by Kennedy Fox
“I don’t know,” she says reluctantly, moving the food around on her plate. “That sounds wonderful in theory, but there’s a lot of competition for that. There’s a lot of reputable PR companies already out there who are established. I’d be a small fish in a huge pond.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, babe. I’m a model. Living in LA. Could I be any more cliché?”
That makes her laugh, and she agrees with a nod.
“How’s your food? Is it as good as mine?” I ask, changing the subject to ease the tension.
“It’s quite delicious. You picked good.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I was ready to beat the delivery driver with a plastic bat. No one ever knocks on my door,” she tells me.
“And you were going to protect yourself with a kid’s baseball bat?” I ask, chuckling in amusement.
“It was all I could find! Someone knocking on my door unexpectedly spooked me.”
“You’re adorable,” I say, staring at her. I know she hates compliments like that, but I can’t help it. I miss her so damn much. “So any plans for another trip soon?”
“Not until next year. She has this new series planned, and her publisher is going nuts over it. They want to send her all over and even to Canada. There’s even been talk about her going to Germany and France.”
“Wow...that’s a big step from our road trip.”
“Uh, yeah. Rachel lives for the high life. She’ll probably complain the entire time but secretly love it. I’m clearly looking so forward to it.” She rolls her eyes just like I’ve come to adore.
“I wish you were closer.”
“I know. We already went down that road, Maverick. I live here, and you live there.”
“But I want you here,” I tell her, pouting out my lower lip. “It’s warm and sunny year-round. We have the best food trucks, and as added bonus, I’m here.” I wink at her, and she gives me a dramatic sigh.
“I like talking to you, Maverick. When you aren’t threatening to throw my planner out the window or taunting me with your abs, I consider you one of my closest friends. Hell, aside from Vada, you’re really my only friend. But that’s all I can offer. You know this.” Her words are soft and tender, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling like a knife just pierced through my heart.
“A friend? I think you and I both know we’re more than friends. You should know I want more with you. After waking up without you in my bed, I knew my heart was already yours. I’d never cared about a chick bailing on me. It was the first time I felt heartache. I understood why you did it, but it didn’t stop it from hurting.”
“Maverick…” She says my name with a sad tone. “Perhaps we should’ve just left whatever this is in LA. You’re only going to get hurt again.”
“I don’t want to just forget everything that happened between us. If text messages and FaceTime is all we can ever have, then I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever you give me,” I tell her, hoping like hell she’ll say she can at least do that. I knew long distance would be hard, but I’m not giving up without a fight. “I’m falling for you, Olivia.”
“Maverick—I’m sorry. I can’t.” She tilts her head back and looks up at the ceiling as if she’s trying to keep herself from crying. I hate how upset she looks. I just want to hold her in my arms and never let go. “It’s too painful for me. I’m sorry.”
Before I can reply, she disconnects, and I’m left with a black screen.
I’m not giving up on her. I won’t.
It’s been three days since Olivia and I last talked, and I’m going insane.
She won’t reply to my text messages or answer my phone calls. I’ve left her voicemails, apologizing for pushing her too hard and that I’ll respect her decision to keep us where we are—even if it kills me—but she hasn’t called back.
Telling her I’ve fallen for her wasn’t a lie—by any means—but perhaps she wasn’t ready to hear it. Hell, maybe it scared her because she’s fallen for me too.
Whatever her reasoning, I wish she’d give me a chance to fix it—fix us. I just want to talk to her, hear her voice, and see her beautiful face.
Maverick: Good morning, gorgeous. I hope you have a great day today.
Considering she didn’t reply to my last eight text messages, I don’t anticipate she’ll respond to this one either. However, that doesn’t stop me from sending them with hopes to brighten her day, because I know she’s reading them.
Maverick: Good night, baby. I hope you get a great night’s sleep.
I know she’s pushing me away, thinking it’s the best for both of us, but she’s wrong. She’s trying to control everything, and this time, I’m not going to allow it.
Chapter Twenty-One
OLIVIA
It’s the first time Maverick has visited my dreams since I stopped answering his texts and calls. Last week, I realized that I was falling way too hard—and he told me he was falling for me—and he’d become an integral part of my day. Things were moving in a direction that would only lead to heartbreak, and it was best to cut ties before things got even more complicated. My heart still flutters when I think about him, and that’s frightening as hell.
I thought maybe my subconscious was mad at me for cutting him off, but then it presented me with the hottest sex dream I’ve ever had. I force myself out of bed and take a cold shower to rid my thoughts of him.
I know the statistics for long-distance relationships. Forty percent break up, and out of that, the split happens within the first four months—after the honeymoon phase and the real work begins. I care about him so damn much, but this is the best decision for both of us. He deserves someone who can give him what he wants and needs. Someone who doesn’t live across the country, isn’t married to their job, and can emotionally give him the relationship he deserves. I hate that I can’t be that for him, and he might not agree with my reasoning, but I know it’s for the best in the long run.
