Chapter 9
SAM
“Good seeing you again, Daniel.” I extend a hand as we step into the night air. The street outside the bar hums with passing traffic and laughter spilling from nearby streets. “Safe flight.”
“Merci, Sam.” Daniel Thibault’s voice is smooth, unhurried, though he checks his watch mid-smile. “Paris won’t wait for me, unfortunately. We’ll talk once I’m back, yes? I think this partnership could be something special.”
I nod, meaning it. “I’ll send over the numbers.”
He claps my shoulder, the polished confidence of a man used to closing deals wherever he lands.
“Bon. I like your vision. And Yasmine—” He glances toward his daughter, standing just behind me. “You’ll see yourself home?”
But before she can answer, her posture sways, the color draining from her face. “Yasmine?” I move toward her, and she wobbles once, twice then her knees fold.
I catch her just in time. She’s light, almost boneless in my arms. For a heartbeat, I think she’s out cold, but then her lashes flutter open, slow and deliberate.
“Yasmine?” I tap her cheek gently. “Hey. You all right?”
Blinking up at me, she is dazed but conscious. “I’m…I’m fine.”
She looks anything but and her father curses softly in French, glancing toward the street where his driver waits with the trunk open.
“Mon Dieu. I have to go. If I miss this flight…” He looks torn, then fixes his daughter with a father’s mix of worry and exasperation. “Can you manage, chérie?” He looks up at me. “She’s been working too much. Yasmine, chérie, you need rest. I’ll call when I land.”
She shakes her head weakly, clutching at my sleeve. “Papa, I’ll be fine. Please…go. You’re going to miss your flight. Just let Sam take me home. You can drop me off, oui?”
I hesitate. “I can call someone for you.” Nah, that’s a shitty thing to suggest and I rush to fix my callous behavior. “Or maybe we should get you checked out? You fainted, Yasmine.”
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and glistening under the streetlight. “Please don’t fuss. It was just the wine. And…maybe I wanted a reason to keep talking.” The corner of her mouth tilts faintly, and I can’t tell if she’s teasing or not.
Daniel squeezes my arm. “Merci, Sam. I appreciate you seeing her safely home.”
“Of course.” My uncertainty as to whether I’ve just volunteered for a favor or walked into something else is clear in my voice
He strides toward his waiting car, already on his phone, and soon the taillights vanish into traffic.
Yasmine straightens, smoothing her dress, a faint smile playing at her lips. “See? Crisis over.”
I study her. She is still too pale, or was she maybe just pretending to be? Someone can’t do that. She’s either pale or not. Yet, something about it doesn’t sit right. Maybe she fainted. Maybe she decided to faint. Either way, it worked.
“Let’s get you home.” Resigned, I step back from her. “Wait here a sec. I need to let Olivia know I’m leaving.”
Her lips press into a thin line and she nods, brushing invisible dust from her clothes.
When I step back into the bar, the warmth and noise crash over me—music, laughter, the clink of glassware. I scan the crowd for Olivia, searching for the soft blue of her dress, for something real after whatever that just was outside.
Nothing.
Yasmine’s perfume still clings to my shirt collar. Sweet, expensive, suffocating. I roll my shoulders as if I can shrug it off, but the smell lingers. That niggle within me grows into a sizzle at the back of my neck.
I should’ve handled it differently. Should’ve insisted she go with her father, and maybe the driver could have taken her home after. But when you’re dealing with potential investors—and the daughter of one—it’s not that simple.
My refusal to help could cost me the deal. Daniel has been circling my restaurant group for months, talking about expansion, about new spaces, about the future. The problem is, his daughter thinks the deal includes me.
Not a chance. The only person I want anywhere near me is Olivia.
I spot Anton at the bar, laughing with a sous-chef from another restaurant. When Daniel and I had first started talking this evening, I’d called Anton, wanting him to be part of the Thibault conversation. My restaurant was only two blocks away, and I knew Anton could get here within minutes.
But even after I’d made the call, Daniel dismissed the idea of my sous-chef joining the conversation.
Perhaps that should have been a deal-breaker.
But it was still early and while I didn’t like Daniel’s reaction, it was not something to stop negotiations over at this point.
If we pursue this business partnership, it’s something I won’t tolerate.
Anton spots me and dips his chin. “Hey, how’d it go?”
Once I’d texted him to come, I had to text again saying he should wait around to talk to me after my conversation with Thibault. He easily agreed.
I lean in close, wanting him to hear me over the racket. “I’m sorry about that bullshit with Thibault. If I’d known he wasn’t going to include you, I’d have never texted.”
“Hey, I get it and appreciate you including me. Don’t sweat it.” He dons one of his lopsided everything-is-all-right grins.
Satisfied he means what he says, I nod, the edge in me easing just enough to breathe again. The bar’s noise rises around us and I scan the room again, but still no Olivia.
I frown, shifting my weight, the unease creeping back in. “You haven’t seen her, have you?”
He raises a brow, then jerks his chin toward the back. “She was there a few minutes ago.”
I push through the crush of people, and when I finally catch sight of her, she’s not alone.
A guy—too young, too polished—is leaning in, smiling that self-assured, I-get-what-I-want kind of smile. His hand rests on the back of her chair, thumb brushing the bare skin between her shoulder blades.
Something primal snaps in me.
I stop just short of them, drawing a steadying breath. No scene. No drama. Just get her attention.
“Olivia.”
