Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Olivia
I hear Kate’s door open before I can get into my apartment. I curse under my breath. I was hoping she’d be fast asleep by now.
“You’re alone,” she says, disappointment edging her tone. “Alexander didn’t want to come home with you?”
I turn and face her, taking in her freshly washed face and red pajamas. “I didn’t want him to come home with me.”
“Did you have fun?”
I motion for her to follow me into my apartment. Once we’re both inside, I lock the door and turn on the lights.
My keys land next to my purse on my coffee table.
“Do you want anything?” I ask as I walk to the kitchen, kicking off my boots on my way. “I can get you some water or juice.”
“I’m good,” she calls to me.
I grab a bottle of chilled water from my fridge and press the cold plastic to my neck. I feel flush. I know that it has nothing to do with the fact that the cab driver had the heat turned too high in his car.
He explained that he just moved to Manhattan from Florida and he can’t tolerate the cold temperatures.
It’s not cold. It was barely chilly tonight, but I withstood the heat blasting into my face as he drove me home.
I crack open the lid of the bottle and take a large swallow.
I want to shower and crawl into bed, but I know that Kate’s dying to know what happened between Alexander and me tonight.
I can’t explain any of it, especially my reaction on the sidewalk outside the club. I was overcome with a raw need to be with him. The intensity surprised me so much that I got in the first cab I saw and ended the date.
“I took him to the Pink Parlor,” I announce as I round the corner that leads to my living room.
“You did what?” She asks, adjusting a blanket my mom knit over her legs.
“I didn’t think he’d be willing to sing, but he killed it.” I laugh.
She moves to lie on her side, resting her head on the arm of the couch. “Classical music has lyrics?”
I stifle a laugh. “His musical taste reaches beyond that.”
“What did he sing?” She yawns.
I do the same, covering my mouth with my hand. “Never Gonna Give You Up.”
Surprise dances in her eyes. “You’re kidding?”
I fall onto a red chair opposite the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. “I’m serious. It was amazing, Kate. He jumped right into it. He owned that song.”
“I would have paid money to see that,” she says quietly. “Did you sing?”
“Britney.” I shrug.
“Classic.” She giggles. “You did me proud.”
I take another sip of water as I watch her eyelids flutter shut. “We can pick this up tomorrow, Kate. You should get home and into bed.”
“I’m fine.” She yawns again, tugging the blanket up to her neck. “Tell me what else you two did.”
I look down at my hand, remembering what it felt like to hold Alexander’s. “He wanted pizza, but I told him that I was craving lobster rolls, so we went to that place in the Financial District. It was good. I had fun.”
She doesn’t respond so I glance in her direction.
Her eyes are closed, and a faint snoring sound is escaping from her throat every time she inhales.
She’s fast asleep.
I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I get up and tuck a pillow under her head, adjust the blanket so it’s covering her completely and I turn off the lights.
“Goodnight, Kate,” I whisper before I kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
“Did you have a hot date this weekend, Olivia?”
What the…?
I look up to see Sheryl standing in the doorway of my office. Considering that it’s Monday morning and not quite nine a.m., I’m shocked to see her here.
My assistant almost always extends her weekend until at least eleven on Monday mornings.
Today is an exception.
She’s dressed in a navy blue skirt and white blouse.
Great.
We’re wearing matching outfits today.
“You should have texted me to tell me what not to wear today, Sheryl.” I push back from my desk, stand and twirl in place. “We look like bookends.”
“You’re thirty years younger than me and your curves are still all in the right places. “She mimics grabbing her breasts near her stomach. “If I weren’t wearing an extra supportive Liore bra, I’d be arrested for indecency.”
I laugh. “Why are you here so early?”
“Can I sit?” She motions toward the two white chairs across from my desk.
“Please.” I take a seat in my chair as she closes the door.
She takes a moment to situate herself, carefully crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt. She slides her eyeglasses down her nose as she peers over them at me.
“Are you moving to London?” She points to the laptop on my desk. “I saw the email that Human Resources sent you on Friday afternoon.”
I saw it too right before I left the office.
It was the invitation to submit my interest in the position in London. I read through it quickly and then dashed out to help at the store on Fifth Avenue.
I plan to take some time this afternoon to read it over again.
“I’ll submit my application, but I have no idea if I’ll get the position,” I answer honestly. “I hope I do.”
“I read the fine print and it says that when it comes to hiring an assistant, you make the call.” She jerks a thumb toward herself. “I know someone who works well with you and would love the opportunity to work in the London office.”
“You’d move to London to be my assistant?” I’m surprised. I’m actually shocked that she’d consider a life-changing move across the globe.
Sheryl is single. Her divorce was finalized years before we met. Her son and his wife live in Montana with their two young kids. Her daughter is studying at a college in Georgia.
I assumed that she had roots in New York City that would keep her here until she retired.
“I’m due for something new,” she tells me. “I’ve always imagined living in London or Paris. If I don’t do it soon, that ship will sail away without me.”
I nod, processing everything she just said. “If I get the job in London, I’d want you there beside me, but I might not get it. A lot of people are applying for it.”
“You’d be surprised by how few people were invited to apply for it, Olivia.” She tosses me a wink. “I have a friend in HR. We met for coffee yesterday and she let a few things slip about the London job.”
I resist the urge to question her more because I don’t want to compromise my chances. The less I know about what she talked about with her HR friend, the better. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed that I land the job.”
“Me too.” She crosses her index finger over the middle one. “Back to my original question.”
“Which was?” I grin.
“Did you have a date this weekend?”
I don’t confide in Sheryl when it comes to my personal life, but that hasn’t stopped her from poking around trying to uncover every small detail she can about it.
Since I don’t see the harm in sharing, I answer truthfully. “I had a date on Saturday night.”
“With him?” Her smile widens.
“Who?” I toss back with an even wider smile.
“Alexander Donato,” she says his name slowly as if she needs to pronounce it clearly so I don’t mistake it for another man’s name.
Considering I haven’t gone on a date in a couple of months, there’s no confusion regarding the single and available men in my life.
Right now, Alexander is the only one on my radar.
I pick up a pen from my desk and twirl it in my fingers. “Yes.”
“He likes you, Olivia.” She pushes her glasses back up her nose. “I hope you like him too.”
I do. I like him a lot.