4. Olivia
Olivia
“Olivia, it’s Lauren,” came the firm, no-nonsense voice. “I need a favor—and I need it tomorrow.”
Olivia straightened. “Of course. What is it?”
“You know we have Nicholas Moretti scheduled for tomorrow. Samantha Rios was in a terrible car accident tonight—she’s okay, but hospitalized.
I need a replacement. I considered shifting the interview to Ryan Mercer; he’s a seasoned veteran.
But my instinct tells me it needs to be a woman—someone who could complement Nicholas’s polish and charisma with warmth and presence. I want you, Olivia.”
Olivia froze, the words catching in her throat. “Lauren, I don’t think I’m—”
“Stop right there,” Lauren cut in, her tone softening but remaining authoritative.
“I’ve watched you behind that camera for years.
I’ve seen the way you handle the talent, the poise you keep when things go sideways, and that magnetism you try so hard to hide.
I’ve told you a dozen times you belong in front of the lens.
This isn't just a backup plan; I’ve been waiting for a reason to push you into the light.
“Nicholas is smooth and charming, but he needs someone with your warmth and presence to balance him out. You're more than qualified. You’ll have Samantha’s notes, her questions, everything you need. Trust me, Olivia, this is your chance.”
Olivia’s nerves screamed in protest, but Lauren’s confidence steadied her. Finally, she whispered, “If you believe I can… I’ll do it.”
“Excellent,” Lauren replied, the relief evident in her tone.
“I will email you all of Samantha's files right now. Review them, and we’ll go over everything in the morning. By one o’clock tomorrow, you’ll be ready.
Wear something sharp, something that flatters.
Show off those sexy legs—you know how ratings love that,” she teased with a laugh.
Olivia managed a nervous chuckle. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When she returned to the living room, Mark looked up, his brow furrowed in a way that usually preceded a critique. “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“I’m going to be on TV tomorrow,” she said, her voice still sounding dazed to her own ears.
Mark blinked, then laughed harshly. “You? No wonder you’re rattled.”
Her eyes narrowed at his sneer, but he continued, voice cold. "Don’t embarrass me out there. I'm sure after tomorrow you'll be back behind the camera—where you actually belong. The last thing I need is my wife parading herself all over town on TV."
Her jaw tightened until it ached. “Thanks for your support,” she said coldly, swallowing her anger.
His smugness only hardened her resolve. If nothing else, she would prove—to him and herself—that she was capable of more than being his accessory.
This was her moment, and she silently vowed to rise to the challenge.
That night, Olivia buried herself in research. She pored over articles on Nicholas Moretti and Stratus Meridian Group, studied Samantha’s notes, and memorized the questions until the words blurred.
When she stumbled across photos of Nicholas, she paused, her breath hitching.
Now she understood what Lauren meant. He wasn’t simply attractive; he was magnetic—chiseled, confident, and commanding.
Even in still images, he radiated a presence that seemed to draw people in, whether or not they wanted to.
By the time she slipped into bed, her iPad glowing on the nightstand, Mark rolled toward her. “You want me to help relax you and relieve your anxiety before your big day?” His breath reeked of scotch.
She forced a smile into the darkness, her mind immediately flickering to the vibrator hidden in the drawer—the only thing that had actually provided her with a release in years. "Not tonight, Mark. I need to focus my thoughts and get some sleep."
He sighed. “Suit yourself,” and turned away.
Morning came too quickly. Olivia woke before her alarm, adrenaline humming in her veins.
She showered, styled her hair, and tried on outfit after outfit before settling on a black skirt that hugged her curves, cut just above the knee with a daring slit, paired with a crisp white blouse.
A pair of black four-inch heels gave her the final edge.
When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t see the timid woman hiding behind the camera. She saw someone new—someone ready to step into the light.
Olivia stared at the gold band on her dresser, then dropped it into her jewelry box. She couldn’t explain why, only that it felt right. Maybe she wanted to appear available—or maybe it was the beginning of the end for her and Mark.
Whatever the reason, she trusted her impulse and left the ring behind.
Downstairs, Mark eyed her with a smirk. “Wow. Maybe I’ll help you relax and unwind tonight after you’re done playing TV star.”
She picked up her bag; her smile tightened. “Don’t wait up. Lauren and I are going out after work to celebrate.”
