R. Lilley - Lovely Trigger

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.

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.

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.”

That meeting had been agitating enough, but my day from hell wasn’t done.

Not two hours later, Tristan had the sheer gall to come striding into my gallery.

We had clearly drawn lines of territory, ones necessary for keeping the peace, and he had a nerve coming into mine.

I gripped the podium and prayed for strength.

He was visibly agitated as he approached me.  He wore his usual jeans and poured on T-shirt.  He looked good, of course.  Amazing, in fact.

“We need to talk,” he began without preamble.

I looked around, feeling terribly self-conscious.  I couldn’t bear the thought that some hint of a rumor could be started about him and me.  It was too raw of a wound to have outsiders picking at it.

“My office,” I told him tersely.  “You have ten minutes.”

He followed me there, shutting the door behind him.

I moved to the far side of the room and then around my tall project desk, putting it between us.

“I know that Mona came to see you.  I want to explain.”

I shut my eyes and shook my head.  I couldn’t do this.  I needed to stop it before it started.  “Don’t, please.  You having some sort of a tiff with her is not something I’m willing to become involved in.  I frankly could not care less what it is about.  None of it concerns me.  I am with someone.  I am in love with another man.”

Why did those words feel so hollow?  Why did they feel like a blatant lie, and why did I feel so dirty saying them?

My eyes were still closed, but I’d have sworn, just by the very change in the air, that I could feel him recoil.

“You say you want to be friends, to catch up.  That’s fine.  Are you prepared for me to talk about him?  It is serious between us.  Are you ready to congratulate me when we become engaged?  It’s going to happen very soon.  Are we friendly enough that I can tell you the details?”

He was silent for so long that I didn’t think he’d answer.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Fine.  Leave your number.  I’ll give you a call sometime.  We’ll do coffee.  How’s that?”  I would have said anything to get him out of there right then.

“It’s good, if you mean it.”

“Well, you’ll just have to wait and see.  Your ten minutes is up.”

Finally, I looked at him.  He gave me a tiny smile that played havoc on the stupid, traitorous organ in my chest.  “You didn’t let me get a word in.  I want a do-over.”

I shook my head, letting the tiniest hint of a rueful smile play across my mouth.  “Not happening.  Now make like a magician and disappear.”

He laughed, and I tried not to let my heart show in my eyes.

I never made a phone call, and I never answered his.

TRISTAN

We met for lunch regularly, but it was rare for me to get a summons up to the big office.  I knew the reason for it, though, the second I saw James.

One look at the pained expression on his face and I knew it.

He looked as though he was braced to step into the middle of a situation that must have put him in a bad spot.

I sat down without a word and waited for the ax to fall.

“It’s about Danika,” he told me with a heavy sigh.

I just nodded, though inside the turmoil raged on.  Whatever he was about to say, I knew I wouldn’t like it.

“As you know, she’s recently moved back to town, and she’ll be working on site regularly.”

I just nodded.  Again.  At least this was all coming through James.  Somehow, it made it easier.  As far as messengers went, close friends were a better case scenario.