Chapter 12
OLIVIA
NOW
Iwake up in a bed of understated, comfortable luxury. The only noise outside the window, which is covered with sheer white curtain panels that let in gorgeous light, is birds singing. No honking, no people on the street, no street noise whatsoever.
This guest room is minimalist in its design.
It is tasteful, elegant, and relaxing. So relaxing that I almost forgot how angry and frustrated I was before falling asleep last night.
The door is still shut. The rubber snakes are still scattered around on the floor.
My vibrator is still resting on top of the duvet.
My ego is still a little bruised. John did tell me he’d be too busy to fuck me twenty-four-seven, and it’s not like I rationally believe that he should fuck me twenty-four-seven.
But that better have been an important phone call if he’d rather answer it than bone me.
Perhaps he’s not an underboob man. Which is fine.
I have several more tricks up my sleeve.
And I suppose if this were September instead of July, I would barely have time for him or anyone else who wanted to fuck me.
But still.
If we’re going to pretend to be in a relationship and we’re attracted to each other, then why shouldn’t we have some fun while we’re together?
I have never seen this guy have fun. Well, I mean…
He used to have a lot of fun doing math.
And watching sci-fi or fantasy movies. And playing StarCraft.
He tracked his win rate on a spreadsheet.
But I’ve never seen him have fun doing the kind of things I have fun doing.
I’ve never seen him let loose or lose his shit.
Even when I hid the rubber snakes in his sleeping bag when we were kids, I heard him make a few loud “Uhhh! Uhhh!” exclamations, and then Nathan said he jumped out of the sleeping bag, rolled it up, and tossed it into the closet so the snakes couldn’t get out.
Nathan said he acted like a fast-thinking badass.
By the time I ran into the basement, cackle-laughing, Johnny was just standing there with his arms crossed, telling me he could have had a heart attack. It was very disappointing.
I could get his attention, but I could never quite get a rise out of him. It’s like he can always think his way out of having an emotion before it takes over.
I think I’d be doing him a favor if I can get him to loosen up.
Maybe he isn’t as experienced as he’d like me to believe.
Maybe he needs me to help him lose his inhibitions and teach him how to drive a woman wild in bed.
I use my body for a living, and he’s been stuck inside his head all his life.
He must be so intimidated by me, the poor guy.
I wouldn’t mind teaching him a few things.
And also, I’d just like to bring that billionaire to his knees. Is that so wrong?
John hasn’t sent me a text or left a voicemail to let me know what to expect this morning or to apologize for walking out on me last night. The itinerary his assistant sent me doesn’t start until we travel.
I brush my teeth and record my morning skincare routine for a YouTube video I’ll edit later and then change into leggings and an oversized T-shirt before heading to the kitchen.
I don’t even know if John is home right now, but he might have employees here working. That seems like a billionaire thing.
I find a cherubic middle-aged Hispanic lady in the kitchen making coffee. I can tell from the scent that it’s the Ritual coffee I served Johnny at the restaurant. This must be his housekeeper.
“Good morning,” I say.
She turns to me, all smiles. “Ohhhhh, hello, good morning! You must be Miss Olivia! I am Gracia. I went to your house yesterday. I met Callie.”
“Yes, hi! Thank you so much for doing that! Our apartment looked so good.”
I hold my hand out to shake hers, but she brings me in for a warm, squishy hug.
“What do you want for breakfast? I already made everything Mister John says you like.” She gestures toward the kitchen island, where there’s a stainless-steel chafer set up, like in the breakfast room of a motel but fancier.
She holds up the lid to show me perfectly scrambled eggs and turkey bacon.
There’s a three-tiered stand holding all of my favorite kinds of fruit.
There is also a Belgian waffle maker and a Vitamix blender.
“I can make waffles. Smoothie things are in the cupboard here and in the fridge and in the freezer here. I just now made fresh coffee,” she says.
“Mister John is in his office. He already ate. What do you want?”
This. I want all of this. Every day.
Gracia reminds me of my mom, if my mom were Hispanic.
My heart aches a little for Johnny because I know that’s why he hired her.
Johnny has always adored my mom because she’s everything his own mother isn’t.
Now he’s hired a Steph Montgomery for himself.
Now that I think of it, his driver, Richard, was like a Polynesian Alan Montgomery.
It’s like he’s putting together his own West Coast Montgomery clan. That is so fucking sweet.
After eating literally all that Gracia had to offer, I explore the rooms of the house that John didn’t show me last night.
I love this house. It’s not at all what I would have pictured for Johnny, and I can’t help but imagine myself living here.
