Chapter 27
OLIVIA
To all the people who like to say we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I politely say, no.
Sorry. I’m a classic overachiever and overthinker.
I’ve already crossed the bridge, decided there was a better option, built a new bridge, and rerouted my directions at least twice before you even realized the bridge was closed. We are not the same.
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
Some women go to their moms with boy troubles.
I go to my mom for career-trajectory troubles.
Not exactly the same thing, but Mom and I have never been simple women.
Growing up, my sister wanted to work with athletes, my brother wanted to be the athlete, and I wanted to be Mom.
Even now, walking the halls of the Philadelphia Kings offices is inspiring.
A woman in a traditionally man’s role. She was the original badass, and she did it in a way that embraced her femininity too.
She refused to change to meet anyone’s expectations . . . something I’ve been lacking lately.
Something it’s time to rectify.
With two pink coffee cups in hand from the local bakery, I smile at her assistant but don’t stop before knocking on her office door. “She’s expecting me.”
“Livvy?” Mom calls out as she opens the door. “Hi, sweetheart. Come in.”
“Hi, Mom.” I hand her the dark roast with a shot of espresso and a pump of mocha. “Got you your favorite.”
“Buttering me up, Liv? That’s not your style.” She looks over at the couch. “Is this an official meeting that requires my desk to be between us?”
“No. Not at all.” I cross the room and drop onto the leather couch. “I’m actually here for advice.”
Mom sits next to me, not completely convinced I’m not about to try to renegotiate a contract. Like I’d ever spring that on her.
“How’s Maggie?” she asks and sips her coffee. “Your brother was a nightmare when his arm was casted the first time, and I think he was eight at the time.”
“She’s cranky. She hates the cast,” I tell her as I pull out my phone to share a few photos. “It’s been a really long week already, and we have at least two more before her follow-up.”
“She really is just the cutest little thing.” A smile tugs at her lips as she skims through the photos. “And how’s Logan doing?”
“It’s been a rough week. He’s always been a little overprotective, but he’s taken that to a whole new level.” I don’t tell her I’m surprised he didn’t give me a hard time about coming into Philly today.
“You can’t blame him, Liv. We protect what we love.”
I nod without saying a word.
“So, darling daughter, why are you really here?” Her blue eyes narrow as she sets her coffee on the table. “Because I sense there’s more.”
“There is,” I agree, trying to find the right words. “I guess I wanted to ask you how you knew going from PR to general manager of the Kings was the right move for you. You were so good at PR, people still talk about you.”
“Why are you kissing my ass, Olivia?” And there she is—my mother, the woman who cuts to any chase as efficiently as possible. “Do you want a job?”
“God, no.” I choke on my coffee and grab a napkin as it comes out of my nose. “I love you, Mom. But there isn’t a chance in hell I can work for you.”
She hands me another napkin. “Well, you’ve got my attention.”
“You told me once leaving PR to run the Kings was easy because it’s all you ever wanted to do. I want to know how you knew it was the right time.”
“Livvy . . . you’re speaking in definites, when that just wasn’t the case.
It was something I’d always wanted, and when the opportunity came, I took it.
But you have to know quite a few things had to line up in order for that to happen.
So when they did, I made the jump. Fate is fickle, Liv.
If I hadn’t done it then, I’m not sure the opportunity would have come back around a second time.
” She places her coffee down and picks up my hand.
“Why are you asking? I thought you loved your job.”
“I thought I did too . . .” I agree. “But have you ever been in a room where you know you’re not being respected?”
“Yes,” she answers immediately and gently grabs my chin, forcing my eyes from my coffee cup to her face.
“And I walked right out. You, my beautiful girl, are Olivia Kingston St. James. You are a powerhouse. And you need no one’s permission to be the absolute best at whatever you choose to do.
Don’t you dare let anyone—man or woman—disrespect you. ”
“I think I want to quit my job,” I finally admit, half expecting a choir of angels to come down from the heavens and sing with the relief I feel, finally saying that out loud.
“Okay, why?” And people wonder why I’m so blunt.
“Because I do twice the work for half the pay and none of the respect I think I deserve,” I admit, ashamed that I’ve let it go on for so long.
She drops her hand from my face and turns toward me, giving me her full attention. “Then why haven’t you already quit?”
“I thought they were going to make me partner.” For a fucking year. I should have known better.
