Lovely Trigger(19)

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 f*cking 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.”