Chapter 41 Liv
LIV
Iremain standing, my arms crossed tightly in front of my chest. The shock of seeing Blair so unexpectedly has messed me up—this setup, the flowers, the candlelight, the sheer audacity of it all.
Part of me is cornered, trapped in this beautiful cage she's created.
But another part—a part I'm trying to ignore—is flattered.
No one has ever gone to these lengths for me.
Still, I can't let my guard down. Not again.
Blair just looks at me, her dark eyes intense and searching, like she's trying to figure out what I'm thinking.
"Okay, shoot," I say, glancing pointedly at my watch again. "You've already wasted thirty seconds."
She shakes her head as if snapping out of some trance.
She takes a step closer and I take a step back.
Being near her is dangerous—all I want to do is reach out and touch her face, kiss her until we're both breathless.
But I have to protect myself. She lied once; she'll lie again. That's what people do.
"You didn't care who I was when we got on the plane that day," she begins. "You even said yourself you didn't care if whatever was in my file was the truth as long as we were on the same page—"
I open my mouth to interrupt, to point out how everything changed the moment we got intimate, but she holds up a hand.
"Please," she says. "I need my five minutes."
I nod curtly and remain quiet.
"You're right," she continues. "I was bored when we met that day in the coffee shop.
I've been feeling useless for a while, ever since I sold my company.
Or rather, our company. My friend Dougie—my business partner—fell in love and wanted out to run a vineyard in Napa with his new flame.
I thought maybe I wanted something different too, so it seemed like a good idea to sell at the time. " She runs a hand through her hair.
"But then I just fell into this void. I had so much money and no idea what to do with myself, no idea how to fill my days.
Every morning I'd wake up and think, 'Now what?
' And then I saw you that day in the coffee shop, and I don't know what got into me.
It seemed like a funny thing to do, I suppose—play some stranger's girlfriend for a weekend.
And I liked you. I liked your feistiness and I found you very attractive. "
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch at that.
"Go on," I say.
"I had the best time with you," she says, taking another small step forward.
This time I don't step back. "I loved being Sailor.
But what I loved most was that you liked me for me, not for my money.
I was planning on telling you when we got back to New York, but I just loved being in that bubble with you and your wonderful family.
" Her voice drops. "And honestly, Liv, I haven't felt so happy in a very long time. "
Our eyes meet and hold, and I'm torn—so desperately torn between wanting to give in and running away.
The rational side of my brain knows that trust, once broken, is nearly impossible to rebuild.
But the part that remembers how safe I felt in her arms, how she made me laugh, how she looked at me like I was the most fascinating person in the world—that part is winning.
"I liked being with you too," I admit.
Her face lights up with hope. "Enough to have dinner with me?"
I look at the intimate table set for two. It feels surreal knowing it was all for me. When she pulls out my chair, I sink into it.
The waiter appears, pouring champagne into crystal flutes before disappearing again. I take a sip, letting the alcohol calm my nerves a little.
"So is Sam your PA?" I ask, because I need to know everything now. No more surprises.
"Yes," she says.
"She's pretty." I internally cringe. I sound jealous but I want the truth—the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It's the only way we can even attempt to move forward. "Have you two ever been involved?"
"No." Blair shakes her head. "Sure, Sam is pretty. She's also straight and like a sister to me. We’re close. That's why she still works for me part-time."
I nod and study Blair’s face in the candlelight. The sharp line of her jaw, the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles. "I want to know everything about you," I say finally. "And no lies this time."
I glance at my watch and, for the first time since she revealed herself, I smile. The effect on her is immediate—her entire face transforms, that devastating smile spreading across her features.
"You have another hour,” I say. “We'll reassess after that."
The chef appears with our first course—seared scallops that smell like heaven—and I'm actually hungry.
When was the last time I ate? This morning?
Yesterday? I squeezed this event in last-minute so I barely had time to sleep.
It's something I rarely do as planning takes time and resources, but it just seemed like easy money. Too easy, I realize now.
"So," I say, cutting into a perfectly cooked scallop. "Blair Davis. Shoot. And don't give me statistics, I already Googled the fuck out of you."
She chuckles. "Of course you did. What do you want to know?"
"Let's start with the basics. Your family story—was any of that true?"
"Yeah, it was. My father really passed away when I was twelve. Heart attack. And my mother remarried a few years later. John’s a good man. I don't really see him as a stepfather—more like a friend—but he is absolutely a father to Danny. They have this great relationship."
"And how is Danny doing now?"
"Much better, thank God. I'm going back to see him next week. I promised to take him on a trip when he was better."
"That's nice. Where are you taking him?"
Blair grins sheepishly. "The Mustard Museum in Wisconsin."
I blink at her, certain I misheard.
