Chapter 2 John
JOHN
That went well. Things are going according to plan so far. I think.
When I finished the chicken Caesar salad, I handed Olivia a fifty-dollar tip and told her I’d wait for her in front of the restaurant while she cashes out.
She stared down at the fifty-dollar bill for several seconds before glancing back up at me and nodding wordlessly.
I should have given her more. The coffee was good.
But I’ll make it up to her. If she’ll allow me to. And I am confident that she will.
Pulling out my phone, I ignore the fifty-seven new text notifications and call my chief of staff, Iris.
She answers before the second ring. “Are you coming into the office today or not?”
“No. I’m still in the city. Did Merrick call?”
“It’s eleven p.m. in England.”
“I didn’t mean just now,” I say. “Since I left.”
“No, John. George Merrick did not call you. George Merrick doesn’t have to call anyone. That’s why you’re going to England to meet with him.”
“I know that. I just thought he might call when I least expect it.”
“Well. He didn’t,” Iris informs me. “However, as expected, Alfie and Baxter have emailed and texted several times to ask if we’ve heard from him.”
“Right. I’ll touch base with them later. I need you to call Richard and tell him I’m going to walk my friend Olivia to her place. I’ll text him when he can pick me up there.”
I can almost hear the sound of her eyeballs rolling over the sound of her overly dramatic sigh. “Why don’t you call or text him yourself?”
“Because then I’d have to make two calls, and I need to talk to you.” I wait for her to finish sighing again. I might have to wait forever for this sigh to end, though, so I continue. “I also need you to call Sanjay and tell him to order some Ritual coffee beans. From Costa Rica. For tomorrow.”
“You want him to order coffee beans from Costa Rica for tomorrow?”
“No, they’re local roasters. I need the beans from Costa Rica. She seems to like those.”
“Uh-huh. Is ‘she’ your friend’s sister?” Iris asks.
“Olivia, yes.”
“Uh-huh. Have you presented your offer to her yet?”
“No.”
“Thank God,” she says. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”
“I had always planned to wait until I could speak to her in private, like we discussed,” I say.
“I did not endorse speaking to her about that offer at any time, in any location. It’s a terrible idea.”
“Thank you for your insights. Don’t forget to make those calls.” I hang up before Iris can remind me that she has an MBA and isn’t my secretary.
Because I see Olivia walk out to the sidewalk.
She has unbuttoned her white shirt and tied it above her waist, revealing a bit of skin.
Her belly button. Her toned but soft lower belly.
Without that server apron on or a ballet costume, I can see that she has maintained her feminine curves.
This pleases me. She’s exceptionally fit, but there’s still plenty to grab on to. To massage and stroke and explore.
I feel a twinge of guilt, but I’m going to ignore it.
My best friend and I were so protective of her when we were growing up.
At first because she was considered a bit of an ugly duckling, and then when she blossomed at the age of twelve or thirteen, because we knew what all the boys were thinking.
I’m not the kind of guy Monty would try to protect her from now, though. I don’t think.
She’s let her long auburn hair down, applied something glossy to her lips.
I bet she’s spritzed some kind of perfume on too.
She used to do that when I showed up at her parents’ house when she was a teenager.
She probably didn’t think I noticed, but I noticed.
I noticed everything and I remember everything.
I tried to forget all of it until two years ago, and here I am.
I’m glad I didn’t see her when I was in Pittsburgh. I wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready, but I really was not ready. Now I have everything I need to win her over. Now my best friend is happy enough in his life that he probably won’t want to kill me.
Olivia is running her fingers through her hair as she spots me, and I watch as one corner of her pretty mouth tips up. A gentleman would walk over to meet her where she stands. But I want to watch her come to me, and she’ll have to get used to the idea of me not being a gentleman all the time.
And there’s that smirk. A little tilt of her head.
She glances to one side quickly before walking toward me.
I think she wants me to watch her. I think she likes it.
She has always moved gracefully since she was eight years old, but there’s a sway to her hips that she didn’t exhibit in the restaurant while she was working.
There’s a confidence and sensuality that wasn’t there when I saw her with her family years ago.
