Chapter 20 Sam
SAM
At dinner with Daniel and Yasmine Thibault, Olivia makes good on her threat to order for me.
When the server appears, she doesn’t hesitate. “He’ll have the steak frites.” Her smile is bright, and confident. “Medium rare.”
Daniel chuckles approvingly. Yasmine’s expression barely moves, though her eyes flick down to where Olivia’s hand rests on mine.
It’s a small thing, but the possessiveness in that look doesn’t go unnoticed.
Olivia catches it too—her smile turning a touch smug, the kind of quiet satisfaction that says she’s perfectly fine staking her claim.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy watching it.
Dinner moves along smoothly enough. Daniel’s talking business, Yasmine’s doing her best impression of polite disinterest, and Olivia’s the picture of calm confidence beside me—until Daniel suggests I see the restaurant’s wine cellar.
“I’ll just be a few minutes.” I glance at Olivia, who gives me a small nod. I can tell she’s not thrilled about being left alone with Yasmine. Neither am I, but Daniel’s insistent, and I can’t exactly refuse without it looking strange.
Yasmine’s quick to help her father make the separation, flashing that too-sweet smile that never quite lights her features.
The conversation downstairs is harmless. Daniel wants to talk expansion potential, investor structure—standard stuff. We’re done in under fifteen minutes, which makes it even clearer that Yasmine engineered the whole setup.
When I get back to the table, Olivia’s quiet. Yasmine, however, is all smiles—too much so. “Sam.” She holds up my phone. “I think this is yours.”
I freeze mid-step. My phone sits in her hand, screen dark, and for half a second I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then she keeps talking.
“I’ve no idea how it ended up in my luggage,” she continues breezily, “but I found it when I unpacked from our Vancouver trip.”
Her tone is casual, but the implication isn’t. My jaw tightens. Olivia stiffens beside me and reaches for her purse. Act fast and set things straight.
I take the phone, keeping my voice level but firm. “That’s strange.” I meet Yasmine’s smug stare. “I had it at the airport. And since I was never in your room, I’m not sure how it could’ve ended up in your things.”
Mildly confused, Daniel studies each of us as if trying to solve a puzzle. Surely he must see his daughter, know what she is capable of.
Olivia looks ready to bolt, and Yasmine… She simply laughs—a high, false grating noise.
“I’ve no clue.” She shrugs it off with practiced ease. “Anyway, I’m glad I could return it.” Yasmine pushes back her chair and stands. “Please excuse me.”
She’s gone before anyone can respond, her perfume lingering like thick smoke in the air.
Silence fills her absence, heavy and awkward.
Olivia studies me, expressionless, and I can’t tell if she’s angry, hurt, or couldn’t give a shit, though I highly doubt the latter is the case.
Daniel stands awkwardly at the edge of the table, and when the server comes with our bill, he mumbles something about paying at the bar.
Purse in hand, countenance unreadable, Olivia slides her chair out from the name.
“Olivia—” I start, but she shakes her head, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
“Don’t. Not here.” And just like that, she walks out, the click of her heels echoing long after she’s gone.
I grip my phone tight enough that my knuckles ache. Yasmine wanted a scene. She got one. But this time, I’m not letting her win.
Outside, the air’s cool and damp, the kind of night that smells like rain. Olivia’s already walking toward the car, her shoulders tight, her heels striking the pavement faster than her breathing.
“Olivia, wait.”
She doesn’t stop until I catch up and take her hand, my thumb brushing her knuckles. Her skin’s warm but her eyes, when they meet mine, are guarded.
“I never went to her room and she never came to mine. She pulled the same stunt she did in Toronto—just showed up. I fired Patti for that crap. There’s no other way Yasmine would’ve known where I was unless Patti told her.
Come to think of it, Patti couldn’t stop apologizing. Never denied it, either.”
She swallows hard, clearing her throat. “Okay, Sam. Really. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
“What?” I rear back, dumbfounded. “Why would you say that?”
Her lips twitch into a half-smile though void of any kind of humor. “Because we’re casual, remember? No labels. If you had gone to Vancouver with Yasmine, that’d be fine. None of my business.” She hesitates, glancing away. “And if you’d shared a room…”
She can’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to. The lie is written all over her face.
“Olivia.” I inch closer. “We might be casual.” We’re not, but if that’s what she needs to believe right now, fine. “But you still have a right to know. I’d never—”
Before I can finish, Daniel and Yasmine step out of the restaurant, chatting about something inconsequential. I shut my mouth. This isn’t the time or place.
Yasmine gives us a pointed little smile as she passes. Both Olivia and I thank Daniel for dinner, even as tonight has only given me indigestion, and before he parts, Daniel asks me to call on Monday.
