Chapter 27 Avery
Chapter twenty-seven
Avery
When I was younger, I always knew to dream big.
Go to college on a full ride.
Get drafted to the NBA.
Be the only man on a private jet, surrounded by beautiful women.
I thought that last one was too niche and would never happen. And now that the day has come, and I’m on the jet I own, with three very attractive women sitting around me? I regret ever putting that shit out into the universe.
There hasn’t been a lick of silence since the plane took off. Not even five seconds of peace. Thankfully, I’ve had my laptop to distract me, and Rhodes has just announced that we’re about to land.
The reality of the situation must be sinking in for everyone, myself included. Only, I’ve had the last six and a half hours to think about it while staring at my screen, trying my hardest not to be involved in any conversation.
Not that they didn’t try.
Lizzie and Jenna attempted to ask me all kinds of questions, and I answered as best as I could without giving too much away that wasn’t necessary, while the cut out of Cassandra glared at me, making damn sure I didn’t say the wrong thing.
I don’t blame her. She’s protective of her youngest sister. I learned that in the five seconds I saw her on FaceTime, and in the six hours her picture shot daggers at me.
She and I have that in common. Only, I bet she wouldn’t walk out of a confrontation with a broken wrist that made everybody question her character, and put her job on the line.
Or she might. She looks like she can handle herself.
And while the mini interrogation went down, my eyes wouldn’t leave Olive.
Six hours is a long time to observe somebody, but I realized that in the presence of her sisters, Olive seems so….reserved, like she isn’t her complete and total self when she’s around them.
Or maybe she is, and the person I’ve come to know over the last few weeks has been a mask that she forces herself to wear for some reason.
I guess the truth will come to light in time. People can only hide their true selves for so long before the glass breaks.
"I’ll take that," I say to Olive, who stands to get off the plane, her enormous bag draped over her shoulder.
She smiles sweetly at me, but it vanishes and turns into curiosity when I offer to take the bags of Lizzie and Jenna, too.
I don’t think it’s a jealousy thing, no. Olive doesn’t seem like the type to have a jealous bone in her body. It’s more confusion and surprise that I would offer to take everyone's bags, and not just hers.
I don’t know why I feel the need to prove myself to her inner circle.
Maybe it’s not about proving anything, maybe it’s just manners.
Or maybe it’s because I want Olive to see me trying.
Realistically, yeah, this whole thing is fake. A legal arrangement wrapped in a PR strategy.
But pretending I don’t care how her sisters see me? That would be a bigger lie.
So if taking their bags gets me one step closer to keeping the peace and keeping whatever this is between Olive and me? I’ll do it.
Doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft. Just means I’m paying attention.
I do, however, regret not having at least Ryder or Orlando here with me.
The lack of testosterone is already making me feel uneasy, and it’s barely been seven hours.
I help my driver, Wellington, load up the car with everyone’s luggage, and take the passenger seat while the three girls load into the back.
We spent the car ride back to our hotel the same way we spent the flight.
Them gossiping about God knows what, and me doing my absolute best to stay out of conversation, and even more so—the firing line.
When we pull up to the hotel, Wellington parks the car in the VIP section before helping me lug the bags out.
Paparazzi are already on our tail, snapping pictures of me wheeling and carrying bags, while my soon-to-be bride hangs back with her sisters, arms linked through each other’s as we enter the luxurious lobby.
"I have a reservation for Mike Hannigan," I say quietly, careful not to let anybody hear the name I use when I check in to places like this.
"Sorry, did you just reference Friends?" Lizzie asks from behind me. "Olive, what’s the code name you now use for hotel rooms?"
Olive joins me at my side, rubbing her hand along my back so naturally.
I shudder at her touch, but I do my best to ignore the way it makes me feel.
"Regina Phalange." She smiles brightly up at me and then toward her twin.
"I just heard him use Mike Hannigan." Lizzie snickers, and Olive nearly chokes on her saliva, while the trio of girls burst out laughing behind me.
Heat rushes to my cheeks instantly. I should’ve known they’d be fans of arguably the greatest sitcom of all time. I'm surprised Lizzie didn't joke about me being Olive's lobster.
"I would’ve been more turned on if you used Crap Bag," Olive whispers to me, tip-toeing as high as she can go, and laughter rumbles through my chest.
"The Mike to your Phoebe," Lizzie swoons, hands crossed over her chest, almost making a heart shape, while Jenna rolls her eyes with a smile.
"Here are your keys, Mr. Hannigan. Enjoy your stay," the receptionist tells me, handing over four key cards. Three of which belong to the same room, and one for me, right next door.
"You ladies have your own apartment with three separate bedrooms. I’ll be right down the hall if anyone needs me." I nod to the door directly beside us, then toward the one further down the dimly lit hallway.
