15. Olivia
Olivia
I slammed the door behind me, shaking the cold off my coat as I stepped into the warmth of my condo. Mystic was curled up on Fiona’s lap, purring like a well-fed queen, utterly unbothered by the fact that I’d spent all that time worrying about her.
Relief hit me so hard that I actually felt lightheaded. “Oh, thank God. I was convinced she’d somehow slipped out and was halfway to Milwaukee looking for me.”
Fiona barely looked up from the couch, where she was nestled under one of my expensive throw blankets. “Oh, Mystic’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” She arched a perfectly judgmental brow. “How was your night at your boyfriend’s place?”
I threw my purse on the counter, running a hand through my hair to shake the snowflakes out. “First of all, Brett is NOT my boyfriend. You are not going to believe what happened to me.”
“Too late,” she said, petting Mystic like a Bond villain. “You spent the night at Brett’s and left poor Mystic alone. Not cool.”
I sighed. “It wasn’t like that. I got snowed in, Fiona. The whole city shut down. Or did you not even notice? Do you think I would actually do that to my little black darling?” I was seriously questioning this now.
“Well, I guess… of course not.” She smoothed her lips into a straight line.
“I got snowed in with Brett, and it was somewhat awful.”
Fiona squinted. “Are you talking about the hotel or Brett?”
“Both. Neither. Ugh.” I rubbed my temples. “Look, it started out fine. We talked, had wine, explored the hotel—it was actually… nice.” I hated admitting that, especially out loud. “But then it all went to hell.”
Fiona sat up. “How bad?”
“The kind of bad where voices were raised, things were said, and now I want to set fire to his stupidly perfect hair.”
She hummed, unimpressed. “That’s basically the emotional equivalent of a Tuesday for you two.”
I glared. “He had a girlfriend when we were together and neglected to mention that fact to me.”
Fiona blinked. “Wait. What?”
I exhaled, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “He cheated on his girlfriend with me. I had no idea, and I feel like a home-wrecker now.”
Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “I confronted him. He admitted it. He was cocky as hell back then and apparently thought fidelity was optional. Come to think of it, he’s still cocky as hell.”
Fiona winced. “That’s… wow. I’m not even sure what to say to that.”
“No kidding.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The worst part? I wasn’t even shocked. I mean, deep down, I think I always knew he was too good to be true. Back then, of course. Now, I just expect it.”
Mystic stretched, then promptly turned over in Fiona’s lap, oblivious to my personal crisis. Fiona’s expression softened. “Liv, I know you’re mad?—”
“Livid,” I corrected.
“—but that was a long time ago. He was young and reckless?—”
“So was I, but I didn’t cheat.” I overemphasized the word ‘I’ so she would know how much it hurt me.
She nodded. “You’re right. I’m not excusing it, but people do change, especially from that age until now. I’m just saying it is possible.”
I eyed her, then scoffed. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and decide I love modern farmhouses.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“I prefer ‘discerning.’” I crossed my arms. “The point is, I’m done. Brett is a mistake I refuse to make twice.”
Fiona tilted her head. “You sure about that?”
I hesitated and sighed. “You know I will try my hardest to steer clear of him.”
She sighed. “We’ll see about that.”
“What?” I threw up my hands. “You weren’t there! He looked me in the eye, Fiona. He told me he regretted everything and that he never stopped thinking about me. And for half a second, I wanted to believe him.”
Fiona observed me. “But?”
“But then I remembered exactly how it felt when he left. The humiliation and heartbreak. I cannot go through that again.”
She nodded slowly. “Good.”
I frowned. “You sound relieved.”
“That’s because I am.” She looked at me strangely. “For a second there, I thought you might actually fall for his charm again.”
I shuddered. “I’d rather take up knitting.”
Fiona grinned. “Desperate times.”
I groaned, sinking deeper into the chair. “This whole thing just pisses me off. He had the nerve to act hurt when I told him I wasn’t interested. Like I was the one who betrayed him.”