As I’m drying off, I hear my phone buzzing, and by the number of texts I’m receiving at once, I know it’s Rachel having one of her early morning meltdowns. Not sure if I’m prepared for it today. I wrap the towel around my body, walk into my bedroom, and grab my phone from the nightstand.
Rachel: I ran out of my vegan protein powder. Can you stop and grab some before coming this morning?
Rachel: The health store across town opens at 7AM.
Rachel: Vanilla bean. If they don’t have that, then chocolate will do.
Rachel: Can you pick up some of those cookies & cream protein bars too?
Rachel: Make sure to keep the receipt.
Rachel: And be quick.
I roll my eyes and shake my head as my hair drips water down my body. It’s not even seven yet, and of course, there are no courtesy words used—please or thank you.
I need a truckload of caffeine before I can deal with her this morning.
Instead of replying, I send her a thumbs-up emoji because I don’t trust myself with words yet. The way I really feel might leak out this early which would result in me being fired and left high and dry without a reference. Not that the job market is booming with positions anyway.
I walk to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee, because I forgot to schedule it last night, then get dressed. The sun leaks through my curtains, and I smile as it splashes across the floor. Considering winter will be here in a blink, I try to soak up as much of it as I can. It’s going to be another beautiful day, one where I’m stuck inside listening to Rachel bitch and moan about how hard her life is. Her life isn’t hard—she’s living the dream—but she’s spoiled as hell and doesn’t appreciate much.
Once the coffee is finished brewing, I pour a cup, add some French vanilla creamer, and take a sip. Before I can swallow, my phone starts vibrating again.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper under my breath, hoping she doesn’t send me on a scavenger hunt for a list of other things she wants because that’s happened before.
I snatch my pho
ne off my bed, but when I see it’s texts from Maverick, my heart races.
Maverick: Good morning, gorgeous. Couldn’t sleep. Thinking about you.
Maverick: Still ignoring me? :)
Guilt rushes through me, and I can’t help but think I’ve led him on, that maybe he really thought this would progress into something more when he first texted me after our trip was over. Deep inside, I knew it wouldn’t. It can’t. Our lives are in two different places.
Maverick quickly became so much more to me than even he knows, and that scares the fuck out of me. Falling too fast and too hard reminds me too much of my mother, and I’ll do anything I can to avoid that. Thankfully, we’re thousands of miles apart, so it makes it slightly easier because he’s not just going to show up on my doorstep, though it still hurts. This is exactly what I was afraid of from the beginning when our relationship began shifting. Ending it was the wisest and most logical decision.
Instead of replying, like I want to, I close out of my messages and open my Uber app to schedule a car. I haven’t responded to any of his texts, and a part of me wonders how long he’s going to keep this up. He’s setting himself up for heartache, and it kills me in the process. His messages are what keep me going through the day, and even though I’m a total ass for not replying, I know that if I do, it’ll just start a constant texting back and forth situation again.
Even though Rachel is a pain in my ass most days, I’m happy for the distraction today because my heart hurts. If I could, I’d stay locked up in my apartment and binge watch Netflix and eat ice cream. All while feeling sorry for myself. But I won’t do that. I can’t let myself go down that self-loathing path.
When my ride is close, I grab my laptop bag and head downstairs to wait. Once I’m inside the car, we head across town toward the health food store. I rush inside and grab the shit Rachel wants, say a little thank-you prayer for them having vanilla bean, then head back to my ride, who graciously waited.
On the way over to her apartment building, I feel a pressure weighing on me. I stare out the window and watch the people walk by on the street and can’t help but wonder about their lives. Are they happy? In love? Sad? The Uber slows in front of Rachel’s, and I thank him, grab my laptop bag, then head upstairs. The elevator is waiting, as always, and I give Sam a small smile, and that’s when I realize I left Rachel’s stupid protein powder in the car.
“Holy shit,” I yell out and rush off the elevator toward the street. By the time I make it outside, the car is long gone. I stand on the sidewalk, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to suck in air before I lose it. Like clockwork, my phone vibrates.
Rachel: Where are you? What’s taking you so long?
I don’t even know what to say.
Oh, I’m downstairs because I’m too busy daydreaming than paying attention?
Sure. That will go over really well, and I don’t think I can handle being told to pay attention to detail today. Instead of saying anything yet, I open my Uber app and report a lost item, put my phone number in, and pace back and forth on the sidewalk as I wait for a return phone call. If this is an indication of how the rest of my day will go, I’m totally fucked.
My phone vibrates, and I’m so happy I might cry when I answer it and hear my driver’s voice. After I explain what happened, he finds my plastic bag in the back seat and lets me know he’s about ten minutes away. Relief floods through me. I might live to work another day. After I’ve got a solid timeline, I text Rachel back.
Olivia: I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.
Rachel: Why?
