8. Drake
Drake
My mind races as I lie in bed next to her, waiting for her breath to soften as she falls asleep.
There's a reason I've never had a girlfriend, and because of that, I have a series of rules.
One of the most important is to never spend the night with a woman. Even though Olivia fell asleep in my arms, I can't stay with her.
I carefully pull my arm away from her and shimmy out of the bed, covering her with the blankets before tiptoeing out of the room.
Standing in the doorway, I look back at her one last time, staring at her soft, peaceful face as she dreams. Seeing her now, I almost want to break my rule.
She looks like an angel lying there, and I want to hold her and feel her against me all night long.
She's your employee. She's Leonard's daughter. If there was ever a time to walk away, it's now.
Closing the door and walking back to my bedroom is difficult, but I ignore my impulses. It takes a while to fall asleep because all I can think about is Olivia's body against mine and her whimpers from the pleasure I gave her.
“That was a mistake,” I whisper, trying to think of anything else. “It can't happen again.”
***
Unfortunately, I was too preoccupied with thoughts of last night to turn off my daily alarm. Gentle music plays through the alarm system as my curtains open and bright rays of sun pierce my eyelids. I cover my head with a pillow and groan, wishing for a few more hours of sleep.
I climb out of bed and stretch, walking over to the shower and hopping in. Last night feels like a dream, and for a few moments, I forget about Olivia sound asleep in the guest bedroom.
I get out of the shower and towel off, throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an old Metallica T-shirt, and then quietly walk down the hall to see if she's still asleep. I’m relieved to see her still entangled in the sheets with her eyes closed.
I can at least avoid the awkward conversation about why I left midway through the night.
I stare at her for a few moments, noticing how her hair is bedraggled and frizzy against the sheets, and how her lips hang open, causing a small whistle of a snore to come out.
For any other woman, I would have looked the other way, but I can't with Olivia.
The snore is cute, and I like seeing her when she isn't neatly put together.
I could stand here all day watching her, but I know we will have a lot to talk about when she wakes up. The least I can do is make her breakfast.
“Let's see, what do we have to work with?” I mutter as I dig through my fridge, pushing aside Tupperware containers filled with leftovers.
I rarely cook, and when I do, it isn't the best food. I usually skip breakfast in the mornings, and if I do have something, it's usually just a Pop Tart or something quick. Something tells me that a chef like Olivia won't go for that.
I lean against the counter and pull out my phone to Google “how to make a frittata,” happy to see that I have all the ingredients in my fridge. Most of those are thanks to Olivia, who brought them yesterday for the dinner.
I try to grab a mixing bowl from the cabinet to whisk eggs, but as I reach for one of the larger ones at the bottom, several others tumble free.
Small plastic bowls thud across the tile floor, rolling away from me as I try to quickly scoop them up.
I'm hopeful it didn’t wake Olivia, but then I hear the guest bedroom door creaking open, and I know I’m caught.
Olivia shuffles into the kitchen dressed in the clothes she wore last night. Her arms are folded across her chest and sleep is still heavy in her eyes as she looks at the ingredients on the counter in front of me.
“Are you cooking breakfast?” she asks with a hint of amusement.
“It was the least I could do to thank you for everything last night.”
“You don't have to thank me for sex,” Olivia says, wrinkling her eyebrows.
I laugh and shake my head, pulling an egg from the carton. “I was talking about the dinner.”
Olivia bursts into laughter, her voice hoarse and still filled with sleep. “Let's just pretend I didn't say that.”
I nod and focus on the egg in one hand and the bowl in the other. I knock the egg against the rim as Olivia watches, not commenting as I crack a couple of eggs successfully without getting any shell in the mixture. My luck turns on the third egg, and pieces of shell sink into the yolk.
“How painful is it for you to watch someone so inexperienced making you food?” I ask as I fish the shell from the bowl with a fork.
“I wasn't going to say anything, but since you asked, you're cracking the eggs wrong,” Olivia says, jumping up from her barstool to join me. “When you crack eggs against the rim of a bowl like that, you increase the chances of getting bits of shells in your eggs.”
