Chapter 21
She’d started the day with her usual three-mile run along the Thames, setting a personal best. There had been no problems
on the tube. Her morning meetings hadn’t run over, so she didn’t just make the Friday lunch date with Meera, she beat her
to the restaurant.
But the message Olivia had just read from Connor threw a wrench into her neatly ordered day.
Ellie with her grandparents tonight. Let me come over. Do to you in person the things we’ve talked about.
“Whoa.” Meera stared at her, wide-eyed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you blush. Whatever that message said, I want
to know.”
Olivia thumped the phone on the table, face down. “It’s nothing.”
Meera’s laugh was almost a cackle. “Oh, no, my friend, you do not get off that lightly.” She narrowed her eyes. “It was from
Connor, wasn’t it? The holiday fling you weren’t going to see again but somehow ended up spending a weekend with and who you
now tell all your secrets to when you used to reserve them for me?”
“I didn’t spend the weekend with him,” Olivia said defensively. “Mia and I met up with him and his daughter.” But now we have phone sex. Lots and lots of phone sex.
“You’re doing it again.” Meera waved at her. “You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?”
Bloody hell. She was far better at hiding her feelings than this. With a resigned sigh, she let Meera see Connor’s message.
“Holy shit, is he as hot as his message?” Meera pretended to fan herself. “Nope, don’t want to see you lie your way out of
that one, not when your expression says it all. You’re going to say yes to him, right? Even you aren’t pigheaded enough to
turn down a night of hot sex.”
Before she could reply, her phone buzzed again.
I can see you read my last message. Come on, Livvy, live a little.
“Was that him again?”
Olivia sighed. “Yes.”
“Impatient.” Meera quirked her lips. “Or really, really keen.”
“Both.”
“Well, go on, put him out of his misery.”
She knew she should reply, but with what?
“That hesitation had better be because you’re not sure whether to say Hell yes, Yes, please, or Can’t wait to see you.” Meera smirked. “Or even better, Can’t wait to f—”
“I’ve got it from here,” Olivia interrupted, feeling another burst of warmth rush to her cheeks.
She messaged back with her address and a time. And told herself it would be like having their usual phone call, only in person.
That afternoon she forgot to upload the presentation she’d prepared for Simon’s direct report meeting, then got caught daydreaming
when Simon asked her a question.
“Is everything okay?” he asked her as the meeting came to an end.
Ignoring the heat creeping up her neck, she forced herself to look him in the eye. “Everything is fine. I apologize for not
being on top of my game this afternoon.”
Over Simon’s shoulder she could see Stuart smirking.
“I trust it’s a one-off.” Simon inclined his head at her and started toward the door. He stopped when he saw Stuart. “Thanks
for the analysis of Vortek Technologies. Very astute.”
“What analysis?” Olivia looked from one to the other. “Vortek is in my portfolio.”
“You weren’t there when Simon asked,” Stuart countered smoothly. “Thought I’d do you a favor. One less thing on your to-do
list.”
He gave her the sort of placating smile men give women they think are being unreasonable. “How thoughtful,” she gritted out.
“But I’m on top of my to-do list, as you’re well aware, having worked with me for so long.” She turned to Simon. “I’d be happy
to take a read through Stuart’s analysis, just in case he missed something.”
Simon shrugged. “Fine.” He nodded to Stuart. “I meant to ask, are we still on for golf on Sunday?”
And just like that, she was dismissed.
Olivia seethed quietly as she gathered her things.
“So, Liv, what was up with you today?” His golf plans with the boss settled, Stuart leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.
“I’d ask if it was that time of the month, but I’d probably get sacked, and besides, you’re not usually so . . . absent.”
“My name is Olivia.”
“Sorry, my mistake, though I thought we were friends as well as rivals.” He peered at her. “Haven’t lost hope that we could
be more than friends, if I’m honest.”
Apparently my type is hot young single dads, not smarmy bootlickers. “We’re colleagues,” she stated firmly. “And that’s all we’ll ever be.”
“Still on that career trip? No time for a relationship?”
“Yes.”
“If it wasn’t man trouble distracting you in that meeting,” Stuart said, “what was it?”
Olivia plastered a sweet smile on her face. “It’s just the two of us now, so you can stop the false concern. And next time
Simon asks for an evaluation of one of my companies, you might find it less embarrassing to ask me to do it rather than having me point out all your inaccuracies.”
With a sharp nod in his direction, she marched off. In her office, she slumped onto her chair. Men. First Connor messing with her carefully placed goalposts, then Simon and Stuart with their gentleman’s-club crap.
