24. Olivia
Olivia
The Tampa sun was setting as Olivia left the office, golden light spreading across the pavement. Dan walked a few steps behind her, quiet and professional, already blending in the way competent people do when they're focused on their work.
The hotel lobby felt cool and smelled fresh. She took the elevator alone, turning the key card Nicholas had given her between her fingers. Gold leaf reflected the light. Penthouse. She tapped the card, and the elevator rose quietly.
The suite was quiet.
"I'm back," she called.
Silence.
She smiled to herself. She'd been tiring him out lately. The thought made her blush. She went to the bedroom, changed out of her office clothes, and pulled on soft shorts and a faded T-shirt. They were staying in. She wanted comfort tonight, no need to look glamorous.
She settled onto the big couch, let the music play, and closed her eyes for the first time all day.
The door opened.
Nicholas stood in the doorway with two pizza boxes in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
He had no briefcase, no jacket, nothing that reminded her of the boardroom.
He just looked like a man coming home. Seeing him like that made something stir in her chest—warm and a little scary at the same time.
She tried not to think about it too much.
"Who is going to eat all that pizza?" she asked.
He laughed, the sound filling the quiet room. "I wanted options. I got two kinds."
He set everything on the dining table and looked at her. "I'm going to change and get comfortable too."
The moment he disappeared into the bedroom, doubt crept in quietly. Should she have stayed in her skirt? Kept something more put-together about herself? She tugged at her sleeve and looked down at the faded T-shirt.
Then he came out in a tank top and shorts, smiling at her like she was exactly what he'd been hoping to come home to.
She let out a quiet breath.
"I do like that look on you," she said.
He smiled. "Should I have dressed for you?"
"I was wondering the same thing about myself, actually."
Nicholas stopped, genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean? I love the way you look. Unless we're going out, we should be as comfortable as possible."
She stood up, walked over, and put her arms around his neck. She kissed him—started it as a thank you and let it become what it wanted to become. He pulled back slightly, his breath warm on her lips.
"Let's eat before we get distracted, and the pizza gets cold."
They both laughed. "Good idea," she said.
The wine was exceptional. The pizza was the best she'd ever had.
"This is amazing," she said, reaching for another slice. "Where did you get it?"
"I asked one of the girls in the satellite office—she's Italian, so I figured she'd know. She told me about a place called Roberto's, just past the Ritz near the water. Owned by a pizza chef straight from Italy."
Olivia shook her head. "I've lived here my whole life and never heard of it."
After dinner, they moved to the couch, wrapped in each other and soft blankets, with a movie playing that neither of them watched.
She was more aware of his hand in hers, his lips on her forehead, their bare feet touching than anything on the screen.
The movie was probably good. She just waited for it to end.
And then she had him.
They found each other in that deep, steady rhythm where the rest of the world faded away. Olivia was right at the edge, her breath catching.
Her phone rang.
The sound cut through the moment like a blade. She tried to hold on, and eventually she reached her climax, followed by his. They lay there, breathing hard, skin damp, the room quiet again.
Then a chime. A text.
The phone rang again. She stayed still and let it go to voicemail. Two minutes of silence. Then it rang again. Another text. Then another.
Nicholas let out a dry huff. "Someone wants to talk to you."
"Yeah." The dread was already pooling low in her stomach. "I should probably check. Maybe it's Lauren."
She rolled out of bed. Grabbed the phone. Three missed calls. Three texts.
Mark.
The warmth left her body in a single breath. She stood at the edge of the bed, holding the phone in her cold hands, and felt the familiar weight of him fill the room like an approaching storm.
"Is everything okay?" Nicholas asked. He was sitting up, watching her—not crowding, just present.
"I don't know yet." Her voice came out thin. "Can you give me a minute?"
He nodded, leaned back, and gave her exactly the space she asked for.
She sat on the edge of the bed and read the texts. Listened to the voicemails. Each word landed like something thrown hard from a short distance.
"Fuck you," she blurted, before she could stop it.
Her hands were shaking. The phone nearly slipped. Every muscle in her body felt strung between shame and fury.
"I'm sorry, Nicholas." She still couldn't look at him. "This is my problem. You don't deserve to have it put on you, especially after tonight. I should probably go."
He didn't let her finish. He reached out, pulled her close, and held her. She broke down, crying in a way that empties you out before you can stop. He said nothing for a moment, just held her.
"Whatever it is, Olivia, we will figure it out," he said quietly. "It's all going to work out."
She looked up at him. She was a mess, and he was looking at her like she was the only woman in the world. She kissed him—a quiet, grateful thing.
"Do you want to tell me what's going on?"
"It's Mark." Her voice was still unsteady. "He must be drinking. He's saying some awful things."
She handed him the phone and watched his face while he read. His jaw tightened. A muscle moved in his cheek. His lips pressed into a flat line.
"What did the voicemails say?"
"Basically the same. Just with his drunk voice behind it."
He handed the phone back. "What do you want to do?"