I stand back and gesture for her to show me the correct way and she smiles, grabbing an egg from the carton and holding it in one hand.
She moves the bowl to the side and pinches the top of the egg, knocking it on the countertop, bringing it to the bowl, and peeling it open in one swift motion.
She does it again, slowing down this time so I can see each step of the process before handing me an egg to try.
“There you go,” she encourages as I successfully crack an egg the right way. I do it a few more times until I have enough eggs for the frittata. I then take the eggs to the blender, but before I can pour them in, Olivia stops me. “Why in the world do you need to blend eggs?”
“I'm making a frittata,” I shrug.
She opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, putting her hand on my chest instead and nudging me away from the blender. “Do you own a whisk?”
I turn around and dig through the utensil drawer until I find one for her.
She begins whisking the eggs, the concentrated furrow in her brow returning.
When she's done, I slide the rest of the ingredients over to her and let her take over.
She laughs and rolls her eyes as she dices the onions and bell peppers.
“I don't cook much,” I admit as I watch her, a little embarrassed about my lack of skills.
“How have you survived this long without knowing how to cook?” She laughs and I know it's a joke, but it's also a good question. I can only think of about five recipes I'm confident I could cook, and one of those is peanut butter and banana toast.
“I guess I'm lucky enough to have people in my life willing to do the cooking for me.” I gesture to her pouring the egg mixture into a pan. She rolls her eyes, realizing there might be some truth to it.
“So, every woman you bed cooks your breakfast?”
“Every woman I bed? Is this the 1800s?” I laugh, stepping in to clean up the mess Olivia left behind with the eggs as we wait for the frittata to cook.
She rests her elbows on the countertop, watching me with a smirk. We're silent as I rinse out the bowl and put it in the dishwasher then join her at the counter. We know we need to have a conversation about last night, but neither of us wants to start.
“How are you feeling after last night?” I ask, turning my attention to her as she tucks her hair behind her ears and takes a deep breath.
“I feel fine. It's just a little weird, you know?” She studies my face. “I didn't have a lot of expectations about losing my virginity, but I never imagined it would be so casual. Not that I'm looking for anything else from you.”
“I understand what you mean,” I interrupt before she goes off on a tangent. “Things are a bit complicated because of your dad, though. What are you thinking right now?”
She runs her fingers through her hair and bites her lip nervously before staring at me apologetically. “I think it was probably a mistake.”
Even though I agree one hundred percent, it stings to hear her say it. “It definitely was. I think we need to make sure nothing like this happens again.”
“Couldn't have said it better myself.” She exaggerates a nod and widens her eyes in relief. “I think we just carry on with business as usual. Nobody at work needs to know about this, and my dad definitely doesn't need to know.”
“Trust me, I'm not interested in losing my life.”
“You and me both,” Olivia says, worry crossing her face. I can tell she's stressing about this already, and I regret everything. “I've never lied to him. I don't know how I'm going to do it now.”
“You're not lying unless he asks you if we slept together,” I offer, hoping it might ease some of her worries. She just laughs and shakes her head.
“That sounds like something my ex would say.” I raise an eyebrow at that but think better than to ask for her to elaborate. Olivia takes a deep breath and hops off the stool, looking away momentarily as she collects herself. “Thank you for offering breakfast, but I should probably get out of here.”
Hearing her say that disappoints me more than I would like. She gathers her things, and I run to my safe before she leaves to get the cash for the dinner last night. She looks surprised for a moment when I hand it to her, then she suddenly remembers and accepts it.
“I'll see you on Monday then?” I say, lingering at the door as she steps outside.
“I'll see you then, Mr. Vance,” she replies before skipping down the steps and walking back to her car.
I stand by the door as her car pulls out of the driveway, and I wonder if I'm going to be able to pretend like nothing happened.
With any other woman, this wouldn't be an issue, but Olivia is different.
She's tucked herself into my mind in a way I'm not used to, and I know that pretending like nothing happened will be almost impossible.