“Classic.” Fiona shook her head. “And classic Olivia for getting sucked into his gravitational pull in the first place.”
I scowled. “Very funny. Momentary relapse. Forgive me, please. Not anymore.”
Fiona studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Good. Because the last thing you need is another heartbreak; the last thing I need is for you to have another heartbreak.”
We both laughed, but silence stretched between us. Mystic let out a long, satisfied sigh, completely content in a world without betrayal and heartbreak.
I ran a hand down my face. “God, I need a drink.”
Fiona grinned. “Already ahead of you.” She reached under the coffee table and pulled out a bottle of wine.
I stared. “You brought wine?”
“I had a feeling.”
I exhaled, finally—finally—smiling. “You know me too well.”
She smirked. “You’re not that complicated.”
I grabbed two glasses from the kitchen and plopped down next to her again, stealing Mystic from her lap. My kitten let out an annoyed chirp before settling against my chest.
Fiona poured, then raised her glass. “To avoiding bad decisions.”
I clinked mine against hers. “And to never making the same mistake twice.”
Fiona gave me a knowing look. “That remains to be seen.”
“Hey!” I groaned as I took a sip of wine. I felt okay for the first time since storming out of that hotel. Maybe even a little victorious.
Brett Collins could keep his regrets. I had better things to do.
The next evening, the restaurant was warm and dimly lit, and it smelled of seared steak and expensive wine. Outside, snow piled against the windows, a reminder of the storm that had changed everything.
I swirled my mojito, glancing at Sindy across the table. “So that’s the story. Brett and I were snowed in together. It was… a lot.”
Sindy’s eyes gleamed. “A lot? Olivia, it sounds like something out of one of my books. Forced proximity? Old flames? Lingering tension? Tell me it was steamy.”
I groaned. “It was… complicated.”
“Uh-huh, I think everything with you is complicated.” She leaned in with a smirk. “Let me guess. The fire was crackling; he looked at you in that devastating way and?—”
“I walked into his arms like an idiot.”
She slapped the table, delighted. “See? How romantic is that?”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t real. It was cabin fever and nostalgia.”
Sindy arched a brow. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the restaurant door swung open. My stomach turned to ice.
Brett walked in, and he wasn’t alone.
The woman from the gallery hung on his arm, laughing at something he said, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his sleeve. Her dark red dress clung to her like she’d been poured into it. And Brett? He looked relaxed and amused, like a man on a date.
My pulse slammed against my ribs. “That’s Brett.”
Sindy followed my gaze. “Oh. Yeah. Wow. Stop looking, Olivia.”
“Do they look?—?”
“Like they know each other very, very well?” She sipped her sangria. “Yup.”
I watched as Rochelle leaned in, whispered something, and laughed like he was the most fascinating man in all of Chicago. My stomach twisted. What the hell was I feeling? Annoyance? Jealousy? Rage?
I grabbed my clutch. “I need a minute.”
Sindy didn’t stop me. She just muttered, “Brace yourself, babe.”
In the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face and took a deep breath. This wasn’t a big deal. Brett could date whoever he wanted. I didn’t care.
But he was waiting for me when I stepped back into the hallway.
His hands were in his pockets, his gray-blue eyes unreadable. “Olivia.”
I sighed. “What do you want, Brett?”
He hesitated. “You and Fiona should come join us.”
I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Join you on your date? No, thanks. I think I would rather peel dried glue off the insides of my eyelids.”
His jaw tensed. “It’s not a date, and you know it.”
I crossed my arms. “I do? Just like you told your ‘girlfriend’ in college that nothing was happening between us?”
He exhaled, and his eyes grew darker than I had ever seen them. “That was very different.”
“Oh, was it?” I scoffed. “Because from where I’m standing, history is repeating itself, and I’m not sticking around to watch the ending.”
His eyes darkened. “I wasn’t serious with her.”
