The corners of her lips stretched into a smug grin. "And it looks as though the rumors were right. You're back where you belong."
"Wonderful news all around," I mutter, my sarcasm thicker than ever before. "I suppose that means you can take your freshly done manicure and get your ass out of here. Lord knows what filth was on that stool before you sat your fake ass on it."
"You truly are a disgrace, Chiara."
"Says the woman who ordered a hit on me," I say, reaching for her drink. "You done with this?"
Her face scrunches and she goes to push the sticky glass away, but I pull on the small coaster beneath and watch, with fascinating delight, as the glass tips over, sending a wave of beer cascading over the edge of the bar and right into her lap.
Monica screeches, throwing herself to her feet. "You fucking bitch."
"Oh no," I gasp, holding my hand to my mouth in fake shock. "Is that a Givenchy jacket? You better hurry and get that to the dry cleaner before it stains."
