Page 82 of Heartfelt Pain
“What do you want to do?” he asks as the doors close.
“What?”
“Stop and get coffee somewhere? Schedule an appointment with your therapist. Go to the gun range.”
“I’m guessing that last one is your version of therapy.”
A tiny smirk graces his face but he wipes it clean a second later. “Look I’m your bodyguard. I’m here to provide you physical protection. But if you want a mental health day just show me to the nearest salon.”
I stare at the silver elevator doors, my eyes burning. Trevino is actually really fucking nice when he gets over his grumpiness. “Actually I do have a standing nail appointment this morning.”
“Hopefully it’s one of those places that serves champagne.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I’ve got a full day.” I fidget with the leather carryall in my hands. “And there’s normally a pot of coffee going at Fujimori’s.”
We make it to the lobby.
“You know I admire your work ethic,” Trevino says. He makes me pause in the lobby before stepping outside first to check the street. A black SUV waits at the curb.
“You’re the only one.” I slide into the backseat.
“Your friends are worried about you burning out.” He nods for the driver to go. “Take a day off and they’ll stop worrying so much.”
Traffic is already gridlocked and I wiggle in my seat. My back spasms as I pull out my phone and start going through emails. There’s one that makes me pause.
Yelena’s just sent me a reservation for lunch.
The restaurant is both boring and ostentatious. It’s a combination that most would find hard to pull off and yet somehow this place does it. The ceilings are high and airy, but the furniture and tablecloths are stiff.
I merely mentioned the name Zimin and got whisked back to a table. The pale blue of the ceiling matches the cold cloud of unhappiness that follows Yelena everywhere she goes.
She stands and we kiss each other’s cheeks.
A waiter pours water as soon as I sit down and I honest to God realize I don’t know when the last time I ate anywhere other than Fujimori’s.
The morning has been a tense one. Trevino kindly poured me a cup of coffee and later wisely refilled it. Though, he did once have the audacity to place a glass of water on the table and scoot it over to me. I had to take my eyes off an Italian mobster to shoot him a look before answering a question about arms trafficking.
Yelena places her napkin in her lap. “You look tired.”
“I could say the same about you.” The waiter places bread on the table and I am in heaven. Yelena shakes her head at my offering but I grab one, the warm butter smearing easily. “I know we said lunch this week, but I’m surprised it’s today. You must be tired after the party yesterday.”
“The staffhelped.”
As in they did everything, but I keep my thoughts to myself.
“Everything looked amazing.” I stuff another piece of bread in my mouth. I swear they put crack in it, it tastes so good. I’m never going to mock Yelena’s choice of restaurant again. “Sailor looked happy.”
A whisper of a smile pulls at Yelena’s lips. “I do not understand these children’s television shows. They are so loud.”
I dip my bread in more butter. “I’m saved from all of that. Being childless, you know.”
“Would you ever want any?”
I pause, mid-tear into the bread. “Uh. . . I don’t know.” Using the napkin, I clean myself up. “I’m not so sure you invited me here to discuss the number of kids I want in the future.”
“You invited me,” she points out.
“Fair enough.” A server comes up and I order a Coke. Yelena sticks to water. “Is this the place you used to bring Russ?”
