Chapter 3 Olivia
OLIVIA
Iam so mad at him for making me blush and get all teary-eyed, and I’m mad at myself for blushing and getting all teary-eyed.
I have got to pull it together, because this—no matter how inconveniently hot he has become and no matter how many zeros live in his bank statement—is still Johnny B. Nerdballs.
This is the Johnny B. Nerdballs who watched every single Star Wars and Star Trek movie ever made and insisted on marathons where they were screened in chronological order as opposed to release order.
He always carried two backpacks filled with books.
He left sticky notes on our kitchen counter written in Elvish.
But I liked him anyway.
To a point.
I’m realizing that I’ve missed him a lot.
And I hate that.
There was a moment when we were walking down the street in silence.
I had the chance to experience two things I’d never felt with Johnny before—an appreciation of how tall he is, and a sense of security.
I’ve never walked the streets of San Francisco with someone from back home before.
I felt so comfortable for a second that I almost reached out to put my arm around him.
Actually, comfortable isn’t the right word for how it felt. It was like rewatching a favorite movie from my childhood while riding a rickety old roller coaster. The part of the roller coaster where you’re going up.
But the point is—I didn’t put my arm around him.
I want to punch him in the bicep again.
But I won’t.
Because if I touch him again at all, I have a feeling I will want to touch him a lot. All over. Over and over. And no good will come of that.
As I open the door to my apartment, I call out for my roommate, but Callie doesn’t respond.
There’s a small hallway that leads to the living room.
John follows me slowly. Cautiously. Like I’m leading him down a dark alley in Chinatown at night.
“We weren’t expecting guests…” I say, with more of an apologetic tone than I’d like, as we reach the living room.
I open the curtains to let some light in, to illuminate all the dust—which, to be fair, is mostly incense ash.
I like to think so anyway. I pick up various items of clothing and footwear and coffee mugs that are on the hardwood floor.
We have pretty nice furniture; it’s just covered with Callie’s design books and magazines and notebooks and our discarded apparel. “Callie—that’s my roommate—and I… We’re both busy. So you know, not a lot of time to tidy up. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” he says, scanning the room. “Two bedrooms?”
“Yes. We share a bathroom, but it’s big. Laundry downstairs. Backyard access. Patio. It’s a great location.”
He nods. And then he says, “Olivia…” He sounds exasperated all of a sudden. “How can you live like this?”
“Excuse me? This is an amazing apartment. It’s $3,695 a month—that’s less than most two-bedrooms in the area, and there are only two units in the building.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to get defensive. I don’t mean to insult your home. It’s just that you’re a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman—why have you deliberately chosen to live as mediocre a life as possible?”
Welp. That didn’t take long. One minute, and I already regret inviting him up. “Excuse me? I’m doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do. My life is not mediocre.”
“Yes, I’m sure you don’t see it this way, but you’re resisting greatness. I want you to have the life that you deserve. Why does that bother you?”
“Because I have ears, and I can hear what you’re saying to me. You do realize you said all that out loud, right?”
“Olivia, I’d like to have my housekeeper come to clean this place up—at no cost to you, of course.”
What the what?! “No way!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t— It’s just so— Why would you even?” I sputter because I’m not exactly sure why not. “Just no. We can’t wait around for a housekeeper to come by.”
“You don’t have to be here. I’ll give her a copy of my key.”
“You don’t have a key to my apartment.”
“Well, obviously I’ll need you to give me one. Here. This is the key to my house in Palo Alto.” He puts his beautiful slim leather briefcase down and then removes a fancy key from a classy key ring and holds it out to me.
I don’t take it. “Why are you giving me your house key?”
“So no one has to wait around for you whenever you want to come over. Your personalized six-digit guest code for the security system is your birth date. I’ve already programmed it in.”
“You remember my birth date?”
He grins. “We’ll see if I got it right when you enter it into the keypad, won’t we?”
I do not understand this person. “I’ve lived here for over a year. Why am I seeing you now?”
“I told you. Your brother asked me to check in on you.”
“It never occurred to you to check in on me before?”
“I apologize. It’s not that I haven’t thought about you, believe me—I’m very busy. When you see my schedule, you’ll understand. Let me now explain to you why I’m here.”
