Lovely Trigger (10 page)

She held her hand up.
 
“You didn’t.
 
I understand completely.
 
Sometimes protecting your heart is the only way to keep your sanity.”
 

She’d hit that one on the head.
 
I nodded.
 
“Yes, exactly.
 
I won’t get mixed up with him again, and I refuse to lead him on.
 
When I was younger and stupid, I thought that he was the most wonderful and exciting thing in the world.
 
I fell crazy, stupid, jump off a cliff in love with him.
 
It was like being in love with a tornado.
 
It took me years to pick up all of the pieces he’d left me in, but I did it, and I
won’t
go back.
 
These days I want stability in my life.
 
I need it.”
 

She nodded.
 
I patted her on the shoulder, and walked away, satisfied that she understood.

I was literally forced to deal with Tristan again at the end of the evening, as he purchased two of Bianca’s paintings.
 
Unbelievably, and infuriatingly, one of them was the small still-life I’d become obsessed with.
 

“You have great taste,” I told him as I entered his data into the system.
 
I had other people to do this, but I always handled the really big ticket items myself.
 
It made me nervous to let anyone else do it.
 
My control issues were in full swing.

“I always have.”

I made sure he saw me roll my eyes.
 
He grinned at me as though I’d just given him a present, which hadn’t been my intent.
 

“Listen, I’m sorry I came on too strong earlier, but I really think it’s time we start to talk again.”
 

“I told you, I’m with someone.”
 

“Yes, I know.
 
I’m not talking about him.
 
I’m talking about
us
hanging out again.
 
Just as friends.
 
You live in Vegas again; we work in the same building.
 
It would be ridiculous if we didn’t go out for coffee every once in a while.
 
Catch up a bit.
 
That’s all.”
 

I had to work to keep from losing my temper.
 
“You want to catch up?
 
You want to hear how many hours I spent in physical therapy after our breakup?”
 
He visibly winced, but I kept going.
 
“What else would you like to catch up on, exactly?
 
What about Milton having a girlfriend, that you had to know about, but who you didn’t bother to mention when you gave me that crazy warning to stay away from him?”

“Hey now, I had no idea he had a girlfriend—“

“It doesn’t matter.”
 
Though I did feel a tiny stab of relief that he hadn’t known either, and I couldn’t even have said why.
 
“What matters is that the only things we have to catch up on are things I have no desire in the world to talk about.
 
Not ever again.
 
And certainly not with you.
 
Your paintings will arrive at your house within the next few days, following the verification of your credit card, etcetera.
 
Have a good night, Tristan.”
 
I strode away before I said anything else I’d regret later.
 

When it came to Tristan and I, there were never any winners to be had.
   

TRISTAN

I went to bed that night angry and upset.
 
So agitated that, even at rest, my heart was pounding hard.
   

I tossed and turned for hours before I fell into a restless sleep.
 

I was having my morning coffee when I felt something strange move in my chest.
   

It felt good, but foreign, and it took me a long time to place it.

What was this feeling?
 
I had to think for a long time to figure it out, but I grasped it after a time.
 

A freak streak of optimism had just entered my body.

Hope.
 
I felt the tiniest stirring of hope.
 
But why?
 
She’d been as vehement as ever.
 
She didn’t want anything to do with me.
 
Nothing had changed.
 
But my mind had this one little thing to focus on, this smallest of contact, and so I hadn’t forgotten even one detail.
 

On the contrary, I’d been memorizing every second of that brief confrontation.
 

Every last twitch.
 

Every time she’d blinked, or licked her lips, or swallowed with nervousness.
 

She’d done such a good job of showing me nothing but indifference for the last few years, I’d had no choice but to believe that was how she genuinely felt, and I’d just fucking bought it, giving her the space she needed.
 

She deserved that much.
 
She deserved so much more than I could ever give her, because I’d taken so much from her, and so I’d left her in peace.
 

But something about last night, perhaps it was the way her hands trembled when she pushed mine away, or the fact that she’d shown me her rare temper with just the slightest bit of prodding.
 

And the bit where she’d said,
“Please!
 
You stopped trying to call me years ago.
 
I haven’t heard a word from you since right after rehab when you went on your repentance tour.”
 
That
bit fascinated me.
 
Had she
wanted
me to call her?
 
Or was I just reading what I wanted into it?

Whatever it was, something had changed and important pieces of my life were shifting into place.

I knew what I needed to do.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

DANIKA

It was a normal, chaotic day at the Vegas gallery.
 
I was still settling in as I brought it under my own management.
 
It was a challenge, but I enjoyed challenges, even ones that made me lose sleep, so I was exhilarated by it more than anything else.

I knew who she was the instant she set foot onto the marble floor of my gallery.
 
Whether I liked it or not, Tristan’s love life was hot news, and I was kept up to date on every little detail, thanks to the two gossip-loving ladies that worked with me.
 

Mona Biello was a statuesque blonde with ridiculously exaggerated curves.
 
The blonde was out of a bottle, and at least half of those curves were added on by a doctor, but who was keeping track?

She was the daughter of the famous magician, Tony Biello.
 
He’d recently retired his act, which had been in the Cavendish casino.
 
Tristan had essentially taken his job.
 
I figured there must not have been any hard feelings, since by all accounts in the media, they seemed to be close friends.
 

And the man didn’t seem to mind that Tristan was dating his daughter and had been for
years
.
 
She was also one of the sexy assistants in his magic act.
 
It had even been rumored that he was planning to pop the question.
   

She was almost the last person on earth I wanted to see.
 
The second to last, to be specific.
 

She passed right by the other two women working the busy gallery, brushing them off with a charming smile.
 

She headed straight to the podium, where I stood talking to a nice couple that was seriously considering purchasing one of the limited additions from this month’s featured photographer.
 
It was a $50k sale.
 
I had courted this sale, and I would close the deal, but I figured the couple would need at least one more trip back before they made their decision.
 
They were serious buyers.
 
I was experienced enough to know the difference.

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 breasts 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 breasts 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 fucking 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.