Chapter 30 - Olivia
THIRTY
olivia
I wake slowly, surfacing for the second time this morning.
I had stirred earlier, half-caught between sleep and consciousness.
Nathaniel had drawn me back with the soft drag of his mouth along my shoulder, his voice brushing against my skin with low, unguarded endearments he saves for early hours.
His knuckles skimmed my jaw, gentle and intent, as if coaxing me was a pleasure in itself.
He told me to rest a little longer, that he’d take care of breakfast, and something in the way he said it eased me right back under.
Today is Saturday, our last full day in New York before we fly back to Boston, and the thought sits in my chest with a strange blend of calm and anticipation.
Of course, the fact that we managed to skip an entire week of classes in the middle of the semester without consequence still amazes me.
Yes, we were ahead on coursework, but only Nathaniel could make an academic calendar bend to his will, as if Halford answered directly to him.
Tonight, we’ll be having dinner with his parents, and the ease with which that settles over me now feels almost unreal. So much has shifted in such a short time. In the space of one week, I’ve slipped into something that resembles belonging—genuine and unexpected.
It’s impossible not to compare it to the first time we left this city after winter break.
Back then, my head had been a crowded place—our future, my plans, the distance between what I wanted and what I feared.
Now, that fog has cleared. Everything that was once tentative has taken shape. I’ll be coming back with him after graduation. I’ll be joining Baxter in Manhattan. I’ll build a life beside him, and the certainty of that settles inside me with a conviction that feels wholly my own.
Today, I will write to Castor & Wyatt to formally decline their offer.
A part of me wonders if he’s sensed the shift in me too. He has a way of reading the currents beneath my moods, catching the slightest change in how I breathe around him, and yesterday he felt…different. More buoyant. As if he’d caught wind of a decision I hadn’t voiced.
Last night, after he picked me up from Caldwell Tower, we ended up cocooned inside his apartment with tacos we abandoned halfway through and a movie neither of us truly watched.
The moment I leaned into him, his hands settled on me with that hunger he gets when he wants more than he says—fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt, the heat of his palm urging me closer until I was straddling his lap without even thinking about it.
We kissed for so long the room seemed to tilt around us, our breaths catching in the spaces between touches that kept drifting lower.
The couch moved beneath us with each shift of my hips, every drag of his mouth along my throat, and I allowed myself to sink into it.
It felt natural to let myself be lost in him without questioning what came next.
I reach for my phone out of habit, expecting the usual mindless scroll before I make myself get out of bed. I find two new email notifications, both unexpected enough to make me pause.
The first is from Castor & Wyatt.
I frown.
From: recruitment@
To: Olivia Bennett
Subject: Update on Your Offer – Castor & Wyatt London
Dear Ms. Bennett,
I hope this message finds you well.
I am reaching out regarding the communication you recently received from me concerning the International Management Associate Program.
Following an internal review, we identified a system error that incorrectly flagged the vacancy as open, which resulted in the offer being extended to you incorrectly. Please accept my sincere apologies for this oversight and for any disappointment caused by this miscommunication.
To clarify, the position in question is no longer available, and we will not be able to proceed further at this time. This administrative mistake does not reflect on your qualifications or candidacy in any way.
We appreciate your understanding and wish you continued success in your future career pursuits.
Kind regards,
Edith Hughes
Graduate Recruitment Team
Castor & Wyatt London
I read it again, slower this time, trying to decide if I’m misunderstanding something. Unease pricks the back of my mind—not enough to draw conclusions, but sufficient to tug my attention taut.
Then I move to the second email, and the subject line knocks the air from my chest:
From: hr@
To: Olivia Bennett
Subject: Change to Your Employment Offer – Baxter & Company (New York Office)
Dear Ms. Bennett,
Thank you for your continued engagement with Baxter & Company.
We are writing to inform you that in light of recent changes to our firm-wide headcount allocations for the upcoming intake cycle, we are unable to proceed with your previously extended and accepted offer for the Associate Consultant position in our New York office.
We understand the significance of this update and apologize for any disruption it may cause. Please note that this decision results solely from broader staffing constraints and does not reflect on your qualifications, performance in our selection process, or future potential with the firm.
