Mia
The next day, I met Stacy at a café two blocks from the office. She wore sunglasses and a sleek black coat, like she was trying not to be seen. And God, she was even more gorgeous in person— her long blonde hair flowing down her shoulders.
“You came,” she said, stirring her coffee slowly. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”
“What's this about, Stacy?” I asked, trying to sound composed.
She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were sharp, but not angry. Calculating.
“Don't play dumb with me, Mia. I’m not here to scream or throw things,” she said. “And I’m not here to ask you to leave Owen. That part’s done.”
I blinked, stunned. “Then what are we doing here?”
“I want to make you an offer.”
I almost laughed. “What the hell kind of offer?”
She leaned in. “You keep seeing him. But discreetl