All that sexual energy she silently taunted me with when she was a teenager…
She has grown into it, embodied it. She owns it.
Instead of trying to avoid or ignore her like I did when she blossomed back in Cleveland, I will meet her where we are.
Today I’m confident that I can handle her.
Soon she will know exactly how confident I am in handling her.
“Hi,” she says, standing a foot in front of me. I can smell that perfume. “How’s it going?”
“Very well.” A warm breeze blows, and I am embraced by her scent. She smells like a glass of lemonade in a garden of lavender and roses after having the best sex of your life. “And how have you been for the past half decade since we last saw each other?”
She laughs, shakes her head. “In a word? Fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Great,” she says. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yes.” I start walking up the sidewalk, for our walk and talk, eventually realizing that she isn’t keeping up with me.
I stop and turn around to find her where I left her, with her fists on her hips.
That exasperated look on her face. An expression I’m so familiar with, and I have to say I’ve missed it. “What?”
“Where are you going?”
“To your apartment. I’m walking with you.”
Her immaculately shaped brows knit together as she slowly approaches me, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You do realize I haven’t invited you to my home, right?”
“If you don’t want me to go inside, I won’t. But I’m walking you home. Perhaps by the time we get there, you’ll invite me in so you can hear what I have to say.”
She snort-laughs. It’s my second-favorite kind of Olivia laugh. “Perhaps. How did you know to walk this way?”
“I know where you live.”
“My brother told you?”
“He wanted me to check on you, actually.”
“He did?”
“He was concerned about the recent incident. With the photographer.”
“He was?”
“He didn’t go into any detail. He just said that your mom mentioned you had an uncomfortable experience with a photographer.”
“I can’t believe she told Nathan.” She seems quite bewildered by this. “It wasn’t that bad—he just tried to touch me in a way that I didn’t approve of, and I left. End of story. I guess I was just lucky that it never happened before.”
“It’s not okay that it happened to you at all, Olivia,” I tell her. “I’m sorry that it did.”
She nods once and then looks down. “Well.” She gestures in the direction I was heading. “Shall we?”
We walk in silence for about half a block.
I watch as she tilts her face up to the sun, takes in a deep breath of fresh air, and exhales the stale energy of the shift she just endured.
I feel a shudder inside because deep down I know that this is exactly what I want to do with her.
Turn my face to her. Receive her warmth and life-giving beauty.
Get her to let me in so I can release all the tension from a decade of striving and achieving in the cold world of tech and finance.
More than a decade, if I’m being honest. My whole life.
And I know that I can’t. I know what my goals are, and I know what my schedule looks like. I’m a sensible person. I didn’t build an empire by indulging in desires and base instincts.
I see the girl I once knew is still in there, her open heart beating inside a chest that I tried to ignore for ten years.
She still smiles at strangers. A dog that’s sitting calmly on the sidewalk next to an alfresco table sees her and suddenly bounds over, tail wagging.
She bends down, greeting the dog, rubbing its fur, laughing with the dog’s owner, and gently guiding the dog back toward the table.
Moments later, she makes eye contact with a pouting baby who’s being pushed in a stroller.
The baby spots her, both their faces light up, and the baby begins flapping her hands spastically, filled with joy just from seeing Olivia.
I have never been so envious of a baby. I don’t know that I could ever respond to this woman with such naked emotion.
I don’t know that either of us could handle it.
But I’m happy to see that other people see what I see in her.
All I’ve ever wanted is for my best friend’s little sister to have the life she deserves.
It has just taken me all this time to figure out how I can give it to her.
This street is nice enough, but the neighborhood isn’t nice enough for Olivia.
I know her brother helped her find a place that is in the safest neighborhood she can afford that’s within a twenty-minute Muni ride of the Bay Area Dance Company and within walking distance of a restaurant she can work at in the summers.
Because she doesn’t drive. I could have just bought her a townhouse in Pacific Heights and paid for a car service, but people don’t like it when I offer to just buy them things.
They need to feel like they’re helping me in return for what I can offer.
And people think I don’t understand people. I understand them. They’re the ones who don’t understand me, and I don’t have time to explain everything to everyone.