“And that makes it better? You’re still the same guy, Brett. Playing games and keeping your options open.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If you think I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about anyone but you, you’re out of your mind.”
Heat licked up my spine. I wanted to punch him right in the stomach. I hated him. I wanted him. I wanted to cry. Instead, I shook my head. “You’re a jerk, Brett Collins. I can’t believe I was actually entertaining the idea of giving you a second chance,” I hissed bitterly.
His lips curved, slow, and dangerous. “And yet, your eyes are telling me something completely different.”
I leaned in just enough to make his smirk falter. “You’re so full of yourself. I’m done letting my heart get blindsided by you, Brett.” Then I turned on my heel and left him standing there, knowing damned well he’d be watching me walk away. I could almost see the smirk on his face.
Snowflakes clung to my hair as Sindy and I walked to her car, the sharp Chicago wind slicing through my coat. My heels clicked against the pavement, an echo of my intense frustration. I told Sindy all about my confrontation with Brett outside the restrooms.
“You need to keep your distance,” Sindy said, her tone all-knowing.
I scoffed. “Distance? He’s practically a permanent fixture in my life until this project ends.” I moaned as the realization struck me.
“Brett is a serious problem for you. A hot, infuriating problem, but still a problem.” Sindy tugged her scarf tighter. “You can’t afford a distraction right now. You’re so close to getting what you want at Maven Mystic curled beside me when my phone buzzed. Sighing, I reached for it—only to groan when Brett’s name lit up the screen.
Brett: Olivia, pick up. We need to talk.
I exhaled sharply, turned off my phone, and placed it roughly on my bedside table. About twenty seconds later, I picked it back up again and turned it on. Mystic, curled up at the foot of my bed, flicked her tail, unimpressed with my drama.
I pressed in my code and immediately went to his text. I just had to reply.
Me: Not in the mood. Try again, never.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, and then came back. Typical. The man was persistent, which was equal parts irritating and—no, just irritating.
Brett: Nothing is going on with Rochelle. You know that.
Me: Do I? Because she seems awfully comfortable touching you.
A call came through. I rolled my eyes and declined. A second later—another buzz.
Brett: Seriously? You’re ignoring me?
Me: Wow, you are a brilliant billionaire. Figured that out all by yourself?
Brett: Cute. Real mature, Shaw. Just answer my call. Texting is ridiculous.
Me: You’re what’s ridiculous.
Brett: Stop acting like a child, Olivia.
Me: Swearing emoji times ten.
Brett: Thank you for demonstrating my last comment.
I threw myself back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling. The logical part of me knew he was probably telling the truth. But logic wasn’t the issue—pride was. And perhaps a little bit of self-preservation.
Me: Too tired to deal with your BS. Goodnight.
Brett: Don’t be like that. Can’t we have a civilized conversation?
Me: Why don’t you ask yourself that?
A third call. I groaned. Mystic stretched like this was all beneath her and hopped off the bed. Smart girl.
I turned my phone off, tossing it onto the nightstand before I caved because that was the problem with Brett. He knew exactly how to wear me down and make me want to believe him. He’d always been that way—charming, infuriating, and devastatingly good at making me forget why I should hate him.
The room felt too quiet without the weight of my phone buzzing. I hated that I wanted him to try harder, to show up at my door and fight for me the way I secretly wished he would.
But Brett never fought for anything that wasn’t a guaranteed win.
Tears pricked my eyes before I could shove them back down. I curled onto my side, staring at the city lights beyond my window, the icy Chicago streets below mocking me. I hated how much I cared—hated that a single text from Brett could unravel me.
I stared at my phone, wishing I had turned off the read receipts instead of shutting it off.
Mystic hopped back onto the bed, pressing into my side as if sensing my mood.
“Men suck,” I whispered.
She let out a tiny, judgmental mrrp.
Yeah, I thought bitterly, my cat got it. Why the hell couldn’t I?