It makes me kind of mad that he didn’t invite me here sooner.
Or maybe I’m still mad at him for blowing me off last night.
Maybe I’m just used to being frustrated and mad at him for something—anything.
Because if all of this frustrated energy he’s always stirred up in me isn’t anger, then what is it?
I step inside the large bedroom that’s been turned into a gym. He has an impressive array of exercise machines, a mirrored wall opposite the door, and indeed he has had a ballet barre set up. I lift my leg up onto it to stretch, but it’s too soon after eating.
I can’t help but peek at the iPhone on the speaker dock, curious to know what John listens to when he works out.
I’m betting on podcasts. But when I press Play on the remote, Tupac blares from the tiny speakers.
He certainly has acclimated to the West Coast. In my mind’s eye, I can picture John lifting to this music, and my body likes what I see there.
It is very inconvenient, how badly I want to see him in person this morning.
I wander down the hall, stopping by the door to his home office.
I can hear the Beastie Boys playing at a reasonable volume, which is inconvenient because they always make me horny.
It’s definitely not the kind of work culture I would have envisioned for John Brandt, but I am certainly open to being surprised as long as there aren’t snakes involved.
The door is half-open, so I knock twice and poke my head in.
John is wearing a form-fitting gray T-shirt and black jeans that instantly make me want to make out with him and also make me angry because I know I can’t. He’s wearing glasses. An expensive-looking blue-rimmed pair that accents his blue eyes and black hair beautifully.
He’s holding up a laptop and is flanked by two geeks in hoodies and a clean-cut young man in a salmon-pink polo shirt that he’s tucked into his jeans.
They all look up at me and stare as if no woman has ever crossed that threshold before.
John smiles, handing his laptop to the guy in the polo shirt. “Good morning, beautiful. Come in.”
Well, gosh. If this is how he’s going to greet me in Nerdville, I may never want to leave.
He meets me halfway and kisses me on the cheek, smelling soapy clean and minty fresh with a hint of Costa Rican coffee. I am so glad he hasn’t shaved yet. “You have breakfast?”
“I did. It was epic—thank you.”
He touches the small of my back. That’s all.
It does things to me. My pulse quickens.
Heat rises to the surface of my skin. There’s a heaviness in my belly, or is it lightness?
A tightness between my legs. I can feel the warm liquid beginning to pool down there.
I’m hyperaware of the small of my back at the same time as I feel my entire body waking up the way it does ten minutes into a dance workout.
But I remind myself that he’s just doing this because he’s read some instruction manual or something.
“Guys, this is my girlfriend, Olivia. Olivia, this is Sanjay, my personal assistant, and two of my programmers, Mike and Stuart.”
I smile at all of them and wave, but the words this is my girlfriend, Olivia are ringing in my ears and vibrating through my body.
He didn’t use the G-word last night when he introduced me to Phil and Teresa.
Being referred to as his girlfriend is strange and exciting and sexy, but kind of uncomfortable.
Like wearing a brand-new pair of thong panties. I think I can get used to it.
The guys just stare at me, openmouthed, for a few seconds before John tells me I’m welcome to use the gym while he finishes working on something with them.
“I’ve looked into the best ballet classes in London.
In case you want to drop in on one while we’re there.
I know you have to stay fit during the off-season.
But let Sanjay know if there’s anything specific you need while we’re there, and he’ll make sure you have it. ”
“I only do ballet classes once or twice a week in the summer, actually. I go to the gym more now to cross-train.”
“Interesting. To work on physical imbalances?”
“Exactly. Most of the year we’re working the same muscles over and over, so now’s the time to work on general athleticism.”
He smiles. “I like that. That’s smart.”
I glance over at Sanjay, Mike, and Stuart to confirm that they’re still gaping at me, and yes, they are. Lowering my voice, I say to John, “Could we go somewhere for a minute? To discuss that thing that happened last night, boyfriend?”
He stares at my lips hungrily, letting out a sigh. The way he’s looking at me, even with this tiny, awkward audience, I feel like the climax of Carmen is being performed in my belly, complete with bullfighting and death threats.
“I would like to have that discussion with you too, Olivia, but I’m working something out with my programmers, and they have to leave in half an hour. Go work out in the gym, and I’ll come join you when I’m done.”
No longer staring at my mouth, he’s watching and waiting for my reaction.
I get it. This is a test. This is about control.
It’s so cute that he thinks he has it.
I give him my best girlfriend smile. “Okay, honey. I’ll be vlogging in the gym while I wait for you to finish your work. See you when you’re done.”