He takes my hand and presses the house key into my palm.
Then he closes my fingers around it. I look up into his eyes and suddenly remember hearing him calling me “beautiful, intelligent, and talented” a minute ago.
I was so defensive, it didn’t sink in until now.
He’s never complimented me like that before.
That was, I believe, as close to a compliment as Johnny B. Nerdballs is capable of giving me.
I clear off the detritus from the armchair and gesture for him to sit in it, while I take a seat on the sofa. “So? Proceed to explain to me why you’re here.”
He places his briefcase on the floor next to the armchair. Then he adjusts the briefcase in such a way that he won’t trip on it—in the event that I should throw something at him or lunge at him and he has to make a run for it, I suppose.
I lean back, resting my elbows on the back of the sofa, my ankle on my knee. Spreading out. Body language. I’m taking up as much space as possible to show him I’m in charge. He’s in my mediocre house. I’m the boss. He needs to impress me, or he’s out.
John rests his elbows on his knees, which are spread apart. He clasps his hands together and leans forward. That is also a good power posture. Well played, Nerdballs. Well played. I try not to stare at the dark swirls of exposed, sexy chest hair. Jesus, you grew up good, JB. Goddammit.
He begins. “As I said, I maintain a busy schedule and travel much of the time, but I have some significant events coming up in the coming weeks—an important business trip to England, followed by a gala event in New York, and then a fundraiser for my new charity in Cleveland. I usually travel alone because it’s easier, but due to the nature of my new initiative…
We aim to encourage more women in the Midwest to get involved in the tech industry.
And we’re going to establish fellowships for women at Midwest colleges in those departments… ”
He pauses, probably waiting for me to roll my eyes or guffaw at the outrageous concept of him attempting to advance the careers of women, but I don’t. Because I literally cannot wait to hear the part about me. And then I’ll roll my eyes and snort-laugh in his obnoxiously handsome face.
“I believe it would be wise for me to attend these upcoming events with a respectable girlfriend,” he continues, “to convey myself and my industry as more ‘woman friendly,’ shall we say. It’s something my PR consultant and chief of staff have been encouraging me to do for what feels like a century.
I’ll be very busy, as always, so I want to bring someone who requires a minimal amount of attention.
Someone I don’t have to make an effort to get to know or impress. So I thought of you.”
“Whoa, easy. A girl can only take so much sweet talk, mister.”
He bends down to wipe an imperceptible scuff mark from his thousand-dollar shoe.
“About two weeks after returning from Cleveland, I’ll be attending a wedding in Santa Barbara, and I’ll definitely need a date for that so I don’t have to deal with…
what I usually deal with when I attend weddings solo. ”
“Being laughed at because you’re such a dork?”
He smirks. He is so very, very smug.
“Oh, just say it—women throw themselves at you.”
“I would never put it like that. But yes, I get a lot of attention from single women who want to date me. And men and women with single daughters and granddaughters. I’ve also had people pitch me their daughters who are happily married.
It’s…awkward, and quite frankly, it’s exhausting and boring.
If you aren’t interested, there’s a matchmaking service for high-net-worth men based in Sausalito.
They’ve been hounding me to sign up with them as a client.
I could call them. But I came to you first.”
I lean forward. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’d like to hear you say it out loud. Why you came to me first.”
He blinks his long, dark lashes and gives me a look that I cannot interpret.
Explaining, I say, “I need to hear you say it plainly. Out loud. With words that won’t make my ears bleed.”
“Ah. Well, Olivia, I came to you first because I know you. And I’ve always been fond of you.
Because you’re beautiful and intelligent and good-humored, and I always enjoyed spending time with you.
I travel in style, and I’d like to be able to share some of the many things in life I’m able to afford with the people who made my life more bearable when I was growing up.
” He flashes a crooked smile. “Monty is unavailable, and your parents don’t like to travel.
So I’d like you to join me, as my date, for the next month. ”
I guffaw. I really didn’t mean to. It just came out—force of habit.
That was mostly sweet, and I’m sure I’ll be able to absorb the kind words later, when my heart isn’t racing and my lizard brain doesn’t think I’m being chased by a wild animal.
“So let me get this straight… You built an app that matches people?”