As she debated whether a caffeine hit would help or agitate her churning stomach, her phone screen lit up with a notification
from Connor.
Made this today and thought of you.
The photo was of a plate of lobster tails.
Five messages followed in quick succession.
Not that you remind me of a lobster.
But lobster reminds me of our picnic on the beach.
And that reminds me of skinny-dipping with you.
And that reminds me of what we did before the swim.
And now I’m waiting at the school gate with a semi. Damn, got to go. See you later. C x
With a despairing shake of her head, she slipped the phone into her pocket and headed for the coffee machine. A smile tugged
at her lips.
Connor stepped off the tube and headed for the address Olivia had sent him, his mind playing through the last couple of hours.
The guilt when he’d told Ellie she needed to go to her grandparents because he had to work late tonight.
The look on his mother’s face as he’d dropped his daughter off. “You can lie to Ellie to appease your conscience, but not
to us. We’ve lived with your lies, Connor.”
As if he’d been a serial liar and not just a teenager acting up to get some attention from them, even if it was the wrong
sort. The sort that meant he’d bunked off school to go to the cinema or got caught smoking weed behind the portacabins. Or
having sex with Beth in the back of her Fiesta.
“You’re right,” he’d admitted, “I’m not working tonight, I’m going to see a woman. She’s gorgeous, smart. I like her, Mum.”
“I’m sure you do,” she’d retorted. “But you have a daughter, Connor. You can’t just expect us to drop everything when you
want to get laid.”
The crude description had stung, the pain sharp yet fleeting. The guilt, though . . . that lingered. Ellie would rather be
with him tonight than with her grandparents. Fact. Did going to see Olivia make him a selfish bastard? Yes. Could he contemplate
continuing to see only a two-dimensional version of Olivia? No.
So here he was, following Google Maps to . . . fuck, was that really her building? The sleek ten-story block of glass and
steel sitting right on the river? His apprehension increased as he walked through the automatic doors into the lobby. Plush
leather and chrome sofas, fresh flowers in glass vases, a guy in uniform behind a black marble reception desk.
“Er, I’m here to see Olivia Davies.”
The man checked his computer and nodded toward the lifts. “Tenth floor.”
Yeah, he could have guessed that, he thought as he stepped into the lift. Not a lowly ground floor for the woman he was naive
enough—no, ignorant enough to think he could persuade to date him.
His heart thumped wildly as he got off the lift and damn near ricocheted off his ribs as he pressed the doorbell, reasons
why this was the worst idea he’d ever had swarming through his head like a nest of disturbed wasps. He was going to crash
and burn, that was as much of a fact as his barely in the black bank balance.
The door opened, and he gaped at her like a schoolboy staring at his favorite pinup. “Hi.” He swallowed, mouth feeling like
a sandpit as his gaze roved over the loose black loungewear that clung to her curves like a second skin. “I’d forgotten how
gorgeous you are.”
She gave a small shake of her head, her dark hair, loose for once, sliding over her shoulders. “I’m not. Come on in.” Her
gaze dropped to the bag he carried. “What’s in there?”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. I was going to ask what you wanted.”
He followed her through the wide hallway and into a showroom-quality kitchen. White marble tops, sleek gray cupboards, shiny
chrome fittings, and a huge fuck-off stainless-steel range cooker with red knobs.
“Jesus Christ.” He almost wanted to step out again because him just being in the room made it look untidy.
She frowned, following his gaze. “Ah, you like the cooker? I was told Wolf was the best.”
He walked over to it, ran his fingers across the spotlessly clean surface. “How much use does she get?”
“Not much. But he looks good.” She picked up a handful of leaflets, the only things on the marble island. “Here, you get to choose the takeout.”
He stared down at them. “You know there are apps for this?”
“I’m not that old. But sometimes I prefer to choose my food by scanning a leaflet rather than staring at a small screen on
my phone.”
“This is what you live off?” He shook his head and put the leaflets back on the island. “You need to start taking better care
of yourself.”
She jutted out her chin. “I run every morning.”
“Great. But what are you putting into your stomach every evening?” He lifted the bag onto the countertop. “Lucky I came prepared.”
She peeked inside. “Pasta, tomatoes, olives, garlic, fresh herbs,” she said, pulling the contents out one by one. “Chicken
breasts. Something in plastic containers.”
“Crab lasagna from the restaurant. You can put it in the fridge for another day.”