19. Olivia
Olivia
I answered Brett’s call because he needed my expertise. That was all. It was strictly professional with no ulterior motives.
But I knew I was in trouble the second I stepped into the hotel and saw him standing there—tall, broad, all that easy confidence wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit.
“You sounded urgent,” I said, eying him suspiciously.
“Do you answer all your clients this fast?” he asked, his gaze flicking past me to the construction site—scaffolding, workers hauling tiles, the sharp scent of fresh paint cutting through the winter air drifting in from the open doors.
I crossed my arms. “Only the difficult ones.” His lips twitched, and I caught the glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Lucky me,” he said.
I sighed and got to work, walking the space with him and pointing things out.
“The pendant lights are too high. Lower them by at least six inches. And that tile? You will need something with more depth and texture.”
I waited for the argument, the resistance that had become our routine. Instead, he just nodded. “Done.”
I blinked. “Wait, you’re agreeing?”
“Am I not allowed to?”
I narrowed my eyes. “You usually fight me on everything.”
He shrugged and stepped closer, much closer. “Maybe I’m learning.”
My lips parted slightly before I caught myself. I swallowed and turned quickly toward another room. “This way.”
I walked ahead, hyperaware of the sound of his footsteps behind me and the heat of his presence. Every step reminded me of how dangerous he was—not just because of how he looked or moved but because of how easily he could pull me back in.
The corridor was empty, and the noise of the workers faded. It was just us now. I turned, about to say something, but he took my face in his hands and kissed me before I could.
A soft, startled sound escaped me, but I didn’t push him away. For a second—just one reckless second—I let myself sink into the kiss and him before reality snapped back. I pressed my hands against his chest, breaking the kiss. He let me go, but barely.
My breath came fast, my heart even quicker. “You better not still be infected.”
A slow grin curved his lips. “The only thing I’m infected with is you.”
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head but not stepping away. His fingers skimmed along my jaw, then tipped my chin up.
“You drive me insane, Liv.”
“Good,” I breathed. It was everything I could do to prevent my knees from completely collapsing.
He backed me against the wall, caging me in. He didn’t touch me, but he made it impossible to ignore the heat between us. I lost my breath completely. When he leaned in, I met him halfway.
This kiss was deeper and slower, a tease and a challenge all at once. His hands slid down my sides, gripping my waist and pulling me against him. I sighed against his lips, frustration and desire tangling together, making my pulse pound.
He reached his hands up my top, curving his hand around my breasts. His lips tasted me, and I could not stop myself from sliding my hands into his hair.
“I want to be deep inside you,” he whispered. “I want to take your nipples in my mouth and circle my tongue around them until they harden. I want to make you experience everything you’ve never experienced before. I want you, Olivia.”
My heart beat so fast at his words that I felt almost dizzy.
He pulled me against him, and I could feel his desire hard against me.
“Brett, we can’t do this here.” I could’ve let him take me apart right then and there, but I forced myself to stop first, pressing my hands against his chest and catching my breath.
His smirk deepened. “Say you want me.”
I rolled my eyes, but he felt the way my body betrayed me. “I do. You know I do, but this is not the place or the time.”
He brushed his hand down between my thighs, grazing me until heat poured down to meet his fingers.
“What is this? Brett?” I couldn’t breathe.
His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, causing shivers to dance down my spine. “Me, making you mine.”
I arched a brow. “That’s your official mission?”
“Hell, yes.”
A slow, dangerous smile curled my lips. “Good luck.”
His grin was full of certainty, of the kind of confidence that had always made it impossible for me to resist him. “Oh, I don’t need luck, sweetheart. I just need time.”
He kissed me again, and I let him. I let him slide his hands around my waist and then down to cup my ass. Every nerve was alive with the feel of him. I could feel his heart thudding and see the passion in his eyes. I half considered steering him into a bathroom to finish what we were starting.
“Come to my place for dinner tonight.”
I arched my brow. “Are you sure? Chloe wasn’t exactly thrilled the last time I was there. She treated me like an invasive species.”
He sighed. “I talked with her. She’s going to try harder to be nice.”
I exhaled slowly. “And she’s alright with me coming over?”
“She’s tolerating it. That’s progress.”
Tolerating it. Fabulous. I smoothed my lips together and nodded. “Fine. But if she glares at me over mashed potatoes, that’s on you.”
He grinned. “I’ll take full responsibility.”
