Chapter 10 First Kiss
Boston Bound
By the following week, Oliver had reached a simple conclusion.
His life had become far too complicated.
Marcus continued appearing unexpectedly.
Ethan continued acting strangely.
And somewhere in the middle stood Oliver, trying desperately not to lose his mind.
The situation with Marcus remained unresolved.
The gala invitation had happened.
Oliver had attended.
Mostly because refusing every interaction felt unnecessarily dramatic.
The evening itself had been harmless.
Professional conversations.
Industry networking.
Too much expensive champagne.
Marcus had behaved perfectly.
Respectful.
Patient.
Determined.
Unfortunately, that somehow made everything harder.
A selfish ex was easy to reject.
A genuinely remorseful one required effort.
The good news was that Oliver remained absolutely certain about one thing.
He wasn't getting back together with Marcus.
The bad news was that seeing him again continued reopening emotions he thought were long buried.
Not love.
Not anymore.
Just grief.
Memories.
Questions.
Healing apparently wasn't as complete as he'd believed.
On Monday morning, he arrived in the kitchen determined to focus exclusively on work.
No Marcus.
No Ethan.
No emotional disasters.
Just cooking.
Unfortunately, fate appeared to have other plans.
Around ten o'clock, Ethan entered the kitchen carrying a tablet and a coffee.
The sight immediately distracted Oliver.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
Particularly because Ethan looked unfairly attractive today.
The navy suit wasn't helping.
Neither was the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
Oliver firmly redirected his attention toward chopping vegetables.
Professionalism.
Very important.
Essential, really.
"Morning."
Ethan stopped beside the island.
"Morning."
Something seemed different.
Not visibly.
Subtly.
The billionaire looked thoughtful.
Distracted.
As though considering something.
Oliver immediately became suspicious.
That expression usually meant work.
Or trouble.
Occasionally both.
"What?"
Ethan blinked.
"What?"
"That face."
The response earned a faint smile.
"What face?"
"The one that means you're about to ask me for something."
Several seconds passed.
Then Ethan sighed.
Apparently Oliver wasn't entirely wrong.
"I need a favor."
There it was.
Oliver set down the knife.
"Aha."
The billionaire looked amused despite himself.
"It's work related."
"They always say that."
"I literally own the company."
"Exactly."
A brief silence followed.
Then Ethan placed the tablet on the counter.
"I'm going to Boston this weekend."
Oliver nodded.
The information meant very little.
Business trips happened constantly.
Usually without involving him.
"Have fun."
Ethan ignored the comment.
"I need you to come with me."
The knife nearly slipped from Oliver's hand.
"What?"
The answer arrived so quickly it sounded almost undignified.
Ethan remained perfectly calm.
"Bristol Capital is hosting a private investor weekend."
Oliver stared.
Still confused.
"And?"
"And I'll be there."
"Congratulations."
A look of patience appeared.
The sort adults reserved for difficult children.
"I need my chef."
The explanation somehow made even less sense.
Oliver folded his arms.
"Ethan."
"Oliver."
"You know hotels have restaurants."
"Yes."
"Boston also has restaurants."
"I'm aware."
"In fact, Boston has many restaurants."
The billionaire sighed.
"I know how cities work."
Oliver grinned despite himself.
The expression disappeared quickly.
Because Ethan still looked serious.
Very serious.
"You're not joking."
"No."
The realization settled slowly.
Boston.
A weekend.
Together.
The thought immediately felt dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Oliver wasn't entirely sure why.
Maybe because spending time alone with Ethan already tested his self-control.
A weekend away sounded like tempting fate.
"I don't know."
Ethan's eyebrows lifted.
"Why?"
Good question.
Unfortunately, the honest answer involved attraction and poor decision-making.
Neither seemed appropriate.
"It feels unnecessary."
Something flickered briefly across Ethan's face.
Disappointment perhaps.
Gone too quickly to identify.
"The investors requested private dining."
Oliver blinked.
"Specifically?"
"Yes."
That surprised him.
Apparently his reputation was improving.
The thought felt oddly satisfying.
"You told them about me?"
The question escaped accidentally.
A brief pause followed.
Then Ethan nodded.
"Of course."
Something warm settled unexpectedly inside Oliver's chest.
The reaction annoyed him immediately.
Praise from Ethan shouldn't matter this much.
Yet somehow it did.
Unfortunately.
The silence stretched.
Finally Ethan spoke again.
"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."
The words carried quiet sincerity.
Enough to make refusal difficult.
Very difficult.
Oliver hated that.
"You planned this."
"I scheduled a business trip."