I let out a breath and suck in another one. Luckily, she’s not the only one good with words.
Olivia: Just waiting on my Uber.
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough to make her happy, or rather, make her not text me with any more questions. Soon I see the Toyota Corolla pulling up. The man hands me my stuff, and I give him a twenty because he saved my sanity. He tries to hand the money back, but I insist with a smile. My day might be shitty, but hopefully, his isn’t.
I finally breathe when I’m back on in the lobby. Sam looks at me.
“Rough day, already?” He half-grins, then glances at his watch.
All I can do is smile. They all know Rachel is an absolute terror.
“Good luck,” he says sweetly as the elevator doors slide open.
I step in and nod. “I’ll need it.”
Quickly, I pull my keys from my bag and step inside her apartment. I smell coffee and see Angel eating in the kitchen. Before Rachel can even ask, I prepare a protein shake and deliver it to her in her office. She’s typing away and stops and looks up at me when I set it down with a smile.
“I need you to meet with Presley today since she’s in town. We had a meeting last week, and I forgot to get copies of my contracts. You know exactly how I feel about that.”
I nod. She’s such a freak and doesn’t trust scanned copies of anything. She wants all originals. It’s not the first time I’ve had to chase them down.
“I also made a grocery list, so I need you to hit the store on your way back. Then go to the post office and mail out last month’s signed paperback giveaways for my reader group and check my PO Box.”
I bite the inside of my mouth, and I might actually taste blood when I see a hundred signed books that need to be individually packaged and mailed. “Sure.”
“Presley will be at her studio around ten. So.” That’s her passive-aggressive way of telling me I need to hurry. Just as I walk over to the books to get started, she takes a sip of her protein shake and practically spits it out.
“Oh my God, Olivia. Did you put any banana in here? This tastes like shit!” Rachel stands, snatches the protein shake from her desk, and storms into the kitchen like a two-year-old who got milk instead of juice. The blender goes off, and I know she’s remaking it. One day, she’s eating bananas, and the next, she’s not. How the hell am I supposed to know when those carbs are okay?
While she’s busy making her point in the kitchen, I open my laptop, connect to the wireless printer, and try to make some order out of her madness. Books are signed, and I’m forced to open each one to figure out who it’s personalized to and try to find the person’s address on the list. Clusterfuck doesn’t give this catastrophe justice, and I have two hours to make it happen.
After the first hour, my back hurts so bad from bending over to stuff envelopes with books and postcards. By some miracle, I figure it out. Close to the two-hour mark, everything is packaged, labeled, and placed in huge totes for me to take to the post office. If she would’ve thought of this yesterday, I could’ve scheduled a pickup, but I’m pretty sure “inconvenience” is her middle name. It takes me four trips to carry everything to the bottom floor, and thankfully, Sam helps me as I schedule a ride.
Before my Uber arrives, Rachel texts me her grocery list, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s stocking up for the winter because there’s no way one person can eat all of this. The car pulls up, and the driver gets out and helps me load the totes into the trunk.
“Jesus, what’re in these bags? Bricks?” She laughs.
“Close. Books,” I say as I climb into the back and we take off. Instead of having the driver wait around for me, I let her leave because the line at the post office is longer than I anticipated. Rachel insists she get the receipt that shows they’ve been mailed, so instead of just dropping them in the cart, I’m forced to wait.
After an hour, the packages are finally mailed, the PO Box is checked, and I’m scheduling a ride across town toward Presley’s rented studio. I try to cheer up because I really like Presley, but I’m in such a sour mood that I’m not sure I can shake it. She’s dealt with Rachel for the past five years, so I know she understands my frustration.
I’m dropped off in front of a brick building with large windows. There’s nothing too fancy about the outside of it, but the inside is gorgeous. There’s a backdrop set up in one area, hardwood floors, and
the most perfect natural lighting. The space was made for photo shoots, especially with her eye. She’s one of the most creative people I know.
As soon as I walk in, I tuck Rachel’s fan mail under my arm. Presley peeks up from her makeshift office space with a smile. “Hey, you!”
I let out a breath, and it’s the first time today since Maverick’s text this morning that I’ve genuinely smiled. The heels of my shoes click against the wood floor as I walk toward her.
“You look like hell,” she says when I move closer.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Do I even have to explain why?”
She snorts. “No. It’s because you work for the devil incarnate.” Presley can barely get her words out before laughing.
Though I want to join in on bashing Rachel, I don’t because it’s too easy. “Where’re the fingerprints, blood samples, and DNA results?”
Presley stands and grabs a manila folder. I open it and see the original signed contracts, and I hold on to them tightly. If I lose these, it will be my head.
“Have you eaten lunch yet?” she asks. “It’s about that time.” She looks down at her watch and grins at me.
Shaking my head, I smirk. “There’s no time for food, Pres. I still have to go grocery shopping. Though, with the list she gave me, it might just be easier to buy the whole store.”