Chapter 8
Eight
OLIVER
I checked my phone for the eighth time in fifteen minutes, the screen mocking me with its darkness. No messages. No notifications. Nothing.
"Dude, your phone is going to spontaneously combust if you keep staring at it like that," Tobias said, sliding a beer across the table toward me.
We were at our regular bar, occupying our usual corner booth. Saturday nights were packed, which was why we typically dropped in for early happy hour catch-up sessions. But tonight, I couldn't focus on anything Tobias was saying.
"She's twenty-eight minutes late responding," I muttered, setting the phone face-up on the table, ensuring I wouldn't miss the notification. "Zahra's never late. Not once in the three days she's been in Norman."
"Oh my God," Tobias clutched his chest in mock horror. "Twenty-eight whole minutes? Call the National Guard!"
I shot him a withering look. "The schedule is precise for a reason. Consistency creates credibility."
"Right, and it has nothing to do with you being worried about her."
"I'm not worried about her." It was an auto-response, scripted, about as convincing as me trying to act indifferent, even as my fingers twitched toward my phone again. "I'm concerned about maintaining the illusion for my client."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ollie." Tobias grinned, taking a long pull from his beer. "But I've known you for, what, nine years now? I can tell when you're bullshitting me."
“Yet you still use that abhorrent nickname that I’ve asked, nay, demanded you refrain from dozens of times.”
“Way to change trajectory.” Tobias leaned forward, a dangerous dare gleaming in his eyes. “It isn’t working, though, Ollie .”
I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Fine. I'm worried. She said Ryan was out of town this week, but what if he came back early? What if he has her cornered? What if?—"
"What if she's just stuck in a meeting? Or her phone died? Or she's having dinner with her family?" Tobias countered. "You know, normal stuff that doesn’t involve a menacing ex and a worst-case scenario?"
He was right, of course. The statistical probability of something dire happening to Zahra was minimal. But statistics provided little comfort when I remembered the way Ryan had looked at her every time she spoke to me in high school—the possessive edge to his smile, and the calculation in his eyes.
The rumors he’d started to ruin my reputation and drive a wedge between us.
"It's just...out of character," I admitted, checking the time again. "Zahra adheres to schedules with an almost obsessive precision."
"Takes one to know one," Tobias muttered with a smirk.
I ignored him, drumming my fingers on the table, an agitated staccato that matched the rhythm of my thoughts. This shouldn't bother me so much. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. Zahra was a client, not a?—
My phone lit up, the vibration nearly causing me to knock over my untouched beer.
OMG, that last vendor meeting was soooooooo long! There was a massive flower arrangement crisis. You wouldn't believe the Peonies vs. Gardenia drama I had to handle today.
Relief flooded through me, washing away the tension that had been building between my shoulders for the past half hour. I quickly typed back a response, adhering to our agreed-upon tone of playful affection.
Not the Peonies!
Right?! But I swayed them, babe. They’re on the right track now. Worth the wait for my message?
I never doubted you and you’re worth the wait, period.
Awww. So sweet.
I admit, though, I was starting to worry that Ryan had kidnapped you and hidden your body in the church basement.
I paused, reconsidering the message. Perhaps too dark? But Zahra had shown an appreciation for my morbid sense of humor, even if it was sometimes inappropriate. I hit send.
Her response came almost immediately.
Please. If Ryan tried anything, I'd be the one hiding HIS body in the basement. But good news—got the official green light that you're my plus-one for the wedding. Everyone is "so excited" to see you again.
Well, I’m excited about seeing you in four days. Everyone else can wait.
I set the phone down, a weight lifting from my shoulders that I hadn't fully acknowledged was there.
“Look at that grin,” Tobias said with a wide, ominously delighted smirk. “And you were typing away like a possessed teenager in a rom-com. I’ve never seen you like this, not even with Alyssa.”
Alyssa. The one who got away. Or so I used to tell myself.
“It’s easy to type fast when you have a script.” I shrugged, taking a swig of my beer.
Tobias didn’t argue, but his eye roll told me he wasn’t buying it. He really knew me well, the asshole. Ever since I was a scared college freshman and he was my RA. And he was spot-on with his observation.
Zahra was easy to talk to, and my fingers flew over the keyboard without thinking too much. I hadn’t strayed from the script, per se, but I’d taken creative freedom in making it personal, intimate.
For the sake of credibility, of course.
Of course.
"Well," Tobias said, his eyes wandering, bored by my barricades, as he called them. "Zhara’s fine, crisis averted. Now, can we please talk about something other than your fake girlfriend?"
"She's not my?—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. She's your 'client.'" He made exaggerated air quotes, nearly spilling his beer in the process. "But I haven't seen you this wound up since those two weeks Emmet was hiding out at my place after you brought him up from Norman."
