Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Olivia
How to Lose Control of Your Life in Thirty Days or Less
I knew today was going to be a mess.
But this?
This is absolute destruction.
Pipes—everywhere. Wires dangling from the ceiling like some kind of horror movie set.
The floor is littered with tools, drywall dust, and what I’m praying is just dirt, not some black mold mutation preparing to crawl into my lungs and turn me into a cautionary tale.
Mike and his team are demolishing my clinic as if they’re filming a special for HGTV.
And me?
I have zero control over any of it.
It’s deeply painful—something I can’t process right now without breaking something.
Maybe I should ask them if I can use the sledgehammer to bring the walls down—or whatever they need me to break.
I stand in what was once the hallway leading to Exam Room Two, hands on my hips, trying to remember what calm feels like while Mike updates me with the world’s worst news imaginable.
“Bad news,” he announces cheerfully, as if he enjoys my suffering.
“Your pipes are completely shot. Whoever worked on this place last did a garbage job—almost criminal. I’d almost be impressed if I weren’t so disgusted.”
My eye twitches.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Mike says, wiping his hands on his jeans like we’re discussing literally anything other than my professional ruin, “we’ll need to re-pipe the entire place. We’ll also have to open up the floors in a few areas to fix the connections.”
I exhale through my nose.
“Define ‘a few areas.’”
Mike scratches his head and waves a hand vaguely at everything.
“Oh, you know. Just here . . . and there . . . and definitely outside.”
I stare at him, then at the mess.
Then at the giant fucking hole in the wall that I swear wasn’t there five minutes ago.
“Right,” I say, nodding as if I understand.
Which I don’t. “And let me guess—the mold situation is just as bad? You’ll need more than five weeks.”
Mike grins.
He actually grins. “Oh, it’s way worse. I should be assessing it closely, but it’s all good, lady. As I told your man, this place will be as good as new and up to code in no time.”
I freeze.
Then slowly, carefully, I rub my temples, choosing not to clarify that Lucian is not my man.
He’s the man I might kill because of this disaster.
But mine?
Absolutely fucking not.
Instead, I focus on the bigger issue.
“So, when do you think you’ll obtain those permits?”
Mike shrugs as if this is all very casual and not actively ruining my life.
“If I can talk to your guy . . . maybe we can expedite them. You know, the luxury box at the stadium type of pull? That always moves things along faster.”
I squint at him.
“My guy?”
“Yeah, Crawford. Dude’s the best player on the Knights. He always hooks his friends up with great seats.”
Of course, they need his tickets.
I don’t know why I let Lucian insert himself into my renovation without asking, but this .
. . this is exactly why I should have known better.
I inhale deeply.
Because the next time I’m face-to-face with Lucian Crawford, I am definitely choosing violence.
Probably with the fucking sledgehammer.
And just like that—since the universe loves testing me—I sense him before I see him.
It feels as if my body has developed a biological alarm system specifically for Lucian Crawford.
Flight or fight alert.
Mostly fight.
Blood pressure?
Elevated.
Sanity? Depleting.
Survival instincts? Malfunctioning.
I close my eyes, mentally preparing myself, and sure enough?—
“Well, well, well,” comes the smug, arrogant voice I dread on a molecular level.
“Looks like someone’s finally getting that Crawford treatment.”
I turn slowly, gripping my completely useless clipboard with its even more pointless to-do list, solely to keep myself from hurling it at his absurdly good-looking face I have no business thinking about.
Lucian stands just inside the clinic, surveying the absolute disaster of a renovation with a low whistle.
“This is bad,” he muses, his eyes roaming over the exposed wiring, the torn-up floors, and the actual gaping hole in the wall.
He drags his hand through his hair, visibly appalled by the dumpster fire currently unfolding.
“Oh, Liv. How did you buy something in this condition?”
My grip tightens on the clipboard.
“I didn’t?—”
Mike interrupts, nodding at Lucian with the kind of familiarity that makes my stomach dip.
“We were just talking about permits. We’ll need a few favors at the town council, but nothing some Knights season tickets can’t grease up.”
Lucian smirks.
Smirks.
Like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Oh?” He crosses his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“They need season tickets?”
Mike nods, fully unaware of the impending murder about to happen.
“Yeah. You know how it is—makes things move quicker.”
Mike interrupts, nodding at Lucian with the kind of familiarity that makes my stomach dip.
I glare at him, daring him to make this worse.
But this is Lucian fucking Crawford.
Of course, he makes it worse.
“You hear that, Liv?” he says, grinning.
“You need me. Again.”
I inhale through my nose and exhale through my mouth, repeating the cycle to avoid committing a felony in front of witnesses.
Because unfortunately?
He’s right.
And also hot, which is just offensive at this point.
I should not find this man attractive.
He’s like a frenemy or .
. . I don’t know. Someone I shouldn’t like or lust after.
Nope, not at all.
But how can I not?
He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his ridiculously toned forearms. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, and his hair is just messy enough to appear effortless in a way that makes me want to punch him.
There is drywall dust on the floor.
Actual construction debris floating in the air.
And yet?
He stands there with this kind of effortless perfection that belongs in glossy magazines and fantasy daydreams.
It’s infuriating.
“Why are you here?” I glare at him, wishing he would vanish, because this response toward him is not good.
