by Kennedy Fox
“I hope Olivia reminded you of the rules and expectations.” Rachel speaks to me slowly, enunciating each word as though I’m incapable of understanding her.
“Of course she has. I’m well versed on what the expectations are,” I say firmly.
“Good.” Rachel turns to Olivia next. “I’ll need another coffee.”
Olivia looks at her watch and scrambles to her feet. “Of course.”
“Don’t you want to ask if Maverick needs anything? He’s working hard today too.” Rachel puts her on the spot, and if the space between us didn’t feel tense and awkward, I’d be tempted to burst out laughing at Olivia’s shell-shocked face at the implication that she’s not working hard. It was a low blow because after a few days with Olivia, I know she busts her ass for that woman.
“Maverick,” Olivia says slowly, swallowing as if waiting on me is physically painful for her. It makes me smile. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m kinda feeling a beer. Think you can get that for me, sweetheart?” I shoot her a wink only because I know it’ll drive her crazy—and not in a good way.
“You shouldn’t be drinking during the event. It’s unprofessional,” she tells me, crossing her arms, growing more impatient with me.
“Olivia,” Rachel snaps, and Olivia instantly stands taller. “You’ll get Maverick whatever he asks for. He’s my guest of honor, and he’ll be treated as such.”
Olivia forces a smile and turns toward me. I smirk, because it’s one small victory, though I know she’ll ream out my ass for this later.
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” She grits her teeth and narrows her eyes at me. If looks could kill, holy fuck—Olivia would have buried me six feet under.
Most women would be more than happy to get me whatever I ask for, but not Miss Priss. No, she thrives on hating me and bossing me around. Not that I don’t kind of like it, but I can’t help but wonder why she loathes me so much. It has to be something on a deeper level than just my so-called reputation.
And I have eight days to figure out what it is.
Chapter Nine
OLIVIA
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.
Maybe if I say it over and over in my head, I’ll actually convince myself this isn’t the most humiliating job right now. I love it most days, but this trip has definitely stretched me thin, and it’s only the first city stop on the tour.
Lord help me.
After grabbing Rachel’s coffee from the hotel cafe, I rush to the other side of the bar and order a bottle of Bud Light. There weren’t many options, so Maverick better take it and love it.
By the time I make it back down to the ballroom, readers are being let in, and now I’m rushing through them to get back to Rachel’s table before all hell breaks loose.
“What took you so long?” Rachel snaps, snatching her coffee out of my hand and taking a long swig. “The line is forming and blocking the walkway.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, handing Maverick his beer. I hear a faint, “Thank you,” but I don’t have time to reply because Rachel’s right. Her line has reached across the walkthrough area, and I need to get them moved over.
“Hey, guys! Can I just ask that you please all shift a tad over here so we aren’t blocking people or the other tables in?” I say loudly and cheerfully, directing them where to move. I know the event has volunteers who are supposed to help with this kind of stuff, but since the doors just opened, everything is hectic. “Thank you so much.” I smile at them. “Don’t forget to grab your books from the bookseller, and Rachel and Ian would love to sign them for you!” At the mention of Ian, readers start squealing all over again.
Most of Rachel’s readers brought their own copies for her to sign. I can see them stacked high in their arms and carts. Since the last book in the series just released, they’re eager to get them all signed by both of them.
Once the line shifts, I motion for the readers to start coming up, and as Rachel kindly greets each one, Maverick stands and gives them hugs and poses for selfies. They both make small talk with each reader, and even though the line seems never-ending, they handle it flawlessly.
Maverick is sweet and charming and really plays his part as Ian. Some of the younger women asked for group shots, so of course, I played photographer, and after snapping a couple of good ones, one girl yells out, “Silly pic now!” They all giggle and stick their tongues out; however, the one closest to Maverick actually swipes her tongue on his face and licks his cheek. Maverick’s in a rocker pose with his tongue out and his hands in a rock-on sign. I snap the picture, and it’s actually kinda cute, minus the cheek-licker.
“I feel like I need to bathe in sanitizer after all this.” Maverick leans over and whispers in my ear when things start to slow down a tad.
“For your sake, you actually should,” I fire back playfully. “That one girl probably gave you herpes of the cheek or something.”
Maverick’s head falls back as he bellows out a loud laugh. “Yeah, I didn’t see that coming, but at least I didn’t turn my head at that exact time. Would’ve turned things straight into Rated R territory.” He winks as if that makes what he said any better. I pretend to retch at his implication and make a gagging noise.
The signing comes to an end, and although it was very successful for Rachel, I’m exhausted and ready to lay low the rest of the night. She has a dinner meeting in about an hour, which means after I take care of Angel, I’ll finally get the night to myself.
“Do you need me to get you anything before you leave tonight?” I ask Rachel as she grabs her bag and stands. The signing has ended, and people are now just scrambling to clean up their tables.
“No, I’ll manage just fine.”
