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I play with the spoon on the small plate, not meeting her eyes. “I ran into him again at my next appointment. He was visiting his friend again. He offered to take me out for lunch, and I found it odd but he was just—he’s a persuasive man. And before I knew it, every time I had an appointment, we would have lunch together.”
Agatha leans back in her chair. “You didn’t find it odd that he was always there, so conveniently, every time you had an appointment.”
I hadn’t.
Not at the time.
Back then, I was desperate, and his gestures were like drinking cold water after wandering for days in the desert. I ignored all the warning bells ringing in my head.
I casually shrug my shoulders. “Maybe. But I got a free meal out of it, so I didn’t care.”
She could take my statement one of two ways: gold-digger, or starving. I find that I am not bothered. My reputation was already torn to shreds by the media.
However, to my surprise, her eyes soften, and she reaches out to touch my hand. “I’m sorry for whatever you had to go through back then.”
I hadn’t realized how hard her words would hit me and I bite my tongue to keep the sudden tears at bay.
Voice rough, I reach out with shaking hands to pick up my cup and swallow the scalding liquid, and mutter, “So am I.”
It takes me a while to regain my composure, and Agatha takes the time to use her phone and answer some texts.
I am grateful for the reprieve.
What I assumed would just be a light conversation is turning into an emotional rollercoaster, although we have been here just for ten minutes.
I sigh again.
I am doing a lot of that today.
“Well, long story short, I was looking for a new apartment, and Elijah said that he could help find a good neighborhood to raise a child and he just became sort of a friend.”
Like offering me a list of people he assured me were thoroughly vetted by him. And getting my inheritance from my family who was incensed when I approached them about…
I shake off the dark thoughts, carrying on the conversation. “And then, after Mila was born, I was looking for an investor for the dance studio and he offered. I didn’t know he was Zayn’s father.”
Agatha watches me, her tone flat as she says, “That’s a very neat story.”
“I’m not lying,” I reply, calmly.
She tucks her tongue in her cheek before leaning forward. “You’re not. But you’re definitely leaving things out.”
I smile slightly. “I told you I would.”
She glares at me. “You’re just like Zayn. Prying things out of you two is like pulling teeth.”
I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the ache in them from how Zayn positioned me last night over the sink and fucked me raw.
Asshole.
“Zayn doesn’t even know this much,” I offer as a peace-offering, and it works as Agatha almost looks gleeful.
I really do like her.
“We’re having a girls night next week. You missed the barbeque so you should come to this.”
I remember the women from the other night, the ones who showed up at a single phone-call from Zayn to show solidarity despite barely even knowing me.
I shift in my seat. “I don’t—I’m not good with friendships with women.”
