11. Olivia
Olivia
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached. Snowflakes slapped against the windshield, the wipers barely keeping up. I should have canceled. But no. I had something to prove—to Maven he cared about the design. I was surprised.
“What do you think about custom chandeliers here?” I asked, gesturing toward the ceiling. “Something modern but warm.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we want luxury without being soulless.”
I blinked. “Exactly.”
Our eyes met, and for a second, we weren’t arguing. We were just two people who understood beauty and potential.
Then he smirked. “Don’t look so surprised, Olivia. I do have taste.”
“And yet you still wear that cologne.”
“You used to love it.”
I did. Unfortunately, it was the kind of scent that got under my skin and stuck in my brain, much like him.
We toured the empty restaurant space next. I looked out the windows to see snow piling against them, muting the world outside.
“I say open kitchen,” I suggested. “Let people see the craftsmanship.”
Brett studied me. “You’re passionate about this.”
“No, I just enjoy spending my mornings freezing my ass off for no reason.”
His grin was slow and wicked. “You think about my ass a lot, Olivia?”
I groaned. “God, I walked into that one.”
“You did.” His voice dropped. “And for the record, I think about yours.”
Heat licked up my spine. I turned away, pretending to focus on the layout. “Stay professional, Brett.”
“I am very professional.” His breath brushed my ear. “But we do have… history.”
I exhaled slowly. “History belongs in the past.”
“Is that so?” He shifted closer, his body heat seeping into me. “Because I remember you looking at me just like you are now back in college.”
I whipped around. “Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking about making a bad decision.”
I was. God help me, I was.
His hand skimmed my waist, barely there, but enough to unravel every bit of resolve I had left. I grabbed his wrist. Not to push him away—to stop myself from pulling him closer.
“This is a terrible idea,” I teetered.
“Probably.” His lips hovered near mine, breath warm and teasing. “But you love terrible ideas.”
“I—I should get home before the storm gets worse.” That was all I could think of to say.
He stepped back. “Of course, you’re right.” He looked out the windows. “The storm’s getting worse. We need to go now.”
“We agree again? Twice in the span of a few hours.”
“Let’s go,” Brett said, looking concerned. Brett turned the knob on the front door.
The door didn’t budge.
He tried again, rattling the handle, but it wouldn’t move. My stomach tightened.
“Brett,” I said, glancing over my shoulder.
Because Brett always assumed forcing something could fix anything, he grabbed the knob, twisted hard, then rammed his shoulder against the wood.
Nothing.
“Well,” he exhaled, flexing his fingers, “I think it’s safe to say it’s jammed.”
“No kidding.” I turned, testing the other door—same thing.
Brett frowned. “You sure you didn’t lock it weird?”
I leveled him with a look. “Yes, Brett. I ‘locked it weird’ just to trap us in here for fun.”
His lips twitched like he was fighting back a smirk. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea you’ve had.”
I refused to dignify that with a response. Instead, I reached into my purse for my phone, my fingers closing around nothing but lip gloss and an ancient granola bar. My heart sank. Right. I left my phone in the car after calling Sindy.
Brett pulled his phone out, tapped the screen, and let out a slow breath. “Dead.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Panic swept up inside me.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“What are we going to do now?”
He shot me a pointed look before shoving his phone back in his pocket. “I’ll call Jerritt or Vahn from the office landline.”
I nodded, and we started toward the hallway, his hand hovering near my lower back like he thought I might faint or something. I didn’t dignify that with a reaction, either.
Then, just as we stepped into the office, the lights cut out.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The kind of darkness that sank deep, where shadows blurred and the walls pressed in. My pulse kicked up, and my fingers gripped the edge of Brett’s sleeve before I could stop myself.
He let out a low chuckle. “Aw, Olivia, if you wanted to grab me, all you had to do was ask.”
“Shut up.” I yanked my hand away, even as heat crawled up my neck. “Why did the power go out?”
“No clue, but I’d bet a hundred bucks it’s related to why the doors are stuck.”
“Any bright ideas?”
His voice dropped to that smooth, knowing drawl that made me want to slap and kiss him simultaneously. “I’ve got some really great ideas. Want to hear them?”
I ignored his comment and exhaled sharply. “There’s got to be an emergency light switch somewhere.”
Brett moved through the dark, his shoulder brushing mine as he reached for the desk. My skin prickled at the contact.
“Nope,” he sighed. “The landline’s dead too.”
“This is ridiculous. Who gets trapped in a commercial building like this?”
“We do, apparently.”
I crossed my arms, trying to steady the creeping unease. The temperature in the room felt different—like the air was tighter or heavier.
Brett must’ve noticed my silence because his voice softened. “Hey, it’s fine. Worst case, we sleep here.”
I scoffed. “With you? Hard pass.”
“Wow.” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest. “That hurts.”
I rolled my eyes, but the joke eased my nerves—a little.
Then something clattered in the distance.
I stilled, every hair on my body standing up. Brett’s jaw clenched.
“What. Was. That?” I whispered apprehensively.
“Probably nothing,” he said, shifting closer, his stance tight and protective. “Or it’s someone messing with us.”
I groaned. “Who else would be here?”
“I’ll check it out.”
“The hell you will.” I grabbed his arm. “We stick together.”
He looked down at my hand, then back at me, a slow smirk forming. “I knew you couldn’t resist touching me.”
I shoved him. “Move.”
We crept toward the hallway, every step careful. The silence was thick, the kind that made you question what lurked just beyond sight.
Then, something shifted again—a scrape against the floor.
Brett’s muscles coiled. “Okay. That wasn’t nothing.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
I realized that was the third time we agreed but said nothing.
And that terrified me more than anything else in the dark.