Rachel walks out without another word, and I’m left to deal with the aftermath of picking up her leftover swag bags and banners. I’m kneeling on the floor, packing up, and meanwhile, Maverick is surrounded by a crowd of women—no shocker there—but then I hear one of them invite him out to a bar tonight to eat and get drinks. I crane my neck to get a better look at who he’s talking to, and I see it’s a group of readers and a couple of authors.
Going out with them while being under Rachel’s thumb is the exact scenario of what not to do, and he should know better too. But then I hear the idiot tell them he’d love to meet up with them.
Son of a bitch.
“Maverick.” I say his name flatly, trying to grab his attention while making sure I remain professional around the group of people. “I could use your assistance, please, to get these boxes out of here.”
A round of sad aww’s linger at his departure, but he reassures them he’ll be seeing them in the bar later.
“Just this box here?” he asks while I keep my head down, pretending to focus on the filthy floor I’m sitting on.
“Yeah, and those two banners.” I nod my head toward the table behind him where I set them down and put them in their bags.
“Olivia.”
His deep, firm voice forces me to look up at him. “What?”
“What are you doing?” He crosses his arms, looking confused.
“I’m picking up the mess I made with the tissue paper from the swag bags.”
“You know they probably have a cleaning crew for after these big events. You picking up teeny tiny pieces of paper is doing nothing to help.”
I look around and know he’s right. I just needed a distraction from the fact all the attention he was getting from those women annoyed me, which in and of itself is annoying that it bothers me. This whole damn trip is annoying.
Lifting myself to my feet, I grab my bag and the second swag box and instruct him to grab the rest so we can get out of here before another tribe of women tackle him—except I leave that last part out.
“I just need to drop these off at my room quick then take out the devil dog,” I tell him as we ride the elevator to my floor.
“The devil dog?” He pops a br
ow.
“Rachel’s dog, Angel. She hates me and tries to bite me every chance she gets.”
Maverick chuckles and shakes his head.
“How is that funny? She’s a real terror!”
“She can probably smell fear and stress.”
“I do not smell like fear and stress,” I counter, scrunching my nose. “She’s just an evil little shit.”
Maverick walks behind me as I lead us to my room, and once we’re inside, we drop off the boxes and banners. I sent a bunch of swag bags to each of the event hotels, so we’ll take these with us as extras, just in case.
The moment I turn around, I walk smack into Maverick’s chest, not realizing how close he was to me still. “Geez, boundaries.” I snicker.
“You’re the one who invited me into your room.” He smirks, holding my shoulders with his large hands. Big and sturdy. Oh God. Not going there.
Not wanting him to see the blush creeping over my cheeks, I playfully smack him and laugh. “I did not invite you into my room. Why do you take everything so literal? I asked you to help me drop off the boxes so you wouldn’t get swept away by that group of readers.”
He steps back slightly, studying me. “You really gonna tell me I can’t go hang out at the bar with some of the fans? Plus, I’m starving and need to eat. What’s the harm?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And the harm is, it’s not professional. They were already all over you, so you think having alcohol in their systems is going to help?”
“Well, if you’re so worried, why don’t you come chaperone then?”
He really is going to push every single button of mine before this trip is over.
“I don’t have time to argue with you. I need to take care of Rachel’s stupid dog.” I grab my bag so I can march out of there with my head held high, but of course, Maverick never makes anything easy on me.
“Okay, I’ll meet you down there then,” he shouts after me. I give him a one-finger wave over my shoulder before the door shuts behind me.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside waiting for a ten-pound dog to finally take a shit so I can get to the bar and make sure Maverick behaves.
Ugh! I just wanted a quiet, relaxing night, and now I have to eat dinner in a noisy bar while keeping an eye on the hands of every woman who gets within a foot of Maverick.
“I will pay you a hundred dollars to just pick a damn spot, Angel!” I whisper-shout at her. “Think of all the amazing toys and bones you can buy with that? C’mon, just help a girl out!” Apparently, I’m not above begging a dog who has no idea what I’m even saying.
Ten minutes later, she’s happy as can be and wagging her tail now that she’s relieved herself. “It’s about damn time.” I pout, walking her back to Rachel’s room. I bring her inside and lock the door behind me. Just as I’m about to get on the elevator and head to the bar, I decide to go back to my room and freshen up first.
I change into another outfit, something a bit dressier for night. I brush through my hair and dab more powder on my face. I don’t even know why I care at this point, but I tell myself it’s because even though Rachel has essentially given us the night off, people around the hotel could still recognize me as her assistant.
I make it down to the bar, and of course, it’s already packed and loud with drunk people. At this point, I’m too hungry to care and weasel my way through the crowd. Just as I ask for a food menu from the bartender, a seat opens up, and I quickly take it.
“What can I get for you, darlin’?” a male bartender asks in a super friendly tone, and I’m convinced it’s just the Southern culture.
“I’d like a glass of Chardonnay and the shrimp fettuccine alfredo with a Caesar salad, please.”
“Of course. I’ll go put your order in and be right back with your drink.”
“Great, thank you.”
I quickly scan the room for Maverick, wondering if he’s actually down here. Just when I’m about to give up looking for him, I hear a bunch of ladies in the back scream-laugh and causing a commotion.