Dinner was... stiff. Chloe answered my questions with the bare minimum, and while she wasn’t openly hostile, she wasn’t rolling out the welcome mat either. She picked at her food, then finally spoke up. “Dad says you design houses.”
I set my fork down. “Interiors, actually. But I work with architects all the time. I make the inside space epic.”
Chloe pursed her lips. “So you make things pretty?”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it, yes. Whatever the space needs for what the owner wants.”
“Isn’t that really superficial?”
“Chloe,” Brett warned.
I held up a hand, meeting her gaze. “I make things functional and beautiful. A well-designed space changes how people live.”
She considered that and then nodded slowly. “So, like, if someone’s messy, you make it so they don’t have to be?”
I smiled. “Exactly. Good design works with who you are as a person.”
Something shifted in her expression, a crack in the ice. Not a thaw, but maybe a sign that winter wouldn’t last forever.
After dinner, Chloe sprawled on the floor, surrounded by magazines, scissors, and a glue stick, while Brett and I did the dishes. “Dad, I need help with my mood board for school.”
Brett squinted at the chaos. “You want me to paste things?”
She sighed. “I need help deciding what fits the theme. But you don’t know anything about aesthetics.”
Ouch. He threw up his hands. “I know some things.”
Chloe gave him a look so deadpan I almost laughed. “You wore mismatched socks to work.”
Brett turned to me, a plea in his expression. “Maybe Olivia can help?”
Then, with the same enthusiasm as a kid being told to eat broccoli, Chloe hesitated and said, “I guess. If she wants to.”
She wanted to, and I wanted to—anything to try to connect with this girl. “Absolutely.”
I pretended not to notice Brett trying—and failing—to look like he wasn’t watching us from the couch. “What’s the project about?” I asked Chloe, flipping through a magazine.
“Personal identity,” she muttered. “We must pick images representing who we are and what we want to be.”
I nodded, thoughtful. “Okay. So let’s start with what you love.”
She hesitated, then started pulling pictures: books, a mountain, a girl in a karate uniform. “I like reading. I want to go hiking more. And I’m thinking about doing martial arts.”
Brett blinked. “You are?”
Chloe shrugged. “Maybe.”
I filed that away. “I love this. What else? Colors? Textures? Things that make you feel like you?”
She chewed on her lip, then pointed at a picture of a big city skyline. “I like the energy of downtown. But I also like quiet places.”
I flipped through another magazine, landing on an image of a cozy reading nook in a city loft. “What about this? Best of both worlds.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “That’s so cool.”
And just like that, the wall between us started to crumble. She was engaged, bouncing ideas off me, debating shades of blue, and discussing the merits of soft lighting. It was easy and effortless.
Brett stretched, feigning a yawn. “Man, I’m wiped. Maybe I’ll call it a night.”
Chloe barely glanced up. “Okay, night, Dad.”
He blinked. “So you don’t need my expertise?”
“Dad, please!”
I smirked, meeting Brett’s gaze. “I’ve got this. Go relax.”
He huffed, clearly amused. “I don’t doubt you do.”
Later, after Chloe had gone to bed, Brett pulled me into his arms. “That was a better night. I liked seeing you with her. You have this breathtaking way.”
The warmth in his tone sent something molten through me. “I liked it too.”
He leaned in slightly, just enough for my breath to hitch. Would you stay and watch a movie with me?”
I should have stepped back. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was. “Sure.”
Chloe had been in bed for an hour. I rechecked my watch.
“You keep looking at that thing like you’re waiting for an escape route,” Brett said, his arm stretched across the back of the sofa, inches from my shoulders.
I smirked, but the truth was, I kind of was. “I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
‘Olivia, we’re watching a movie. That’s hardly trespassing. Unless you think I’m luring you into some kind of trap.” His lips curved as his hand reached to smooth my hair behind my ear.
“If you were, I’d see right through it,” I shot back.
His chuckle was deep, the kind that did things to me. “Would you now?”
The movie—something I had lost track of twenty minutes ago—flickered across the massive screen in Brett’s sleek condo. His cologne mixed with the scent of leather and pine, and suddenly, the entire setup felt too comfortable. Too easy. Too dangerous.
I wanted to move, but I didn’t. Instead, I let myself lean into his side. His body heat soaked into me immediately. Brett took the cue and slid his arm fully around my shoulders, pulling me into him like he had so many times before.
I hated how much I liked it.
‘See? You’re not fighting me off,” he whispered slowly.
“Maybe I’m just too comfortable to bother.”