"Yeah, that was kind of my reaction too.
" She laughs. "But my little brother likes mustard, so if that's what he wants, that's what he'll get.
There's not even a decent hotel nearby, so I booked us a motel and we'll drive all the way there because Danny loves road trips as much as he likes baseball and mustard. "
The image warms me—this incredibly wealthy woman driving her disabled brother to Wisconsin to look at mustard jars.
"That's very sweet of you," I say.
She shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. "I should have spent more time with him over the years. I intend to do so in the future."
I take another sip of champagne, fighting a smile. "So… are you excited for the mustard museum? It's been at the top of my bucket list for quite some time."
"Well, why don't you come along?"
I laugh, refraining from answering, and she continues.
"The invitation's there, just sayin'.”
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” I need to stay focused. This evening is charming—too charming—and I can feel myself softening. But I'm not ready to let her off the hook. "What does your mother do?" I ask, switching gears. "Does she work?"
“Yes, Mom still works,” Blair says. “She runs an antiques business that's grown substantially over the years. She turned her passion for upcycling and knowledge of antiques into a successful enterprise and has a chain of boutique shops across three states. Her online sales are soaring too."
"So entrepreneurship runs in the family?"
"Yeah, Dad had his own construction business. Started with a single pickup truck and built it into something pretty big before he died. So Mom and Danny are very comfortable financially. If they weren’t, I’d take care of them, of course."
"And what about relationships?" I ask.
"I’ve been in one committed relationship," she admits.
"We were together for about two years. She left me because I worked too much, which, to be fair, I did.
After that, it was just a string of casual flings and short-term relationships.
Most women turned out to be after my money—I've become pretty good at spotting the signs of a gold digger.
" She pauses. "But even though I have a nice penthouse, I don't really live lavishly.
I was never a party animal, more like a programming nerd, so I'm not one of those people who'll spend a fortune on champagne in clubs or go crazy in Vegas. "
"No, you don't seem like that type," I say. "So what do you like to do in all your free time?"
Blair hesitates, then blows out her cheeks and shakes her head. "Honestly, I know this sounds terribly dull, but I don't really have any hobbies. I like to walk through the city and I go running every morning in Central Park where I talk to this homeless woman named Valerie—"
"What?"
"Yeah… I’m not even sure that's her real name though. She's this character who wheels around a shopping cart full of stuff. We have random conversations and I carry cigarettes around for her, though I don't smoke."
"Oh?" I frown and try to picture Blair hanging out with a homeless woman. Somehow it's not even that hard to imagine.
"I'm not exactly selling myself here," she says with a self-deprecating laugh.
"I genuinely don't do much else apart from coffee meetings with my accountant, and sometimes I meet up for lunch or dinner with friends who probably wouldn't give me the time of day if I wasn't wealthy.
" She pauses, considering. "I used to love hiking, but I haven't done that in years.
I have my pilot's license, but I sold my jet because it seemed like a waste of money to keep it after I stopped working.
I still charter and fly myself from time to time.
But mostly, I just spend my days trying to figure out what I want to do next. "
I regard her across the candlelit table. "And you still have absolutely no idea?"
"Well, I did set up a charity," she says, her voice taking on a note of pride.
"The Davis Foundation for Employment Inclusion.
We help people with Down syndrome and other intellectual disabilities find work.
We partner with companies to create job training programs, provide ongoing support, and work to change workplace attitudes. "
She smiles as she talks about it. "We've placed over three thousand people in jobs—everything from office work to restaurant services to retail. Danny was actually one of our first success stories."
"That's very cool," I say. "You should be proud of that."
"I am. But it’s not keeping me busy. I have an amazing team, and there's not much for me to do anymore except write checks.
" She takes a sip of champagne. "But I’m considering looking into real estate.
That's something I'm interested in—maybe buying and renovating derelict historic buildings with Mom. We’ve talked about it. "
The waiter appears to clear our plates and pour more champagne. I realize I'm actually enjoying this conversation, this glimpse into who Blair really is. She's not the careless rich lothario I expected her to be. She seems thoughtful, a little lost, clearly devoted to her family.
"So you're basically a very wealthy woman with a lack of direction," I summarize.
"That's about the size of it, yeah." She sighs. "Pathetic, isn't it?"
"Not pathetic," I say. "You have the world at your feet. You can do anything you want; just take your pick."
Her expression grows serious, and when she meets my eyes, there’s vulnerability in them. "If I can pick anything," she says, "I'd want to spend more time with you, if you'll let me."
My stomach does that annoying flutter thing again, and I roll my eyes while I try to ignore it.
"Of course you'd say that. You orchestrated this whole crazy thing just to get me here.
" But even as the words leave my mouth, I have a feeling she actually meant it.
I might just give her more than an hour after all.