That night, back at my place, words aren’t enough.
We don’t talk about Yasmine, or the dinner, or the bullshit accusation that hung between us. We just move, fast, rough, desperate. Every touch is a question, every kiss an answer neither of us wants to say out loud.
It’s not soft this time. It’s a claiming.
I take her against the fridge, her breath breaking against my neck. Over the sofa, from behind, until her nails scrape down my arms. Then again, on the bathroom counter as we’re getting ready for bed, steam fogging the mirror while her voice echoes my name like a confession.
If Olivia thinks we’re casual, I’ll let her believe it. But my body doesn’t lie, and neither does hers. I want her, completely, recklessly, until she forgets what it felt like not to be mine.
When she comes apart beneath me, crying out my name, the sound tears something open inside me. Knowing I’m the one who does this to her—the one who makes her lose control—wrecks me in the best way. It feeds something primal, something I didn’t know had been starving.
We barely sleep.
Morning creeps in soft and golden, filtering through the curtains and spilling across the bed.
The city outside is waking, horns distant, the purr of traffic faint.
Inside, it’s quiet. Just us, tangled in sheets, skin warm against skin, the air heavy with the afterglow of too much wanting and not enough sleep.
“I’m sorry about last night.” My fingers trace lazy circles on the smooth skin of her back. “I should’ve canceled dinner.”
She groans, muffled against the pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”
“Okay.” My knuckles brush along her shoulder. “But I do need to thank you…for coming, and for putting up with Yasmine’s bullshit.”
That earns me a half sigh, half laugh. I shift closer, wanting her to see me, to hear what I can’t quite say outright. “I know it probably didn’t look that way, but I don’t like her either.”
That gets her attention. She rolls onto her side, eyes finding mine, wary but curious.
“She’s…a necessary evil.” A dry chuckle scrapes its way up my throat.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
I nod. “Just until this thing with Daniel either becomes a deal or dies. And don’t think I don’t see what’s going on.”
Her brow arches, amusement tugging at her lips. “And what exactly is going on?”
“Yasmine’s making a play. Or trying to. It’s not even about me, honestly—it’s about power. Control. Whatever the hell makes her feel like she’s winning.”
Olivia gives a low, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, don’t kid yourself, this is all about you.”
I grin at that, despite everything. “Maybe a little. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not playing.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment, and then she relaxes, the tension easing from her shoulders. I lean in and press my lips to hers, soft and deliberate. “Just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.”
Her breath brushes against my cheek when she whispers, “You’re welcome.”
We stay like that for a while, not talking, not needing to. The quiet between us feels easy again, like the weight of last night has finally lifted.
Later, we eat breakfast on the terrace—coffee, eggs, toast. Ordinary. Easy. The kind of morning that sneaks up and makes you wish for more of them. She sits with her hair loose around her shoulders, the sunlight catching strands of gold. It feels…normal. Like we’ve been doing this for years.
Afterward, I hit the shower while she lingers outside, finishing her coffee. The sound of her laughter drifts in through the open doors, soft and low, and it hits me—how good this feels. How dangerous that is.
When I’m done, we trade places. She disappears into the steam while I check in with Manon and Anton about last night’s service at both restaurants. A few quick updates, a couple of texts, and it’s done.
I glance toward the terrace again, where two empty mugs sit side by side. It’s still early, the day full of promise, and for once, work doesn’t feel urgent.
What I really want is to spend the rest of the day with Bas and Alec with her beside me. To hold on to this quiet before the world demands its pound of flesh again.
Her phone buzzes on the terrace table, and I start toward it, intending to bring it inside, but the screen lights up before I can stop myself.
Pete: Dinner next Friday when I’m back from Florida? You and me, 7? We could go to one of our favorites? Padano?
The words hit harder than I expect. You and me. One of our favorites.
My stomach knots. I stare at the message, thumb hovering. It’d be so easy to swipe, to see the rest. But I don’t. I won’t. I shove the phone into my back pocket before the jealousy turns into something uglier.
“Ready?” When she comes out, purse in hand, smiling like nothing is wrong, I have to gather my wits before I’m able to utter a single word. I speak.
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “Let me grab my keys.”
I turn to the counter, then double back, pulling her phone from my pocket before I do something stupid. “You left this outside.”
“Thanks.” Grabbing it, Olivia glances down at the screen and swipes.
Her expression remains neutral and I don’t want to see anymore. I already know and turn away, pretending to check the lock on the front door. My chest feels tight, heavier than it should.
Pete. Her ex. The father of her kids. He’ll always have a place in her life. I get that. But the words you and me shouldn’t sting the way they do. Dinner isn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be.
But one of our favorites?
That’s personal.
That’s history.
And for the first time, I’m not sure I know where I stand in hers.