Not good at all.
Memo to me.
Memo to me: I am not attracted to this .
. . this . . . this.
I am not.
Lucian grins as he steps further inside, acting as if he isn’t walking into my personal nightmare.
“Relax, Doc. I’m just making sure everything is running smoothly.”
Mike gives him a friendly clap on the back.
“Plus, you’re here for the videos, right?”
Lucian salutes him.
“Of course I am. Tell me where to start.”
I blink.
I’m sorry, what?
Mike, completely at ease, gestures toward the construction site.
“Alright, we’ll film a few clips inside and then maybe one out front. Just talking about the process, the timeline, and you can share about the other times we’ve helped you. You know, the usual.”
Lucian nods, as if this is something he routinely does, then shifts his attention to one of the guys holding a camera.
“You recording?”
The guy nods, adjusting the lens.
Lucian flashes his professional athlete smile and jumps right in, owning the room the way only someone convinced he is the brand can.
“Hey, guys. Lucian Crawford here, hanging out with my man Mike and his team from Titan Renovations. These guys are the real deal—managing my friend’s clinic renovation with top-tier quality and efficiency. If you’re in the area and need a dependable crew, hit them up. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”
I stare.
He keeps going.
“They’re taking care of everything—plumbing, electrical, mold remediation. I mean, look at this place.” Lucian gestures at the absolute ruin around him, somehow making it sound like a positive thing.
“And, hey, they’re Knights fans, so that already tells you they know what they’re doing.”
Mike grins, nodding at the camera.
“We always get the job done right.”
Lucian winks at the camera.
“They’re the best.”
I keep staring.
Lucian thanks the crew, fist-bumps Mike, then claps his hands together like this was just another day in the life of Lucian fucking Crawford.
Then he turns to me, all casual.
“And that is how you get shit done, Doc.”
I don’t move.
Don’t blink.
Don’t process.
Because what the actual fuck just happened?
“What was that?” I finally demand.
Lucian smirks. “That, Olivia, was me paying for this reno.”
“The video is how you pay?” I frown, shocked.
“And what do you get out of this?”
His grin stretches wider.
“The satisfaction of watching you lose your mind.”
“What?” I shriek.
He shrugs as if saying, “ Yeah, you heard me.” And I hate how effortlessly he does this.
He makes things easier for me while somehow making me feel like the problem for resisting.
I exhale slowly, rubbing my temples.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Lucian winks.
“Nah, I’m not. I’m officially your new best friend, Liv.”
I groan, then actually think about what just happened.
He’s lying.
No single video can cover a renovation that will likely cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“You promised you weren’t paying for this,” I say slowly.
“And I didn’t.”
“Then how?—”
“This pretty face.” He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a lower register.
“You’d be amazed at what a well-placed video featuring this face can bring in if done right. I mean, wouldn’t you watch this body multiple times?”
He winks.
He fucking dares to wink.
I hate the way my body reacts to his voice.
Because it reacts.
Which is unacceptable.
I sputter. “No. Absolutely not. I refuse to owe you anything. This video will make me owe you a lot, won’t it?”
He laughs—full, rich, completely amused by my misery.
“You don’t owe me a thing, Doc.”
I squint.
“You’re lying.”
Lucian lifts a hand.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever a scout?”
“I was scouted. Close enough.”
I inhale deeply, praying for patience.
“Lucian. Tell me the truth.”
He just grins.
“Why? So you can ruin my fun?”
“Yes.”
Lucian chuckles, reaching out like he’s about to tuck a stray hair behind my ear?—
If I were into bodily harm, I would slap his hand away.
I don’t.
I just growl at him.
His laughter deepens.
“You wound me.”
“You deserve it.”
Before I can interrogate him further, Mike walks over, completely unfazed by the hostility in the air.
“Okay, boss,” he says, hands on his hips.
“We’re all set to start ripping up the floors today.”
I flinch.
“Rip up the floors today?”
Mike nods.
“Yup. Gotta get to the root of the problem.”
Lucian leans in again, his voice low and taunting.
“See, Doc? Sometimes you gotta dig deep before you get to the good stuff.”
My entire body heats.
Lucian knows it.
And he loves it.
I grind my teeth, forcing myself to focus on literally anything else—the exposed wires, the drywall dust, my rapidly crumbling sanity—instead of his voice, his proximity, or the smug glint in his eyes.
Mike gestures toward the disaster zone.
“You can head out, Doc. This place is in good hands.”
Lucian claps his hands together.
“Perfect. Let’s go for a walk with Sarah.”
I blink at him.
Excuse me?
“A hike?” I repeat.
“You sabotage my clinic, force me into social media advertisements without consent, and now you want to go for a walk?”
“You’re not in the video. I didn’t need your consent—unless you want me to stop everything?” He gives me a look that says, I got you there, Doc.
“I thought so. Let’s go, babe. I’ll keep your mind occupied.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
I should say no.
I should tell him to take his smug grin and his obnoxiously perfect face elsewhere.
But I love Sarah, I can’t say no to her, even when she’s not around.
God help me, I need fresh air before I commit a crime.
“Fine,” I mutter.
Lucian’s grin widens.
“Knew you’d come around, Doc.”
I hate him.
Worst of all, I hate that I can’t figure out a way to really hate him.