Thank you for your understanding, and we wish you every success in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Human Resources
Baxter & Company
This time, the shock sweeps through me in a single, disorienting wave.
Two rescissions. Within twenty-four hours.
My brain tries to walk a line between rational analysis and the first edges of panic, but there is nothing about this that fits. The statistical probability alone is absurd.
A soft knock at the door breaks the spiral.
“Baby?” Nathaniel’s voice carries that familiar warmth, threaded through with the expectation of an ordinary morning.
Before I can respond, the door eases open and he steps inside, already beaming. The moment he sees me awake, his expression brightens even further.
“Good. You’re up.” He crosses to the bed with that smooth, decisive stride of his and leans down to kiss my temple, brushing my hair back in the way he often does without thinking. “Breakfast is ready.”
I try for a smile, something small and passable. It doesn’t hold.
He notices, but for now the concern he feels manifests only as a slight pause, a flicker of curiosity.
“Come on,” he murmurs, straightening and extending his hand. “Before it gets cold.”
I let him guide me off the bed. My body follows him toward the doorway, but my mind stays lodged in those two emails.
Nathaniel keeps me close as we walk down the hall, his palm steady at the small of my back, his thumb tracing a slow path over my shirt. “I added chocolate chips to yours. Thought you deserved them after this week.”
My attempt at a laugh comes out weak.
He glances at me. “Sleep okay after I left you?”
I nod too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”
His brow furrows, but he doesn’t push. “Good,” he says. “We can have a slow morning before we head to my parents’ tonight. You’ll like the desserts my mother picked out.”
I don’t respond and his hand settles more firmly at my back, a silent catch, like he knows I’m drifting.
The kitchen comes into view, set with intention: pancakes stacked high, berries in a glass bowl, peonies in a vase—the exact shade he knows I love.
On any other morning, I would tease him for overdoing it before leaning in to kiss and thank him. But today, I stand there, unable to step into the scene he’s crafted.
He pulls out my chair and bends to press his lips along my jaw as I sit. “Baby, these turned out so good. You have to enjoy them while they’re hot.”
I pick up my fork, but my hand wavers. My appetite never falters when it comes to pancakes—least of all his—yet I can’t muster anything close to hunger. I set the fork back down.
Nathaniel stills. Every part of him goes sharply attentive, that hyper-focused wiring of his locking onto me with precision.
“Olivia.” My name carries a warning he hasn’t yet given voice to.
I lift my gaze, try again for a reassuring smile, and feel it fall apart halfway. “I’m okay,” I say, though even I can hear the strain in my voice. “Just not fully awake yet.”
He studies me with an intensity that feels like fingertips tracing the inside of my mind.
“No,” he surmises. “Something’s wrong.”
I shake my head and drop my eyes, adjusting the hem of my shirt just to give my hands something to do.
He doesn’t let it go. “Talk to me, baby.”
“I—I’m not… I’m not sure how to say it.” I swallow once, then again, fighting the rise of emotion I’m not ready to show him.
Nathaniel moves closer, sliding an arm along the back of my chair. “Take your time,” he coaxes. “I’m right here.”
I nod, though the motion feels disconnected from the rest of me. My hands shift to grip the edge of the table. “I received some news this morning.”
“Regarding?”
“I’ll get into that. But first, I need to tell you something. A few days ago…” I pause, gathering myself. “I got a call from Castor & Wyatt.”
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.
“They said someone dropped out,” I continue. “I was next on the waitlist, so they offered me the role.”
All I get is a slight lift of his brow, as if he’s prompting me to go on. It’s almost as if he’s already heard this part.
“I…I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what to do yet,” I admit. “I only decided yesterday that I would turn them down.”
This time, emotion flickers across his expression—a spark of satisfaction, unmistakable before he smooths it away.
“But it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“They rescinded it this morning. Said it was an internal error.”
Nathaniel nods. “That happens sometimes. These things aren’t always as organized as they seem.”
“I thought—I thought that was the worst of it.” My stomach twists so sharply it nearly doubles me over. “But I got an email from Baxter too.”
His face is still so calm, so unbothered.