I paced the abandoned building’s dusty floor, arms crossed, my mind racing. Mystic. She’d be clawing at the door by now, demanding answers for my absence. And then there was Brett, standing by the window, tension coiled in his broad shoulders. His gray-blue eyes flicked toward me.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and worried.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “My cat is probably summoning a demon in retaliation, and my phone’s in my car, and?—”
“Chloe’s waiting for me,” he cut in. His voice softened. “And Phoenix.”
I blinked. “Who’s Phoenix?”
“My dog.”
I gaped. “You have a dog?”
He smirked. “Shocking, isn’t it? A kid and a dog. I’m a responsible citizen now.”
I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. “So, Bad Boy Brett became Mr. Responsibility?” I gave him a slow, teasing smile. “What’s next? PTA meetings? Have you turned into a soccer Mom?”
He laughed, running a hand through his dark hair. “You joke, but Chloe had a bake sale last month. I made brownies. And for your information, Chloe does not play soccer.”
I gasped dramatically. “Who are you?”
His smile faltered. “I’m a dad.”
And just like that, my teasing died on my tongue.
There was something about how he said it—proud but weighted as if it wasn’t just a title but his entire existence.
I suddenly felt jealous. I was jealous that this mystery woman had his baby when that was supposed to be me having his child. I winced but felt curious.
“Tell me about her,” I said before stopping myself.
His lips quirked up, eyes softening. “Chloe’s twelve. Smart as hell. She loves art just like you.”
A pang hit me in the chest. I wasn’t sure if it was because of him remembering that detail or because I was suddenly picturing Brett—rebellious, reckless Brett—helping his daughter with an art project, his big hands delicate with a paintbrush.
“She’s obsessed with becoming a cop right now,” he continued, a proud smile curling his lips. “Wants to save everyone. She makes me watch far too many cop and detective shows.”
My heart did something stupid and fluttery. I ignored it. “So, you’re saying Chloe is single-handedly redeeming the Collins name?”
He chuckled. “Something like that.”
The moment stretched between us, warm and unfamiliar. This was new—this side of Brett. And I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, enough sentimentality. We need to get out of here.”
We tried the doors again, but they were still locked. We rattled the first-floor windows, which were stuck from age and neglect. The cold Chicago air seeped through the cracks, numbing my fingers.
“Second floor?” I suggested, shivering.
He nodded, leading the way. The stairs creaked beneath us, each step threatening betrayal. The windows up there were freshly painted shut.
“The windows are mocking us,” I said, shoving against one. It didn’t budge.
Brett braced his forearms against one another and pushed with sheer brute force. It groaned, paint cracking. “Help me out here, Olivia.”
I pressed beside him, shoulder to shoulder, our breaths fogging up the glass. With one final shove, the window screeched open.
Relief flooded through me—until I saw the thick iron bars blocking our escape. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Brett mumbled a curse, running a hand down his face. “Well, that’s that.”
“We’re trapped,” I breathed, panic gripping me. “And Mystic is going to murder me in my sleep.”
Brett’s lips twitched. “Jerritt knows where I am. If we don’t show up soon, he’ll come looking.”
I exhaled slowly. “Great. I love relying on your frat brothers for survival.”
His smirk returned. “You used to love my frat brothers.”
I shot him a look. “I tolerated them. And only because they were a package deal with you.”
His gaze darkened, his smirk deepening. “So you admit it—you had a thing for me.”
I scoffed, turning away before he saw the flush creeping up my neck. “We’re lighting candles and making this place somewhat livable until Jerritt comes here to save the day.”
About ten minutes later, we found a few dusty candles on an old desk. Brett lit them with matches he had found on the desk. I watched as the flame danced across his chiseled features. The light softened him and made him look unbelievably inviting.
Pulling my coat tighter, I settled onto the battered sofa across from him. He stretched out, legs splayed, watching me. The silence was full of everything and nothing as we both waited for the other to say something.
Brett won.
“You’re beautiful,” he said without hesitation.
Heat coiled low in my stomach. “That’s a cheap shot.”
His lips curled. “But it’s true.”
I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my heart slammed against my ribs. “You’re impossible.”
He tilted his head. “You’re still mad at me.”
I forced out a breathy laugh. “I think I’ve earned the right.”
His expression turned serious. “Yes. You have.”
Something in my chest softened. I wasn’t expecting that—no snark or deflection—just honesty.
“I regret how I left things,” he admitted, voice low. “Back then, I was an idiot. Scared of… “ He exhaled sharply. “Scared of you, if I’m being honest.”
I blinked. “Scared of me?”
“You made me want more,” he confessed. “And I wasn’t ready for that.”
The air sizzled between us, and my throat went dry. “And now?”
He didn’t look away. “Now, I know exactly what I want.”
My pulse thrummed a dangerous rhythm. This was Brett—my past mistake and unresolved everything. And yet, I was sitting here, trapped with him in the dim candlelight, wanting to close the distance between us.
I forced a smirk, breaking the intense silence. “You sure it’s not just the lack of oxygen in this abandoned building?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You always have to ruin the moment, don’t you?”
“Self-preservation.”
His eyes darkened as he saw right through me. “Or denial.”
A beat of silence. A challenge hanging in the air.
I looked away first, pretending to inspect the peeling wallpaper. “We should sleep. Long night ahead.”
He watched me a second longer, then sighed. “Yeah. Long night.”
I curled up on the sofa, pretending my body wasn’t consumed with longing. I pretended his words didn’t unravel something deep inside me. Pretending I wasn’t already wondering what it would feel like if he touched me again.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. Chicago pulsed beyond these walls, the city moving on without us.
But inside this place, it was just Brett and me—and a past that refused to stay buried.