Chapter 18 Oliver
Oliver
Gabby hasn’t stopped talking since I picked her up exactly three hours and twenty-nine minutes ago.
Something about a new trainer, a corgi puppy, and a resort that doubled her Instagram likes overnight.
A stream of consciousness spills from her pink-slicked lips and fades into background noise before I can process it.
My eyes continuously flick to my watch. Every minute drags by. Every conversation with her feels hollow. I count down the seconds until I can drop her off and figure out what I’m going to do about Rina.
Low lighting diffuses every surface, and the hush of moneyed voices settles over the room.
Dark wood, starched linens, and the faint burn of whiskey in the air.
Jazz curls from the corner, smooth and practiced.
The waitstaff glides between tables, doing their best to be efficient and invisible.
Everything about this place screams calm, control, composure.
Three things I’m lacking.
Gabby’s laughter bubbles over the rim of her nearly empty martini glass. I nod absently as my attention drifts. The server at our table checks our water before silently stepping away. That’s when movement from the other end of the room catches my attention and my head snaps in that direction.
For a second, I wonder if I’ve conjured her up. I’ve been so damn starved for the sight of her that my mind has created an illusion. But then she steps farther inside the space with Evelyn at her side.
The light from the chandelier slides across Rina’s hair, giving it a rich blue-black sheen that makes everything tighten inside me.
The burnt-orange fabric of her dress clings to her in ways that should be illegal, warm autumn color against smooth skin.
My pulse stumbles and my hand flexes against the starched white tablecloth.
Everything around me—Gabby, the clinking of silverware, the hum of the music—falls away until there’s only Rina.
Without thinking, I rise to my feet.
“Oliver?” Gabby blinks, confusion clouding her eyes. “Where are you going? Should I—”
“No.” I force a smile that feels foreign on my face. “Order another martini. I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for a response, I cut through the flow of diners, weaving between chairs and servers as the space between Rina and me shrinks with every long stride.
I catch a hint of her sultry scent a few seconds before reaching the table, and need floods through my veins. All I can think about is getting my hands on her. She turns, as if sensing my presence. Her voice dies mid-sentence, lips parting ever so slightly.
Evelyn smiles, offering a warm greeting. “Oliver. What a surprise.”
I lift a brow. “Really? Pretty sure I mentioned where I made reservations.”
“Did you?” She gives a serene shrug. “It must’ve slipped my mind.”
Rina shifts in her chair, her fingers worrying the edge of her napkin. She won’t even look me in the eye. Her gaze skitters to the tablecloth, the wineglass, anywhere but my face.
Her avoidance pricks at me.
Has it really come to this?
We’re now pretending we barely know one another?
Or that I was never buried deep inside her body while she moaned my name?
It’s so damn tempting to strip away her restraint right here and now.
“We need to talk,” I say, my tone clipped. “About some PR stuff that’s come up.”
She lifts her chin as her composure snaps back into place. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Does tomorrow work for you?”
“Unfortunately, I’m all booked up.”
I step closer, looming over her chair. “Then when?”
Her silence grates.
Evelyn watches the exchange with thinly veiled interest as a tall, polished man approaches the table.
Who the hell is this?
“Rina,” Evelyn says brightly, “you remember my nephew, Lucas. I thought he might join us tonight so the two of you could get to know each other a little better. You seemed to hit it off at the charity event last week.”
Lucas leans down and kisses his aunt’s cheek, greeting Rina the same way before taking the empty chair between them.
Something cold slides through me. “I’m sorry?”
Evelyn’s smile never falters. “Lucas just moved to Chicago and could use some help settling in.” Her tone is light as innocence glints in her eyes. I get the feeling the team owner knows exactly what game she’s playing.
My eyes narrow on Rina as she fidgets under the heavy weight of my stare.
Was she aware this was a setup?
The worst part is that she doesn’t deny Evelyn’s machinations, and she sure as hell doesn’t try to shut them down either.
Her silence cuts deep.
I open my mouth, ready to put an end to this farce, when Rina beats me to the punch.
“Oliver, your date seems lonely.” She tips her chin toward Gabby, who’s waving from across the room.
“She’s not my date,” I grind out, but the excuse sounds weak even to my own ears.
Rina’s mouth curves slightly as emotion flickers behind her expression.
Sadness?
Regret?
Resignation?
Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
Not one damn bit.
The moment stretches until it turns awkward.
Unless I’m willing to cause a scene, there’s nothing more I can do. And as tempting as the idea is, it’ll only push Rina further away when all I want to do is pull her closer.
Fuck.
I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done and walk away. Every step back to my table has my muscles coiling tighter.
Gabby’s voice greets me before I drop onto my chair. “Who was that?”
“The owner of the team and our PR manager,” I mutter. Although Rina is so much more than that, and we both know it.
Stubborn, infuriating woman.
Gabby continues to chatter. It’s a constant, useless drone I can’t focus on.
Instead, all I hear is Rina. Her quick wit and the sound of her laughter.
It’s impossible to ignore.
She’s impossible to ignore.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
Especially when she smiles at something Lucas says. Or tucks a tiny lock of hair behind her ear. And I sure as shit don’t miss the quick glances around the restaurant that never seem to land on me. Each one strips away another layer of my composure until there’s nothing left.
Heat builds within me until blotting out everything around it. I rake a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to stand up, stalk across the room, and force her to listen.
But here’s the thing—if I storm across the restaurant, she’ll shut down entirely, and I’ll lose whatever opening I still might have.
So, I sit.
And I silently simmer, waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself.