He felt like his whole world was crashing around him.
“No, please, don’t do this. Fuck my job, this is about us. I don’t have to . . . I would do anything for you.”
Another tear fell from her eye, and she brushed it away.
“You love your job so much, and you’re so good at it, and we need you there, now more than ever. But I just can’t take this anymore. The calls from reporters, the nasty articles, the photographers, the weird comments from clients . . . I can’t keep doing this, Max. Every week it’s something else. And you need the kind of partner who I can’t be—you need someone who looks perfect all the time by default, someone who doesn’t have any baggage, someone who isn’t obsessed with her job, someone who can be a perfect political wife in all of the ways I can’t. I don’t want to mess this all up for you.”
He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t lose her.
“Olivia. No. Please. I need you. All I need is you. Please don’t do this. You say you don’t like impulsive decisions, don’t make this one! Take some time, think this through, don’t give up on us.”
She shook her head.
“Max, I . . . We’re just too different. I can’t change you, and you can’t change me, either. I have been thinking this through—I should have listened to that voice in my head every time I agreed to go out with you, or to date you, or to go public with you, or to go to Hawaii with you. Or to . . .” Her voice caught. “Fall in love with you, though that one isn’t your fault. I kept slowly giving in to you, because I loved you, but if I keep doing that I’m going to lose parts of myself. We can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”
She walked around him, and opened the front door.
“You should go.”
He tried to think of something else he could say. Some way to change her mind, some way to convince her he belonged to her, and she belonged to him, forever. This had always been his strength, one of the reasons why he’d always been such a good politician. He’d always been able to change minds; he’d always been able to think of the right thing to say, even to people who hated him. And Olivia loved him; she’d said so. He knew her; he should be able to do this.
But somehow the words wouldn’t come.
So he walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty
Olivia fell into an exhausted sleep shortly after Max left. Miraculously, she slept well, but when she woke up the next morning, all she could think about was that frozen, devastated, empty look on his face before he’d walked out the door. And then she hated herself for breaking up with Max. No, she hated herself for falling in love with Max in the first place. She should have headed this off at the pass months ago—she knew this would never work! Why did she even let herself, and him, think it might?
Had she done the right thing? Had Max been right, that she should have thought this through more, that she shouldn’t have given up on them? But no, she’d thought about it for that hour between when she got home and Max showed up. She’d thought about how different they were, and how she’d have to keep conforming to him if she stayed with him. She thought about how determined she’d been at the beginning to not get in too deep, to not get too attached, because if she did, she knew bad things would happen. She should have trusted her instincts.
She loved him so damn much. She never should have let herself get to this place. What a nightmare love was.
She stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee, and as she did, her doorbell rang. Hope rose in her heart—it was Max, he’d come back, he had a solution for everything, he’d figured out a way for them to work after all.
She raced to the door, without bothering to put on a bra or do anything to her hair. But when she stopped to look through the peephole, her heart dropped. It wasn’t Max at all, just some sort of deliveryman. Probably with those shoes, or purse, or dress she’d ordered the week before in her fit of missing Max. She watched through the peephole until the deliveryman put down whatever he was holding and drove away. But when she cracked open the door to grab her package, it wasn’t the box she’d expected. It was a bakery bag.
She sighed and brought the bag into the kitchen.
“I love you” the cake read, in blue letters on top of the chocolate frosting.
Yeah, she knew. She didn’t doubt his love for her, that wasn’t what this was all about—hadn’t he listened at all to what she’d said? She shut the box and took her coffee back to bed.
Three more cakes arrived over the next two days. She stacked them all on her kitchen counter, untouched. She should drop them off at the food pantry, but that would mean she’d have to answer some difficult questions from Jamila, and she’d spent all weekend ignoring her texts. Instead she’d watched marathons of the Real Housewives of New York City, Atlanta, and Orange County. Strangely, these women and their awful relationships all made her feel better about her own choices. That was, until she was in bed in the middle of the night, without Max next to her, without his love and affection and desire for her. He’d loved her, wholly, completely, in a way no one had ever loved her before. And never would again, she was sure of that. How could she have let that go?
She probably should have told him long ago how hard all this was on her. But for so many years, she’d learned how to suck it up, pretend to the world everything was fine, even when she was miserable inside. A lot of times, she even pretended that to herself. She didn’t blame Max for not knowing what a hard time she’d had with everything. But she knew she couldn’t go back to the way it had been.
Sunday night she couldn’t sleep. None of her regular tricks—hot bath, soothing book, warm boozy drink—worked. Finally, she turned on a documentary, and the soothing voices talking about an old sports scandal lulled her to sleep, at least for a few hours. But she woke up at four with that look on Max’s face in her head, and she knew she’d never get back to sleep.
At five a.m. Monday, she went to the gym for a spin class. She thought it would make her feel better, but instead she cried the entire time. Thank God she also sweat so much no one had seemed to notice.
She showered at the gym and threw her work clothes on there. At least she didn’t have any meetings that day and could hunker down in the office and get work done and not talk to a soul.
She shut off her feelings and worked steadily for almost two hours—she finished a brief, she replied to dozens of emails, she went through a pile of documents for discovery prep, and was deep into the PowerPoint for their next pitch when Ellie knocked on her door.
“I was wondering why the light was on in your office. What in the Lord’s name are you doing here?” Ellie asked. “It’s barely eight a.m. I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever seen you at this hour in my life.”
Olivia shrugged. She really wasn’t in the mood to get into everything with Ellie right now. Hopefully, she could play this all off—the makeup she’d thrown on when she got to the office after the gym should mask any of the lingering signs of her tears, and she’d learned from her many years working for terrible bosses how to pretend she was okay at work.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was worrying about all of this stuff, so I decided to just come in and dive into it.” She made herself laugh. “It’s made me realize you’ve been right all of these years about getting into the office early—it’s great to be able to dive into work without any of the distractions that are there in the late afternoon, operating on adrenaline and a huge cup of coffee instead of a sugar high and then low from my three p.m. snack.”
Ellie narrowed her eyes and came farther into her office.
“This feels like one of those things where in six months I’ll look back on it and say, ‘I should have known my best friend had been kidnapped and a robot had replaced her that time she showed up at the office before eight a.m. and told me how great it was to get up early.’ ” She came around the desk and touched Olivia’s forehead. “You seem like a real person, but I’m not convinced. What was the name of that shot that made you so sick that one night in law
school? And don’t ask me which night!”
Olivia forced herself to grin. She would joke around with Ellie about this, and Ellie would go back to her office, and she wouldn’t have to talk about anything hard.
“The Three Wise Men: Jack, Jim, and Jose. The most disgusting thing I’ve ever put in my body; my body clearly agreed, because it revolted against it very quickly afterward. That was the fault of our damn friends, but I mostly blame Nathan. Satisfied that I’m who I say I am?”
Ellie pursed her lips.
“I’m still not convinced. A robot could probably come up with that one; that’s probably the shot that’s made a lot of people that sick.” She looked around the room, and her eye landed on Olivia’s gym bag in the corner.
Oh shit. It was all over now.
“Olivia. What’s that?”
No, no, she wasn’t going to concede defeat just yet.
“Just my gym bag. I went to the gym this morning but I didn’t want to put my makeup on in the crowded mirror there, so I waited until I got here. Though, the lighting situation in the bathroom here leaves a lot to be— ”
Ellie closed the door. Then she sat down in the chair across from Olivia.
“Okay. Spill it. What did he do?”
Olivia looked in her eyes for a few seconds, and it all fell apart.
“He didn’t . . . he did something, but it wasn’t . . . but it made me realize we . . .” She swallowed. “I broke up with him. Friday night. I’m a wreck, El.”
It felt real, to say it out loud to Ellie. She hadn’t wanted it to feel real.
“Oh, honey.” Ellie jumped out of her chair and pulled Olivia into a hug. “Do you not want to talk about it? Is that why you didn’t tell me before? I’m sorry for quizzing you—I was mostly just joking until you said you went to the gym in the morning. Then I knew something was up. But if you want to just keep your head down and get work done today, I understand; I’ve been there.”
Olivia shook her head. Now that she’d said part of it, she had to get it all out.
“It all started because of that community center event I went to with him on Friday night. Thanks for your text about that; I’m glad I looked good in the pictures, at least.” She took the tissue Ellie handed her, and then let the whole story spill out. “I never thought this could work between us—I guess I was right.”
She took a deep breath.
“But worst of all, I let it affect our firm. I’m so sorry about that. All of those news stories brought our firm up, too; I hate that all of these people know things about me I never wanted them to know, and I’ve probably destroyed my career because of a man, but I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve destroyed yours, too. I was so afraid our firm would fail because I didn’t work hard enough or people didn’t have enough faith in us, but I never thought it might happen because I got myself in an ill-advised relationship.”
Ellie dropped the tissue box back on the desk.
“Olivia. What in God’s name are you talking about? If anything happens and our firm doesn’t survive, we’ll manage. I’ll get another job, and so will you. We are both fantastic lawyers, with successful careers, and one stint at a law firm that didn’t make it won’t do a damn thing to either of us. Neither, by the way, will a few news stories about you getting arrested over twenty years ago—do you know how many lawyers we both know who have multiple DUIs and are still partners at law firms? But none of this is an issue, because our law firm is not going to fail! And it’s certainly not going to fail because of anything that happened in your relationship!”
Olivia looked down at her lap so she wouldn’t have to meet Ellie’s eyes.
“Okay, but what if it does? I will have let you down, and myself down.”
Ellie banged her fist on the desk, and Olivia looked up in surprise.
“Pardon my language, but that’s bullshit. You haven’t let anyone down. You’ve worked your ass off for us. As a matter of fact, you’re the one who decided to take the Clementine case when I know we both wanted to tell those jerks we didn’t need their business. And we didn’t! We have plenty of work! Our firm is doing great! We’ve already surpassed some of our end-of-the-year goals, and it’s only August.”
Olivia wiped her eyes again.
“I know. But— ”
Ellie shook her head.
“No buts! Our business is thriving, but even if it wasn’t, the most important thing is us. Our firm is not the important thing here, our firm is not a person. You and I are what matter. Olivia and Ellie are more important than Monroe and Spencer any day. Never forget that, okay?”
Olivia closed her eyes for a second, and took a deep breath.
“You’re right. I did forget that, for a . . . while. I’m just not used to prioritizing Olivia over Olivia’s work product.”
Ellie pulled her out of the chair and into another hug.
“I know. But you’ve got to do it. Because I want to be working with you for a long damn time, and that’s not going to happen if you turn your own damn self into a robot.”
Olivia held on tight to her friend.
“I’ll try,” she said in a small voice. “Ellie, I love him so much.”
Ellie squeezed her hard.
“I know you do. Damn that man.” She pulled back and dabbed at Olivia’s face with one tissue, and her own with another.
Olivia took the tissue from her.
“I’m sorry about all of the crying.”
She hadn’t cried at work—at least where anyone could see her—since her third year as an associate, when a terrible partner had yelled at her. Other terrible partners had yelled at her after that, of course, but she’d never let them see her cry again.
“Like I say to Sophia, it’s okay to feel your feelings,” Ellie said.
Olivia made herself laugh.
“I felt enough feelings this weekend to do me for the rest of the year, thanks. Actually, no, for the rest of the decade. I’d like to stop feeling any feelings for a while.”
Ellie gave her one more hug.
“Oh, honey. I’ve been there.” She stood up. “Now, this is what I’m going to do—I’m going to go to that bakery on the corner and get two of the most delicious-looking pastries they have, and make you choose which one you want, even though I know you’re going to hem and haw and in the end I’m going to cut them in half so we can each have both. And I’m going to get you another coffee, because I bet that one sitting in front of you is cold by now. And then I’m going to book us a spa day this Saturday, and neither work nor my husband nor my child will keep us away from it. And then I’m going to check on you every few hours and see if you need me until you yell at me and tell me to stop. Does that sound good?”
Ellie opened Olivia’s door and disappeared without waiting for an answer. Olivia hoped Ellie didn’t come back with the pastries in one of those bakery boxes like all of those cakes had come in.
She took a deep breath and pulled out her phone.
Max. Please stop sending the cakes.
There. That was done.
She put her head down on her desk and sobbed.
The last week of recess, home in L.A. by himself, without Olivia, was one of the most difficult weeks of Max’s life. He’d pretended to his staff that he was fine, great, thrilled with the town halls, in love with the great state of California, so happy he’d gotten to meet so many of his constituents, having fun at all of the fundraisers! But he felt like he was carrying a heavy, ice-cold weight on his shoulders the whole week.
Every room in his house made him think of her. The kitchen, where they’d eaten pie straight out of the dish and laughed the whole time. The living room, where they’d spent hours working at opposite ends of the couch with comic book movies (his choice) or Bravo (her choice) on the TV in the background. The backyard, where she’d dragged him outside to look at the full moon on clear nights. And good God, the bedroom. He couldn’t sleep there anymore; after that first awful night, he crashed in the guest bedroom—the only r
oom in the house that didn’t have memories of her. Especially over the past month, when they’d spent so much time at his house together because he hadn’t wanted to lead the press to her place—something he’d stupidly forgotten that night he went over to her house. That night she’d broken his heart.
All of a sudden he had so much sympathy for every one of his friends who had ever gone through this kind of heartbreak, and felt like an asshole for whatever he’d said to them at the time. Like “cheer up” or “get back out there” or “she didn’t deserve you!” He definitely remembered saying at least that last one. If anyone said that to him right now, he’d want to punch them in the jaw. Olivia deserved far more than him. He didn’t deserve her. God, he loved her so much. Why wasn’t that enough?
He wasn’t supposed to be back in DC until Sunday night, but he changed his ticket to go back on Saturday instead. He couldn’t take one more night in that house, in that city, with Olivia right there and not there with him, especially after that text she’d sent him. He’d thought the cakes would be a sweet callback to how she’d first agreed to go out with him, and would make her realize all the good times they shared, and that she couldn’t throw it all away. Apparently not.
He let himself into the DC apartment and sighed in relief. He was so happy to be in this generic, boring apartment, a place Olivia had never been.
He dropped his suitcase on the floor of his bedroom and went back out into the kitchen to see if either he or Wes had left beer in the fridge before they left for recess. At least luck was with him today—there was an entire six-pack. It was alone in the fridge with a bottle of sparkling water, a jar of pickles, and three different kinds of mustard.
Party of Two: The brilliant opposites-attract rom-com from the author of The Proposal! Page 26