The comparison was uncomfortably apt. Those had been some of the darkest days of my life—constantly looking over my shoulder, terrified that everything I'd worked for would crumble, spending sleepless nights strategizing how I could secure his safety.
"That was different," I said, though the knot that had formed in my stomach at the mention of that time suggested otherwise.
"Was it?" Tobias raised an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember you checking your phone every five minutes, pacing like a caged animal, and generally being a mess until you knew he was safe."
I took a long drink from my beer, half of it down my throat, before I placed the bottle back on the table. "I had reason to be concerned then."
"And you don't now?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "Look, man, I've known you a long time. Long enough to know when something's getting under your skin. Whatever this thing is with Zahra?—"
"There is no 'thing' with Zahra," I interjected firmly.
"It's messing with your head," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. "And considering you're going back to Norman in a couple of weeks, I'm a little worried about you."
Norman. The thought of returning to that place sent a ripple of unease through me. But I'd been preparing for this trip for years, meticulously planning every detail, calculating every possible variable.
Except for Zahra. She was the one factor I hadn't accounted for, the wild card that threatened to upend my carefully constructed equation.
"You know, none of this would be happening if you hadn't pestered me to join Rent-A-Date," I said, desperate to change the subject.
Tobias laughed, allowing the pivot. "Oh, so it's my fault now? I seem to recall your number popping up on my phone the day before Christmas asking to join."
"I was desperate. Scientific research assistants don't exactly make six figures."
"And yet, here we are, seven years later, and you're still on the roster." He grinned. "Admit it, you like the work."
"I like the flexibility and the financial stability it provides," I corrected, though there was some truth to his accusation.
The job had grown on me over the years, offering a structured outlet for social interaction that suited my analytical nature.
People were puzzles to solve, needs to be met, expectations to be fulfilled.
It was a system I could navigate with predictable success while enhancing my own capabilities.
Until Zahra.
"Remember that first booking?" Tobias asked, his eyes dancing with amusement. "That hedge fund manager's daughter who wanted to make her ex jealous at some charity gala?"
I groaned at the memory. "How could I forget? She kept introducing me as her 'boyfriend from Harvard' even though my MIT credentials were clearly stated in my profile."
"And you corrected her. Every. Single. Time." Tobias dissolved into laughter. "The look on her face when you started explaining the statistical improbability that you would ever attend such an 'academically inferior institution'—"
"In my defense, I was new to the job," I said, though I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "And factual accuracy is important."
"God, you were terrible," Tobias wiped a tear from his eye. "I still can't believe you survived that first year."
"Says the man who once showed up to a wedding booking in swim trunks because, and I quote, 'the invitation said pool formal.'"
"It was an honest mistake!" Tobias protested. "Who the hell says 'pool formal' when they mean poolside formal attire?"
We fell into easy reminiscence, trading stories of our most memorable bookings over the years. It was a welcome distraction from the thoughts of Norman, of Zahra, of everything waiting for me in just a few days.
My phone lit up again.
Oh, and Ryan's not out of town anymore. He showed up at my aunt’s for dinner.
The tension returned to my shoulders immediately, my jaw clenching. Tobias noticed the shift in my demeanor.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine," I said, typing back a response.
Did he bother you?
Nothing I couldn't handle. But he's definitely not happy about you coming to the wedding.
I wasn't surprised. Ryan had never liked me, even before he’d started dating Zahra in high school. I never understood why, and I honestly didn’t care. Ryan was a typical golden boy bully, predictable and boring. But thinking of him anywhere close to Zahra…
You’ll be safely back in my arms in a few days. Let me know if he tries anything, and I’ll fly down to take care of him myself.
You always say the right thing
"Seriously, what's going on?" Tobias pressed. "You look like you're planning someone's murder."
"Just a complication," I said vaguely. "Nothing I can't handle."
Tobias studied me for a moment, then shook his head. "You know, for someone so smart, you can be really dense sometimes."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, as if explaining a simple concept to a particularly stubborn child, "that you're in deeper with this woman than you want to admit."
I started to protest, but he held up a hand to stop me.
"Just...be careful, okay? This whole Norman trip—it's not just about playing boyfriend for her cousin's wedding. I know you, Oliver. You've got some other agenda brewing in that big brain of yours."
He wasn't wrong. But he didn't know the half of it.
"I appreciate the concern," I said, deflecting as I always did when conversations veered too close to personal territory. "But everything is under control."
Tobias didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject, turning instead to a story about his latest sushi date with his boyfriend—a guy who once hired him for a date. I tried to focus on his passionate account of the dishes he ate, but my mind kept drifting to Norman, to what waited for me there.
Zahra had said everyone was excited to see me again. I doubted that was universally true. There would be a few people, my parents chief among them, who would loathe the fact that I was returning to town.
People who thought they'd seen the last of me seven years ago.
People who had no idea what was coming.