“Fine,” he muttered. “Maybe I’ll go out with the guys.”
Olivia only smiled wider, her nerves and excitement bubbling beneath the surface. For the first time in years, she felt alive—thrumming with the realization that this day, whatever happened, marked a turning point.
Determined, she promised herself she would take ownership of her story, no matter what awaited her in the studio or at home. She had already taken one brave step into her own story.
On the morning of the event, Olivia stood in the station’s control room, her eyes glued to the monitors showing the live feed from the construction site.
Under the brilliant Florida sun, she watched the crowd gather—reporters tangled in wires and city officials looking calculated in their tailored suits. The Mayor of Tampa took the stage, looking eager to claim credit for every revitalized neighborhood and job created.
At eleven o’clock, a sleek black SUV slid into the frame. Olivia’s breath hitched as the back passenger door was opened and Nicholas Moretti stepped out of the car.
Even through the small monitor, his authority was undeniable. He looked tall and commanding in a navy suit, his movements purposeful. Beside him was a classy woman, looking every bit as polished. Probably an executive in the firm.
Olivia watched the way the cameras swarmed them, tracking Nicholas as he shook the Mayor's hand with a grin that looked natural and powerful. Seeing him in action only made the weight in her stomach heavier; in just a few hours, she would be the one sitting across from him.
Inside the WFTS-TV studio, the lights were brighter than Olivia had imagined. Heat radiated from the bulbs, casting a golden glow over her skin. The soft hum of cameras, the clicking of buttons, and the shuffle of the crew created a nervous energy she could almost taste.
Though she’d heard those sounds and seen those lights from behind the camera countless times before, this was her first moment in front of the cameras. Everything felt different.
Lauren hovered nearby, brisk and confident, offering guidance with a reassuring undertone. “Breathe,” she instructed. “Remember—you’re not interrogating him. You’re having a conversation.”
Olivia nodded, palms damp, stomach twisting, yet beneath the nerves thrummed a strange, electric anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.
At exactly twelve forty-five, Nicholas entered the studio accompanied by the same woman Olivia had seen on the screen. The air seemed to be still. Even hardened crew members paused, their attention drawn as if a magnet had been dropped in the center of the room.
He seemed taller than Olivia remembered from videos, six-foot-one with broad shoulders and a presence that filled the space effortlessly. Black waves of hair, slightly tousled, lent him a casual edge, but it was his beautiful hazel steady eyes—piercing yet warm—that made Olivia’s heart skip.
“Mr. Moretti,” Lauren greeted, extending her hand. “Thank you for being here.”
“Call me Nicholas,” he replied, smiling, his voice smooth.
When his gaze shifted to Olivia, her world narrowed to a single, breathless point. For a fleeting moment, she felt utterly exposed, as though he could see past her crisp white blouse and composed professionalism.
His eyes swept over her with quiet appreciation, lingering on the slit of her skirt and the height of her heels.
She tried to smooth her skirt and adjust her hair, but she felt clumsy under his scrutiny, certain he could see the tightness in her shoulders and the faint tremor in her hands.
She searched his face for a sign of judgment, but found only a sharp, interested focus.
“And you must be Olivia Daniels,” he said, warmth threading his voice as he extended his hand. His grip was firm, lingering just long enough to unsettle her, to quicken her pulse. “It’s a pleasure.”
Olivia managed a polite smile. “Thank you for coming, Nicholas.”
They were guided onto the sleek interview set, two chairs angled beneath the glow of studio lights. Olivia’s movements were careful, just slightly hesitant, a nervous rhythm Nicholas seemed to sense immediately.
She adjusted her skirt, crossed her legs with deliberate poise, and despite her unease, radiated natural elegance.
His gaze dipped to her thigh for a fraction of a second before returning to her eyes.
Heat crept into her cheeks, but she inhaled slowly, grounding herself, reminding herself to project the calm she didn’t fully feel.
The countdown began. Five. Four. Three.
The red light blinked on. Olivia’s voice carried across the studio—steady, professional, yet layered with warmth and quiet depth.
“Good afternoon, Tampa. Today, we’re joined by Nicholas Moretti, Sr. Vice President of Stratus Meridian Group's residential luxury division.
He's here to discuss their exciting new project, Stratus Tampa.” The confidence in her tone surprised even her, rising to meet the moment.