Chapter 8
James
The suit itches. I told Olivia that twice before we even left the apartment, but she said I looked good.
Then she smiled in a way that shuts a man right up.
Still, I show a little cowboy rebellion by ditching that tie and putting on the bolo I brought with me.
To top it off, my hat. If there’s one thing I won’t do for any woman, not even one I’m married to, it’s change who and what I am.
So now I’m standing in the middle of her company’s holiday gala trying to figure out where I fit in. I don’t have to strain my brain very long to realize … I don’t.
The ballroom sparkles. Chandelier light glints off every glass surface, and the air smells like perfume. People talk fast and laugh louder. It’s about as far from the real mountains as a man can get.
Olivia fits right in … or she’s pretending to. Her dress is deep green, soft as pine needles, and when she moves, the crowd seems to shift around her. I can tell she’s playing a part, keeping her chin high and her smile easy. But her eyes dart, like she’s waiting for the next hit.
But my pretend wife is beautiful in that dress. It makes me want to see more of her … out of that dress. But, I have to keep my place in this situation. I’m really only the ranch hand. Still, I love being around her and regret it will come to an end.
She’s standing next to me now when I notice someone cutting through the crowd toward us. I spot him before she does — tall, slick hair, confidence like armor. The kind of man who polishes his shoes more than his soul.
“Olivia,” he says, brushing her elbow in that familiar way that makes my jaw twitch. She flinches, just barely. “Didn’t expect to see you back from the mountains so soon.”
“Well, I was able to take care of things quickly,” she replies smoothly, stepping a fraction closer to me. “This is my husband, James Callahan.”
I nod, tipping my hat slightly. “Evenin’.”
His brows lift. “Husband? You don’t waste time.”
“Guess I finally found someone who knows how to build things that last,” she says, sugar in her voice but steel in her eyes.
He laughs and the sound is thin, brittle. “A cowboy, huh? Well, that’s… quaint.”
“Quaint’s one word for it,” I say, shifting my glass just enough that his elbow catches the rim. Champagne splashes straight down the front of his tailored shirt. “Careful there, partner. City hands aren’t built for balance.”
Olivia bites her lip, trying not to laugh. The man sputters, blotting at his shirt with a napkin Olivia hands him. “Unbelievable.”
“You’ll dry,” I tell him, calm as ever. “Most things do.”
He glares. “And what line of work did you say you were in, Mr. Callahan?”
“I manage Olivia’s ranch,” I say, meeting his stare.
The muscles in his jaw flex before he mutters something about finding another drink and storms off. Olivia finally lets out a quiet laugh, eyes sparkling. “You did that on purpose.”
“Me? Just poor coordination.” I grin. “City parties make a man nervous. That one of the good ones?”
“Ex-boyfriend,” she admits. “Ex-boss, technically.”
“Figured as much.”
We wander toward the balcony when the speeches start, both of us grateful for fresh air, even though it’s freezing. The city stretches out below like a sea of lights. She leans on the railing, arms folded. “You didn’t have to do that back there.”
“I know,” I say. “Wanted to.”
She turns toward me, eyes softer now. “You were amazing. Completely out of your element and still …” She shakes her head, laughing quietly. “You made it look easy.”
“Wasn’t,” I admit. “But you make staying calm worth the trouble.”
The words hang there, and I know I’ve said too much—but she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she steps closer, voice low. “You really mean that?”
“Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
She studies my face, and for a second I forget there’s anyone else in the world. Her perfume mixes with cold air and city lights, and when her hand brushes mine, instinct wins.
I cup her cheek, just lightly, waiting for her to stop me. She doesn’t.
The first kiss is slow and hesitant, warm against the December air. Her lips part, breath mingling with mine, and everything else fades: the traffic below, the music inside, the noise of all the people. When we pull apart, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a week.
“James,” she whispers, “this was supposed to be pretend.”
“Maybe it still is,” I say softly. “Or maybe we just forgot how to fake it.”
Her smile trembles, caught somewhere between fear and something far deeper. “You always this sure of yourself?”
“No, ma’am,” I say, brushing a thumb over her jaw. “Just this sure about you. Even if I’m the only fool at this party wearing a bolo tie and a cowboy hat.”
I hold her tight and close to me as the wind picks up on the balcony. Olivia feels like something I lost, but didn't realize until now that I needed. Lights shimmer from the New York skyline, but in my heart I want her back in Colorado with me standing under a million stars.