"You’re not coming out with us, are you, Mr. Jones?" Lizzie asks, pouting.
While she and Olive look similar, I don’t feel quite the…pull toward her that I do with Olive. I look back and forth between all the girls, each doing something different to entice me, but when my eyes land on Olive, she remains expressionless.
Like she couldn’t care either way if I decided to join them on their night out.
It kind of stings a little.
"I had a game today. I need to rest. You girls enjoy your night," I tell them.
Olive and Jenna open their door to head inside, but Lizzie lingers back. The look of protection is engraved into her face as a permanent shield. One, I bet, she only wears when it comes to her sisters. "Avery, wait."
"You have my number. Call me if you girls need anything," I say.
She nods softly, then looks back over her shoulder.
"Anything. I mean it, Lizzie. You’re all here because of me and the shit my agent needs me to do. At the slightest inconvenience, mishap, or if anyone even looks at you guys the wrong way—"
"Call you. Got it. Are you always this protective?" She smirks, her foot wedged in the gap to stop the door from closing and locking her out.
"Only for the people I care about." I shove my hands deep into my pockets, my overnight bag slung across my chest.
"And you care about her? About Olive, I mean." Lizzie laughs nervously, her face going ghost-white, like she instantly regrets saying anything at all. "I get it. It’s all pretend. Good for your brand, good for hers. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s.
..not right." She releases a heavy sigh, the color returning to her face slightly. "God, I’m sorry. That isn’t me.
Cassandra had me rehearse a speech for you, but it feels so wrong. " She shakes her head.
"Olive and I might not have what a typical marriage has, but we share a mutual respect. We know how important our careers are to each other, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that for her. Not with her health, and everything else going on."
"Her health?" Lizzie questions, blinking hard, like the words don’t make sense. "What? What do you mean, is she okay?" Her voice rises, hands resting on her hips. "God, I hate that she’s so private. It’s like she’s allergic to help."
"I just meant with her stress. She’s a lot busier than she used to be as a teacher. Nothing to worry about." I backpedal hard, doing my best to sound casual, even as panic prickles at my throat.
Hell, I don’t even know what the deal is with her health. I’m too afraid to bring it up in case it’s what I think it is. I saw her medication that looked familiar, but I refuse to research it and find out if I’m right. She'll tell me when she’s ready.
"Right. Sorry. It’s just... she’s always been my baby sister, you know?" Her lips press together like she’s holding back more. "But she’s not a kid anymore." She clears her throat. "Anyway. I’ll catch you later."
"Call me if you—" The door slams in my face. "Need me," I finish quietly, to no one.
I sigh, rub the back of my neck and turn, heading down to my room.
***
My phone buzzes, cutting through the oddly soothing sounds of Vegas nightlife that put me to sleep earlier tonight.
Lizzie’s name lights up the screen in bold letters, and I sit up fast, heart kicking into gear. "Hello?"
"Avery?" The voice is slurred, and I struggle to hear it clearly. "Avery," it says again, messier this time.
Someone’s drunk. Very drunk. And it sure as hell isn’t the person who owns this phone.
"Hello?" I ask again, sitting up against the headboard, wincing at the coolness of the wood on my bare skin.
"It’s me." Olive. "I don’t want to be out here anymore. The alcohol is making my body feel weird, and I don’t…
I don’t think I like it." A tiny burp escapes her, and I smile to myself, throwing my feet over the side of the bed. "It kind of feels like…like maybe I won’t be able to walk very well tomorrow? Or maybe even not at all. Or I could just be drunk and paranoid because I don’t know how my medication goes when mixed with vodka I think I’m scared, Avery.
I've definitely had too much to drink, and being dramatic, but I hate not being in control of my own body. "
"Where are you?" I ask, sliding sweat pants up my legs and a hooded jumper over my head.
"In front of a bar called The Medusa."
I know exactly where that is. I collect my room key from the kitchen counter and head for the door. "Stay with your sisters. I’ll be there soon."
The phone beeps in my ear three times, and I know she’s ended the call before we have the chance to say another word.
Wellington has been on standby all night, so he isn’t surprised when I rip the back door open in a hurry, telling him to ‘go’.
My phone rings in my lap the moment the car starts moving, Lizzie’s name again in big letters across the screen.
"I’m coming, baby. Try not to stress about it, okay? GPS says three minutes."
"Baby?" Lizzie’s voice teases. I can’t even pretend it was an accident. "Wrong sister. But you’re already on your way. Good. All she keeps talking about is wanting to do things to you, which, gross, by the way. You really do care about her, don’t you?"
There’s a pause, the silence all too consuming.
"I told you I do. I wouldn’t lie about something like that."
"Oh boy. She’s going to break your heart. I hope you’re ready for that."
I already had a feeling it would end that way, but I know Olive would be worth the heartbreak.