanted to ask about a work of art. But whatever the reason she was there, she was dressed to kill in a tight black dress with a plunging neckline that didn’t look anywhere near capable of holding her ridiculously huge br**sts inside of it.
She was taller than I was to begin with, but her four-inch heels had her towering over me. I didn’t like that. For some reason, I would have liked it much better if she was shorter. And certainly, I could have done without those obnoxious fake br**sts of hers. I really didn’t want to talk to her. Not for any reason.
I handed the couple my card, and they departed.
I turned to Mona with a professional smile plastered on my face. “Good afternoon. How may I help you?”
She smiled back, and it was friendly, engaging, even. She was certainly pretty, and striking enough, with full lips and dark, mysterious eyes. I was not particularly charmed by her beauty, but then, how could I be?
“Danika Markova,” she began. It was not a promising start, though if I were to judge by her demeanor alone, she was much more pleased to meet me than I was her. “I’m Mona Biello. Has Tristan told you about me?”
I blinked at her, all sorts of confused. “Excuse me?”
Her smile widened and became amused. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me? We have a lot to talk about, you and I.”
I sighed, seeing no way around it. She’d put me in an awkward position, coming to my workplace. “Why not? Lead on.”
I nodded at Sandra on my way out. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” I told her quietly.
“Make it thirty,” Mona said loudly, that charming smile in her voice.
I didn’t correct her, just glaring at her back as I followed her.
She walked fast, making no allowance for my slower gait.
That was fine. I’d get there when I got there. I knew the way, and I wasn’t rushing for her.
She was already sitting at a table, sipping on a coffee when I reached the coffee house. I didn’t bother getting one for myself, instead moving right away to sit across from her.
I crossed my legs, folded my arms, and raised a brow at her.
Her face serene, she began, “Tristan and I have been sleeping together for two years. We also happen to be the best of friends.” Her voice was sincere and engaging.
The bitch wanted me to like her. She’d come to the wrong woman if she was hoping for some kind of a friendship.
I held up a hand, keeping my face very blank. I’d known it and though hearing it made me sick to stomach, sadly the best of friends part even more than the sleeping together, but I’d be damned if I’d let her know that. “I’ll stop you right there. That is none of my business. If you’re here to talk to me about Tristan, it’s extremely unnecessary. There is nothing to talk about.”
Her pleasant expression didn’t waver, not for one f**king second, but I got the distinct feeling that she thought I was lying.
My spine stiffened in affront.
“I’d like to be frank with you, Danika. I’ve come to you because I care about Tristan, but at the moment he is shutting me out. I was hoping you and I could help each other, for Tristan’s sake. I know you and he have some sort of history, and that something’s been rekindled between you.”
I started shaking my head, but she wasn’t done, and some head shaking wasn’t going to stop this one.
“You need to piss or get off the pot, Danika.”
The words were inflammatory, but her tone was still pleasant, almost playful, like we were old friends.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t believe in playing games, and I’ve always been a fan of plain speaking. Tristan is holding some kind of a torch for you. It’s very romantic, but I, for one, would like to know if it could go anywhere. Are you stringing him along, or does he have a shot here? I’m asking as his friend. Because if he has no shot, you need to let him go. You have got to stop leading him on.”
I gritted my teeth and dug deep for some patience with the woman. I wasn’t sure why I bothered. Nice or mean, good or bad, I wanted nothing to do with her, nothing to do with any of it.
It was the principal of the thing that made me answer her at all. “You’re mistaken. Nothing has been rekindled. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea, but there is nothing between Tristan and I but some shared regrets.
I’m sure you’ve noticed my limp. Tristan feels that he’s responsible for that. He feels guilty about it. He shouldn’t feel that way, but he does, and if you’ve gotten the impression that what he feels for me is something other than that guilt, you couldn’t be more wrong. Now, was there anything else?”
Her expression schooled itself into one of sincere sympathy. “That’s very sad. I’m so sorry to hear about that. But I still can’t shake the feeling that he is obsessed with you.”
I shrugged; my face so stiff that it felt like it would crack. “Obsessed with his guilt perhaps. If that was all, I should be going.”