Chapter 9 Olivia
Olivia
“Deep breath in, slow breath out.” I follow my own instructions, closing my eyes as I adjust my posture in child’s pose.
The nerve—the fucking audacity—Isaac had, tugging at my heartstrings like that. I spent years trying to get over him, and in less than a week I’m right back where I started. What game is he playing? After all this time, why now?
It’s bullshit.
No amount of yoga or breathing exercises will quiet my mind tonight.
Wine is out of the question—I can’t afford the hangover in the morning.
Once I’m ready for bed, I take a melatonin gummy and slide under the covers, wiggling to get comfortable.
I should apologize to Isaac for hanging up on him like I did, but he opened up a very painful wound, implied we would be married if things were different, then said that shit about time being irrelevant, like he was spying on me while I fucked myself the other night.
Maybe he said something like that when we were younger?
How else could he be channeling the Daddy Isaac I conjured for masturbation inspiration?
I plug in my phone, dozens of notification previews gracing the screen. My eyes snag on a text from Isaac. Debating on opening it, my thumb hovers over the little box. I always keep my read receipts off, but I’m more worried about the risk to my heart by clicking on it.
Isaac
I won’t apologize for what I said, because it was the truth. But I am sorry that it made you uncomfortable.
It was sent twenty minutes ago, so there's a good chance he’s in bed.
I begin typing out a text to let him know there’s nothing to apologize for, when little dancing dots appear.
Quickly deleting my message, my heart thumps wildly against my ribcage.
The little dots are gone as quickly as they graced my screen.
Two agonizingly slow minutes pass, and I brave typing my reply again.
I’m the one who should be apologizing for hanging up like that. Moving forward, maybe it’s best if our communication is just between our staff?
Is that really what you want?
“No,” I whisper to myself, trying my hardest to rein in my emotions, but failing. I type out yes, but then delete it. There’s no use in lying to him; we should be open and honest with each other.
No, but it’s for the best.
You don’t think we can be friends?
Do you actually want to be friends?
No. I want you, Livy.
The message disappears, and I almost wonder if I imagined it.
I’d rather be your friend than spend another fifteen years not speaking.
Truthfully, I don’t know if either of us could handle being friends. You said yourself that if things were different, we’d be married.
I startle as his name appears in bold letters with an incoming call. It’s incredibly stupid, but I click the little green button and answer, “We’re playing with fire.”
“I know, but we’re not kids anymore, and I’m tired of pretending you don’t exist. You’re going to be here in a few months, and we’ll probably see each other at the presidential inauguration, so why not at least try to be friends?”
I chew on my lip as I consider it. “Okay, but we’ll need rules. Boundaries.”
“I’m all ears.” There’s a smile in his voice that gives me the same butterflies I had when we first met. “What do you have in mind?”
“No gifts. If the wrong person sees it, we could be right back in the tabloid gossip.” The last thing I need is for hashtags like ‘barris’ to continue trending.
“Christmas and your birthday are coming up, and you expect me to not get you anything?”
“What I want, I can’t have, so there’s no point.” Fuck, why did I just say that?
“And what do you want, Livy?” he purrs, and I hate how it sends a shiver down my arms and legs, making my nipples pebble.
I swallow thickly. “It doesn’t matter. No gifts. Also, we need to limit our communication to late in the evening. The last thing either of us needs is to get a text in the middle of a meeting. It would raise questions.”
“Counter-offer, you change my name in your phone, and I do the same.”
“Actually, that’s a good idea no matter when we talk.
” I put him on speaker as I change the contact information.
“I’m putting you in as Ian… Damn, I can’t find a good synonym for Banks.
” I quickly type it into my search browser.
“Okay, what about Slope, Ridge, or”—I bark out a laugh—“Mound. Please let me use Mound! Ian Mound has a nice ring to it.”
“Seriously, Olivia?” he chuckles. “You couldn’t just use alliteration or something? You may as well have used Ian Hump.”
“Fine, you win!” I teasingly huff, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “Ian Hump it is.” My eyes grow heavy from the melatonin, and I blink a few times, sighing quietly to myself, “I suppose it beats Daddy Isaac.”
His voice is low and a little raspy as he asks, “What did you just say?”
“Ian Hump. It works, right?” I snuggle into bed, letting out a yawn. “What are you putting for my name?”
“Olivia.” His tone is a little more growly, almost a command, but I just chalk it up to him being tired with our time difference.