She looks up, startled, and there’s something in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. Whatever it is, I deserve it.
The guy straightens, half-annoyed, half-intimidated. “Can I help you?”
I don’t even glance his way. “Daniel Thibault’s a potential investor. I had to talk with him… And his daughter fainted and um, Daniel had a flight to catch.”
I hate every word out of my mouth.
Her lips twitch. “Of course she did.”
The unease prods at me again, that whisper of doubt I can’t quite silence. Olivia wasn’t even there for the so-called fainting spell, yet it’s as if she can smell the performance too.
Even still, I can’t easily back away now without jeopardizing the continued talks with Daniel. Yasmine isn’t the type to let a snub slide.
Sighing, I rake a hand through my hair. “She has no one to take her home.” I hate this, but what other choice do I have?
She hesitates, weighing something I can’t read. “Then you should go.”
I want to argue, to explain, if only I could stay, but she’s already leaning back, her gaze shuttered. “Dinner was lovely, Sam. Thank you.”
The formality of it stings.
“Come with me.” I gently tug on her slender wrist as she’s shaking her head before I’ve even finished. “We’ll drop her off, and I’ll take you back.”
“I promised to spend the last night with my friends.”
That word—last—lands hard.
I study her, the curve of her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. There’s something about the way she’s sitting, composed but retreating, that makes me move before I can think.
I step closer, blocking out the crowd. “Olivia, we’re not done.”
And then I kiss her.
Reckless? Probably. But I’m done with reason or doing the smart or right thing for the night. Her lips meet mine, soft yet certain, and the world collapses into the space between us—heat, breath, heartbeat.
She tastes like trouble wrapped in promise, like something that could wreck me if I let it. And I already know I will. Because in that single breath between us, I feel it—the quiet, startling sense that I’ve just found the one thing I didn’t know I was looking for.
When I pull away, she’s staring up at me, breath caught, hand pressed to her chest as if to keep her heart from spilling out.
Then I turn and leave, before I say or do something that makes it impossible for me to leave.
Outside, the cold air burns my lungs. Yasmine’s already waiting by the curb, pouting like a child.
“You left me,” she whines as I open the door to the Uber I’d ordered.
“You fainted,” I remind her, more sharply than I intend.
She tilts her chin. “I needed you.”
I close my eyes for a beat and count to three. “You needed a ride home. You have one. Let’s go.”
The drive is short but might as well be endless. She talks the entire time about Paris, about her friends, and about how Papa adores me. I nod where necessary, my thoughts stuck on the bar, the kiss, and the woman I still can’t believe I walked away from.
When we finally reach Yasmine’s apartment building, she leans in, hand grazing my arm. “You’re a good man, Sam. I like that about you.”
“Goodnight, Yasmine.”
Her mouth tightens at the dismissal, but she gets out, slamming the door with more force than needed.
The driver glances at me in the mirror, expression neutral but knowing. I ignore it. When the car finally pulls away, I text Anton.
Me: Where’s Olivia?
Anton: Left w/her friends a few minutes ago. U okay?
Me: Yeah. Just tired.
It’s a lie. I’m not tired. I’m agitated.
Back in my apartment, I pour a scotch and stare out the window at the city. The lights of Old Montreal shimmer against the water, the kind of view that usually calms me. Not tonight.
I can still feel the press of her lips, still hear her voice saying last night.
It shouldn’t matter this much. We’ve had a couple of meals, a few hours between service and sleep. But it feels like more, like something I wasn’t expecting and don’t know how to name.
I finish the drink, place the glass into the sink, and start pacing. My phone stays stubbornly silent.
At midnight, I cave and text her.
Me: You home safe?
No reply. I can’t even tell if she’s at the very least read my text. All I have is delivered. She might have her read texts notification turned off. Brilliant.
I toss the phone onto the couch and drag a hand through my hair. I’ve never been this undone over someone. Not ever.
I want to tell myself it’s infatuation, the high of something new. But that’s not it. I’ve met beautiful women before. Olivia isn’t just beautiful. She’s grounded, sharp, and there’s something in her that feels steady, like the world could fall apart and she’d just breathe through it.
And I—God help me—I want to be near that.
I finally fall asleep, but set an alarm to get up early. The first pink threads of dawn are sliding through the blinds when I silence my phone alarm. The thing pings with a dozen messages before I even get out of bed.
Anton: U OK?
Dominic: We need to talk numbers by 10.
Bas: You coming for dinner tonight? You have to eat something that isn’t espresso. Did you even sleep?
Alec: Your father’s right. Come anytime.
I smile at the group chat with my fathers. Bas’s text means he’s back to his old self again and Alec’s “come anytime” tells me Bas is doing much better today. If only they knew the only thing on my mind all night—and even now—isn’t a deal or a dish. It’s her.
I quickly type out a reply. Nothing could keep me from seeing them today. Well, maybe except for Olivia, if only she’d answer my texts.
A wild thought comes to me. I want my fathers to meet her. If she wasn’t leaving today, I’d invite her to come with me, even if it meant a million questions from my parents. I’d willingly take the inquisition if she was by my side.
I check my phone again. Still no reply.
It’s nine when a text comes in from a number I’ve only exchanged messages with once.
Sin: We’re leaving in an hour.
It’s all the invitation I need to hustle out the door. Olivia may have gone silent on me for whatever her reasons, but like I told her last night, this isn’t the end of us. Because something about her has already threaded itself into my life, and no amount of distance—or silence—can undo that.