“And if they’d made you partner, do you think you’d have been happy?”
“Honestly . . .” I pull my legs up onto the couch and wrap my arms around them. “I think I would have stayed, and who knows, I probably would have convinced myself I was happy. But it’s not what I really wanted.”
“What do you want?”
“To quit.” The words feel raw, like they’ve been ripped from my throat. “I want to start my own firm.”
“Your own agency?” Mom asks, and I shake my head.
I thought I’d be scared to answer the question I knew was coming.
Turns out, I’m not.
“No, I’d like to open a crisis management firm.
” And it’s like the floodgates have opened.
“I want to decide who I work with and how I help. I love the adrenaline rush that comes with helping people through the biggest crises in their lives. I love the way the law works into it, but it’s not actually a law firm.
So I can be . . . flexible. I want control. I want autonomy.”
“Livvy, it sounds like you already know the answers to all your questions. Why are you here?”
I shrug and stand, taking a closer look at the black-and-white photos lining her wall.
The Superbowl wins.
The family photos with the Lombardi Trophy.
Our lives are on these walls. Our childhood was on that field.
“I guess I always thought I’d do something in sports.
It was never going to be as an athlete, and let’s face it, Mom, there’s only one Scarlet Kingston-St. James, so it was never going to be as you either.
But being an agent was my way of continuing our family’s legacy. ”
And before I know it, Mom is standing behind me, her hands on my shoulders.
“Olivia, you are the legacy. You and Brynn and Killian. You three are the living embodiment of my legacy. No matter what you choose to do, you carry a piece of your father and me with you. It doesn’t matter where you work.
It matters that you’re a good person. It matters that you’re happy.
That you’re healthy. And that you are challenged and rewarded every day—because you, my sweet girl, are far too intelligent to settle for easy. ”
I stare up at the final photo. The one of the five of us standing on the fifty-yard line. The Kings had just won a Superbowl after a few bad years. Mom and Dad are kissing, while Killian, Brynnie, and I stand with our hands in the air and confetti falling all around.
Legacy is a funny thing.
It can be crippling.
But it can be empowering too.
“Hey, Liv?” Waverly asks as the buzzer sounds on the guys’ game.
This time, we’re watching from the couch instead of the arena.
Rita is amazing, and I’m thankful for her help, but none of us have been open to leaving Maggie since her trip to the hospital.
I’m not sure who’s more scarred from it, her or all the adults in her life.
Pretty sure the adults are winning.
“What’s up, Waves?” I ask, standing and grabbing the empty popcorn bowl and my tumbler of water.
“Are you and Logan going to move out?”
Oh . . . not what I was thinking she was going to ask.
Not that I actually had any clue what she was going to ask.
“We haven’t really talked about it yet, to be honest. We’re still just kind of getting our bearings.” Part of me feels like I’m just getting used to the idea of living here, and the other part of me still isn’t sure exactly where we stand.
We’ve talked about it, but have we really talked about everything?
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you guys should stay here. It’s nice having another woman in the house.” She stands and follows me into the kitchen.
“Are you admitting you like me, Waverly?” I tease because she and I found our mutual ground weeks ago at this point.
“Maybe just a little,” she laughs, and Jasper walks in, grumbling something.
“Christ, Liv. You fishing for compliments now? Didn’t think that was your style, Adler.”
“It’s not.” I shrug and refill my tumbler. “Besides, I’m not sure you’d know how to give one if someone wrote it out for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I’m an asshole. But I’m an asshole who protects his family. And you weren’t family when you showed up here.”
“Is that right?” I grin. “And what about now?”
“Now I have two sisters to worry about. I’m going to bed.” He looks from Waverly to me and shakes his head like we drive him crazy. “Don’t forget we’re dropping off your car in the morning tomorrow, Liv. Nine a.m.”
“I remember,” I grumble.
The closest dealer is thirty minutes away.
Let’s see how I can work it without screwing up my entire day.
Hours later, I’m working in bed when Logan finally gets home from his game. And okay, so maybe I’m working in his jersey and my glasses and absolutely nothing else, but really, is there a better way to congratulate your husband on a win?
I think not.
He leans his shoulder against the door frame, and his eyes eat me up.
Damn, the look on his face is everything I was going for. “Hey there, Cap.”
“Cap?” He grins and strides into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “Really?”