"I'm scared to go there Saturday now," she admitted. "I was thinking about just making a lot of trips by myself, but after last time—" She stopped.
Nicholas looked at her steadily. "You're not going alone.
Jim and Dan will be there. No one is going to bother you with them present—not even Mark.
" His voice carried the particular calm of a man who has already decided something and is simply informing you.
"And you're not carrying boxes by yourself either.
I'm getting you a truck and two guys. Saturday morning. "
She opened her mouth.
"Olivia." He said it gently but with the full weight of everything he'd promised her. "Let me do this. Please."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. "Okay. Thank you."
He pulled out his phone and hit a contact, putting it on speaker without ceremony.
Three rings. "Hey Nicholas, how are you?"
"I'm sorry to call late, Phil. I need something done."
"Whatever I can do, will be done."
"Small moving truck. Two sharp, experienced guys. Saturday morning in Tampa. Eight AM."
"How big a truck?"
Nicholas glanced at Olivia. She answered quietly. "Just clothes and personal things. Nothing large."
"No problem. Text me the address."
"I appreciate it, Phil."
"Anytime. Talk soon."
When the call ended, Olivia looked at him. "Nicholas, I don't want to feel like a charity case."
"Charity case?" Something sharpened in his expression—not offense, but certainty.
"That's not what this is. Not even close.
You're doing what's right for you—that takes strength.
I'm just making sure it goes smoothly and that you're safe while you do it.
" He held her gaze. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you. I meant it."
She felt the last of her resistance fade into something calmer. It felt a lot like being cared for by someone who truly understood the difference between helping and controlling.
"I'm going to text Mark in the morning," she said, thinking out loud. "When I know he's sober. I'll tell him I'm coming at eight, but I won't mention the movers or Jim and Dan. If he tells his brother there's going to be company, I don't want a confrontation before we've even started."
"Smart," Nicholas said.
"Now let's get some sleep."
The alarm went off at 6:45. It felt like she'd barely closed her eyes.
"I think I could spend the entire day in this bed with you," she murmured into his shoulder.
Nicholas laughed low. "Works for me."
They showered and dressed in the quiet, comfortable way of two people who had stopped needing to perform for each other. By 7:30, the coffee was done.
"I'm going to text Mark now," she said. "Eight AM still work?"
"Perfect."
She typed it out, hit send, and held her breath.
I will be there at 8 AM Saturday morning.
A minute passed. Her phone buzzed.
I'm not sure I'll be here to open the door at 8 AM. BTW, I changed the locks so your keys don't work.
"Fuck!" She looked up at Nicholas. "He changed the locks."
Another buzz.
Call me now.
"I hate him." She set the phone down. "He wants me to call. I really don't want to hear his voice."
"Then make him come to you," Nicholas said. "But record the call. If he says something he shouldn't, you'll have proof."
She considered it. It was smart. It gave her something to hold. "Okay. How do I record it?"
"Speakerphone, then open Voice Memos and hit record. I can step out if you want privacy."
"No." The word came out fast. "I want you to hear it."
He sat beside her on the couch. She put the phone on the table, hit the dial button, switched to speaker, opened Voice Memos, and pressed the record button.
He picked up on the second ring.
"It took you long enough. What, are you tired from fucking your new stud?"
Her face went hot. Nicholas placed his hand over hers—steady, grounding, furious underneath in a way he was controlling completely.
"Mark, you wanted to talk," she said, her voice tight but level. "If all you want to do is insult me, I'll hang up."
Silence. Then: “What I want is for you to stop being used by a rich playboy.”
“I'm coming Saturday morning to pick up my things. My apartment is ready. Are you going to make this difficult?”
"Maybe," he said. "This is my house. You no longer have access to it."
"I'm sure that's true," she said calmly. "But the police might see it differently. I'm sure you'd love to explain to the neighbors why there are squad cars outside again."
"Fine." He bit the word out. "Eight AM. But we will continue this conversation then. And don't think about bringing your boyfriend—or I will kick his ass, neighbors or no neighbors."
She hung up without giving him the satisfaction of a response.
She sat with her hands trembling in her lap. Nicholas covered them with both of his hands.
"Don't worry," he said. "Everything will be fine." He paused. "Do you have a copy of your prenup? I would like to have someone look it over for you."
She blinked. "Who?"
"A lawyer we work with. She's excellent." He said it with the easy certainty of a man who had already decided this was happening. "I'm going to ask her to review it as a favor."
"Nicholas, I can't have you pay for my divorce lawyer."
"I'm not paying anyone," he said smoothly. "We do a lot of business together. I'm calling in a favor. That's all." He held her gaze. "Let me do this for you, Olivia."
She looked at her phone. She thought about Sylvia's quiet sigh across that desk. He covered all his bases. She thought about walking away with nothing but her name and whatever dignity she could carry out the door.
She picked up her phone and sent him the file.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her forehead.
"I want you to have a great day today," he said. "Saturday is handled."