Looking over my shoulder, I finally spot him in a circle of women—no surprise—and they’re all flashing him googly eyes.
Like he needs his ego stroked any more, ladies.
I mean, I see the appeal. I really do. He’s the full package that most girls go crazy over, and if we had met under different circumstances, I might even say he has a decent personality. But even then, he’s the exact type I stay away from.
My drink arrives, and I slowly sip it, only looking over my shoulder to check on Maverick a couple more times. I actually do trust that he will behave, but I don’t always trust he’ll know how to react if they don’t behave.
Finally, my food arrives, and I don’t hesitate to dig right in. About halfway through my pasta dish, I hear my name being called and look over my shoulder to Maverick waving me over.
“Join us,” he shouts over the crowd, which causes me to blush with embarrassment. “They’re telling me all about the dirty books you guys read.” The ladies giggle and scoot closer to him. It makes me cringe.
I’m not about to yell in a bar and have a conversation, so I lift my salad bowl up and mouth, “I’m eating.”
“Oh come on!” he shouts again, this time even louder.
I force a smile and shake my head before turning back around. Looking up from my food, I immediately see the bartender standing in front of me.
“How is everything? Need a refill?” he asks, holding up my empty wineglass.
“Uh, sure, why not? Thanks!”
“You got it.” He shoots me a wink, then pulls the bottle out and pours me another glass. “There you go, darlin’.”
“Thank you.”
“Either that pasta is giving you the best orgasm of your life, or you’re just really hungry.” Maverick’s voice rings in my ear as he stands next to me. “I heard you moaning from all the way over there.”
I quickly swallow and glance at his smug expression. “Are you sure you weren’t hearing one of your groupies moaning for your attention?”
“You’re sure hung up on who I hang out with.”
I stare into his eyes and narrow mine, so he gets my message loud and clear. “It’s my job, Maverick. Remember?”
“You’re off the clock, Olivia. You’re down here checking on me, by choice,” he retorts, taking the seat next to me. I look over my shoulder to see his group is still there, obviously waiting for him to return. “I told them I had another fan to give my attention to,” he says when he catches me looking at them.
His answer makes me laugh sarcastically. “A fan? That’s a bit far-fetched.”
“Oh come on. You said yourself you like this Ian character. So just pretend I’m him,” he retorts with a stupid smile on his gorgeous face.
“If you knew me at all, you’d know you’re preaching to the wrong choir.”
“And why’s that? Prefer the vagina?”
“Maverick!” I scold around a mouthful of food. His bold statement is forcing me to hold back laughter. Once I swallow it down and compose myself, I shoot him a disapproving look. “Do you just say the first thing that pops into your brain?”
“Well, no...not the first thing.” He smirks with a playful shrug. “I mean, no judgment on my part. I’m a huge fan of vagina myself.”
“Oookay, we’re still on that. Just because I don’t throw myself at you doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian.”
“I never said that. I only suggested it after you said I was preaching to the wrong choir.”
“Meaning, I don’t go gaga over book boyfriends and models. It’s just not my...thing. I appreciate them, and I love reading about them, but I don’t give myself a lot of time to dwell over the fantasy of the perfect guy. He doesn’t exist, so I focus on my own life.”
“You mean, controlling every aspect of it,” he counters, leaning over to swipe a piece of my shrimp.
“Manners!” I swat at his hand, but it’s too late. He shoves it into hi
s mouth before I can stop him.
“I like having control. I don’t feel the need to live a carefree, wild life. I don’t judge others who prefer to live a different lifestyle than me either, so I expect the same respect in return,” I say matter-of-factly.
“And where does that stem from?”
“What do you mean?”
“The need to control everything. I assume you didn’t come out of the womb screaming for your planner bible.”
That makes me chuckle, and I shake my head at him. “No, but I did appreciate being on a consistent schedule as a kid. I thrived on it.” I find myself thinking about my childhood and force the thoughts away. Not right now.
“You need to learn to let go and live a little,” he leans in and whispers softly. “You’re going to wake up one day and realize that trying to control everything all the time isn’t really living.”
My mouth opens to disagree with him, but nothing comes to mind, so I clamp it shut.
“You think on that for a while.” He shoots me a wink and pushes himself off the chair.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m still thinking about what Maverick said, and allowing his words to eat at me is frustrating. I finish my third glass of wine and wave at the bartender for my check.
“You’re all paid up, ma’am.” He sets down the receipt with Maverick’s handwriting scribbled at the bottom.
What the hell? When did he do that? And why?
I reach for my phone and quickly send him a text.
Olivia: You didn’t have to pay for my food. But thank you.
Maverick: A man should always pay. And you’re welcome.
Olivia: That only applies during a date. We weren’t on a date.
Maverick: I beg to differ. There was food, wine, good conversation. Best date I’ve ever been on.
His message makes me blush for real now. Who the hell is this guy?
Olivia: You’re delusional. I’m going to bed now. We have that brunch in the morning.