"Jesus, Vivienne..." Mia took off her sunglasses, pointing a trembling finger painted with perfect red nail polish at Sasha, her face going through a rainbow of colors. "Is that... that Frankenstein the mafia sent to monitor you?"
"Technically, he's my 'federal security bodyguard.'" I shrugged somewhat helplessly and sat across from Mia.
Sasha stood like a statue exactly one step from our table under the umbrella's edge. The concealed murderous aura radiating from him made several nearby tables of Washington socialites instinctively scoot their chairs farther away.
Mia's temper flared instantly. She crossed her arms, tossed her carefully styled blonde hair high, and glared at Sasha with extreme displeasure. "Hey! Big guy! Can you get the hell away from our table? Your indelible gunpowder and Kevlar stench is seriously ruining my avocado toast! And looking at your poker face, I want to call my therapist right now!"
Sasha stood there. Through those black sunglasses, I could clearly feel his emotionless eyes scanning Mia with the contempt one reserves for roadside trash cans.
He didn't speak, just extremely slowly, with almost condescending arrogance, moved sideways...barely.
About half a foot.
"I said get farther away!" Mia slammed the table, ready to stand up in her Louboutins and throw down with this stone statue.
Seeing the imminent showdown between this hulk and Washington's most spoiled heiress in this upscale café, I quickly grabbed Mia's arm and forced her back into the wicker chair.
"Okay, okay, Mia! Calm down!" I leaned over, shoving a freshly arrived scone into her mouth while lowering my voice to mediate the chaos. "Just pretend he's an ugly black umbrella that's propped too high! He doesn't exist, ignore him!"
I turned and shot Sasha a very discreet glare. The dead wood maintained his corpse face, standing motionless in the sunlight.
Mia bit viciously into the scone and snorted hard, but ultimately, for my sake, she forced herself to swallow the string of venomous curses about to escape.
She took a long sip of matcha latte, her inquisitive eyes boring across the table into my face. "Fine, forget the Terminator. Vivienne, spill. How have these last few days been in that wolf den? Last week on the phone, you were crying about killing Derek in Vegas, but yesterday you sounded weirdly like you'd just won the lottery?"
"Actually... it's been fine." I somewhat guiltily grabbed the teapot to pour myself Earl Grey, my gaze drifting unnaturally across the tabletop.
"What does 'fine' mean?" Mia pounced on my discomfort, leaning forward sharply, her tone severe. "Vivienne Cole, last time we talked, you described that Nikolai Volkov like he was a monster about to dismember you. Now you're saying 'fine'?"
I swallowed some warm, bitter tea, but it couldn't suppress that strange, burning churn in my stomach.
"Just... way better than I expected." I gave up and set down the teacup, mumbling quietly, "That man... sure, he's got a sharp tongue, a terrible personality, and he's controlling like a medieval tyrant. But actually... he's not as unbearable as the rumors say..."
My brain very disobediently replayed this afternoon's confrontational yet incredibly synchronized dance—the sweaty lashes, the heatat my waist, the husky whispers, those eyes full of conquest and desire.
My voice grew quieter and quieter, and I didn't even notice my face—which had finally returned to normal—was once again shamefully flushing pink in the afternoon sun.
Mia propped her chin in her hand, just watching me quietly with an extremely meaningful look.
The worry and anger in her carefully lined eyes gradually faded, replaced by a complex expression of pity and amusement at seeing through some ancient pattern.
"Vivienne," Mia spoke slowly, interrupting my thoughts.
"Huh? What?" I looked up somewhat startled.
"Listen to the words you just used to describe that man." Mia sighed somewhat helplessly, tapping her knuckles on the table. "Girl, that doesn't sound at all like a cold, purely transactional fake-fiancée contract relationship."
"It IS a contract relationship!"
I shot upright in the wicker chair like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, my voice involuntarily rising half an octave as I vehemently denied it. "We signed an agreement! I'm just collecting material on him for my new book and taking his money to solve my real-world crisis! That's all!"
"If it's just a stiff business transaction," Mia quirked an eyebrow, her brazen gaze dropping to my mouth, "then why are you smiling?"
"Am I smiling?"
I froze completely. I frantically raised my right hand, touching my face with my fingertips.
My lips... were actually slightly upturned. Wearing a smile I hadn't even noticed—a stupid, sickeningly sweet, foolish smile that Mia clearly found absurd.
