She lifts her eyebrows and lets it go, just as I thought.
The restaurant is full of people like her—polished, empty. I grip my tie, suffocating in it. She’s getting on a flight after this meeting and she’ll be gone for almost a week, together with her dearest spineless husband. That thought alone gets me through this.
Natalya’s birthday party is tonight and Kiara will probably be there.
My neck warms up as I fight away the smile.
Our partners finally arrive, a couple, around Sylvia’s age. We make polite small talk and then get to the papers for the big investment the Varners will handle for them. I just check all the legal details in the papers since I have a good eye for that.
Then the waitress approaches the table and my heart stops before I even look up.
No. Please no.
I can feel her.
I lift my eyes just enough to confirm it. Kiara stands right in front of me, setting down the drinks for our partners.
Fuck.
She smiles at me and I take my eyes off immediately, my heart in my throat. I nervously dart my eyes all over the papers when I hear the sweetest voice.
“Hi.”
Why is this happening to me?
I don’t answer.
I ignore her and keep my eyes on the papers.
My heart kicks against my ribs so hard it hurts, sharp, stabbing, like a wire tightening around my chest. My fingers tremble, so I grip the papers harder until the edges crumple under my thumbs.
If Sylvia looks at me right now, she’ll see everything. She’ll see her and she’ll see what she does to me.
I can’t let her see that. She’s fucking psychotic.
Kiara stays there, waiting, longer than she should. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. When she finally turns around, the air in my lungs collapses.
Fuck.
My insides actually burn.
Maybe I could excuse myself, pull her aside and explain. Maybe. But I don’t know what to say. The thought hits me so violently my leg starts jerking under the table, completely out of my control. I glance up for half a second—there she is, standing by the bar, staring straight at me, confusion and hurt mixing on her face. I look away instantly, grabbing my drink just to have something to do, but my hand still trembles against the glass.
Sylvia just finished hers.
Fuck.
She’s coming back.
I can sense her before I see her, like static crawling under my skin.
She’s here again, taking Sylvia’s empty glass while Sylvia orders another one.
“Can I get anything for you?” she pauses, letting the silence stretch, then adds extra emphasis on the next word, “sir?”
Fuck. That lands.
I still feel her gaze on me.