"You planned this."
The billionaire's smile returned.
Small.
Dangerous.
"Will you come?"
The question sounded simpler than it was.
Boston wasn't really the issue.
The issue was proximity.
Time together.
The increasingly impossible task of pretending nothing existed between them.
Still, saying no felt equally impossible.
Especially when Ethan looked at him like that.
Damn it.
"Fine."
Relief flashed briefly across Ethan's face.
The sight happened so quickly Oliver almost missed it.
Almost.
"Thank you."
The response sounded genuine.
Which somehow made everything worse.
The rest of the week passed surprisingly quickly.
Preparations consumed most of their attention.
Travel arrangements.
Menu planning.
Ingredient sourcing.
Schedules.
Details.
Lots and lots of details.
By Friday afternoon, they boarded a private jet headed for Boston.
The experience felt absurdly luxurious.
Oliver had flown before.
Just not like this.
The leather seats alone probably cost more than his first apartment.
"You hate this."
Ethan looked up from a report.
"What?"
"The private jet."
Oliver gestured around them.
"It's ridiculous."
A smile appeared.
"That's the point."
"It flies exactly the same."
"Not entirely."
"You're impossible."
The billionaire looked remarkably pleased by the accusation.
The flight itself remained short.
Barely enough time for lunch.
Soon Boston appeared beneath them.
Historic buildings.
Busy streets.
Harbor views.
A city Oliver had never visited before.
The investor weekend occupied a luxury waterfront hotel.
Naturally.
Everything in Ethan's world seemed luxurious.
The hotel itself looked impressive.
Massive glass windows overlooking the harbor.
Elegant architecture.
The sort of place ordinary people photographed.
Several investors greeted Ethan immediately upon arrival.
Handshakes.
Introductions.
Business discussions.
The familiar routine.
Oliver slipped easily into his own role.
Professional.
Efficient.
Invisible when necessary.
The first evening passed smoothly.
Dinner received enthusiastic praise.
Investors seemed delighted.
Ethan appeared pleased.
By all accounts, the trip qualified as a success.
Saturday proved equally productive.
Meetings filled most of the day.
Private dining events occupied the evening.
Everything proceeded according to schedule.
Until nature intervened.
Around six o'clock, dark clouds appeared over the harbor.
By seven, rain hammered against the windows.
By eight, the storm had transformed into something far more serious.
Wind howled.
Lightning illuminated the skyline.
Thunder rattled glass.
Several guests gathered near windows watching the weather worsen.
The atmosphere shifted gradually.
Then dramatically.
Flights were canceled.
Roads flooded.
Travel plans collapsed.
The hotel staff suddenly became very busy.
Oliver stood near the ballroom entrance watching rain slash across the harbor.
"That's not ideal."
A familiar voice answered beside him.
"No."
He turned.
Ethan looked equally unimpressed.
The storm intensified as though determined to prove a point.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the water.
The view looked almost apocalyptic.
"Please tell me we're leaving tomorrow."
Ethan glanced toward the windows.
Then toward the crowd of increasingly concerned guests.
"I don't think anyone's leaving tomorrow."
The answer landed heavily.
Because it was probably true.
Several hours later, hotel management confirmed the situation.
The storm had disrupted transportation throughout the region.
Additional overnight accommodations were being arranged.
Guests would remain until conditions improved.
A wave of frustration moved through the ballroom.
Followed quickly by resignation.
There wasn't much anyone could do.
Nature rarely negotiated.
By ten o'clock, Oliver finally reached his room floor.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
The day had been long enough without surprise weather disasters.
He stepped out of the elevator.
Then immediately stopped.
Ethan stood nearby speaking with a hotel manager.
Something about the conversation seemed tense.
The manager eventually left.
Looking apologetic.
Ethan noticed Oliver moments later.
His expression suggested bad news.
Never encouraging.
"What happened?"
The billionaire rubbed the back of his neck.
An unusually frustrated gesture.
"The hotel has a problem."
Oliver frowned.
"What kind of problem?"
A brief pause followed.
Then Ethan answered.
"The storm stranded several hundred additional guests."
Understanding arrived slowly.
Followed immediately by suspicion.
"Oh no."
Ethan sighed.
"Exactly."
Oliver stared.
The silence stretched.
Then the truth became painfully obvious.
"Tell me they didn't."
"They did."
His stomach dropped.
"Seriously?"
The billionaire nodded.
Once.
Reluctantly.
"There aren't enough rooms."
The realization crashed over him.
Heavy.
Immediate.
Dangerous.
Outside, thunder rolled across the harbor.