“You can’t keep my name as Olivia or Livy, it’ll raise questions.”
“Fine, but you should put my name in as Daddy Isaac.”
Another yawn threatens, but I keep it at bay. Wait… did he hear me call him Daddy? I quickly pivot to help him come up with something. “What about Olive? Olive… Harrison? No one will ever know!”
“It’ll take a real detective to figure that one out,” he deadpans. “I’ll come up with something later. Any other rules I should be aware of?”
“I don’t know. Do you have any?”
“No.”
“You don’t have a single rule?” My question comes out a little slurred.
“Liv, baby, are you drunk?” he chuckles.
Did he just call me baby?
Maybe I imagined it?
Or maybe I am drunk?
“No, but I am surprised I’m still up. I took melatonin a bit ago. Okay, I thought of another rule: honesty.”
“Have you been dishonest with me?” Isaac groans, and while he probably didn’t intend it to be, it’s sexy as fuck.
“Yeah,” I admit softly. “I never had a scheduling conflict, I just didn’t think I could face you after all this time.
I, well… I miss you, and know it would hurt if I had to see you in person, and we’d have to be professional when all I’d want to do is…
I’m sorry. We shouldn’t be talking about this. ”
“This is exactly what we should be talking about, Livy. I miss you too. When my communications team suggested that I go on a few dates to squash the rumors and gossip, all I could think was that I'd rather be on a date with you, splitting a plate of nachos like we did on our first date.”
“This is what I was afraid of.” I let out a long yawn. “We haven’t spoken a single word to each other in years, but it’s like no time’s passed talking to you. You should go on dates. I should too. It isn’t as if you and I could ever be more than friends.”
“You wouldn’t be jealous?” he teases, and I can’t help smiling at his taunt.
“Of course I would,” I admit a little too easily, and quickly correct, “but that isn’t an excuse to not meet someone new. You never know, maybe you’ll find your soulmate; the woman you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with.”
“I already met my soulmate… and lost her.”
“Isaac,” I breathe, my throat tight at his admission.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay, but… maybe… we should… talk… ” My eyes are heavy, and I mumble something to him about talking to him tomorrow as I drift off to sleep.
I wake after a few minutes, gasping as I sit up. Glancing over at my phone, it hasn’t been a few minutes, it’s been five hours—the timer of the phone call still ticking.
“Isaac,” I whisper, pulling the phone to my ear.
“Hey, baby.”
My breath catches at his sultry voice.
Did he just call me baby? He called me that earlier, but it’s been years.
No, I have to be dreaming.
Is someone there with him?
Does he think I’m someone else?
I rub my eyes, blinking away the sleep, then pinch my leg. Definitely not dreaming.
“Sorry I fell asleep,” I rush out. “I should go. Have a good night.”
“Olivia.” My name comes out like a sexy growl, making my heart lodge itself in my throat—not to mention the ache building in my core. “Plug in your phone, but don’t hang up.”
“W-why?”
“Why not?”
I huff a humorless laugh. “Because you said we could be friends, and you calling me ‘baby’ is far from friendly.”
“Old habits die hard.” The admission makes my heart flutter. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior, but since I just had the best few hours of sleep in years, and I have to be up in a few hours anyway… will you stay on the phone with me?”
I imagine him lying in bed—maybe on a queen or king-sized mattress—the other side cold.
As selfish as the thought is, I hope it hasn’t been inhabited by another woman recently.
I never should’ve suggested he date other women.
While it’s practical, it also cracks my heart.
Time truly is irrelevant if after years it hurts to think of him with someone else. I don’t think I’ll ever be over him.
Sliding my hand over my own cool comforter, I shift onto my side toward the empty space beside me, and can’t help asking, “Do you still sleep on the right side of the bed?”
“Do you still sleep on the left?”
“Nah, I’m like a little starfish taking up every inch of real estate,” I tease, struggling to not giggle.
“Then you’d have an arm and a leg on top of me if I was there. And here I thought we were just friends.”
“You’re impossible,” I groan, but find myself imagining what it would be like to wake up next to him again. As quickly as the thought skates across my mind, I brush it away. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll stay on the phone, but if you’re still there when I wake up, we’re never doing this again.”
“That’s a deal no sane man would ever take, especially since I’m looking forward to tomorrow night.”
“What’s tomorrow night?”
“You’ll see.”
I briefly bite my lip. “You know I hate surprises.”