Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
“Business tonight.” I smiled. Just as I said those words, I saw Larry Schneider head toward me. Larry was a developmental art director in one of the companies Dexter and Klein was working with. “And speak of the devil, there he is.”
Soraya looked behind her and stepped to the side. She glanced back at me once more, giving me a friendly smile. “Well, it was really great seeing you again, Pope. You look like you’re doing well.” She looked me up and down again. “In fact, you look really happy.” She looked at me in the eyes, and I couldn’t help but give her a sincere, genuine grin.
“Thanks. I am really happy.” I was about to tell her about Olive, how we were, what she meant to me, but I happened to glance to the side and felt my heart plummet. There, standing on the other side of the front window with wide eyes and this heartbroken expression on her face, was Olive.
My heart dropped to my stomach, just fucking sunk. I didn’t have to hear her say anything to know that what she saw—the hug from Soraya, the smiles—she probably mistook.
And I couldn’t blame her.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath as I saw her walk away, shaking her head.
Fuck.
“Hey, where are you going?” Larry said as I grabbed my phone quickly and made my way toward the front entrance.
“We can reschedule, Larry. I’m sorry, but an emergency has come up.”
Fuck this meeting. Fuck everything else that didn’t have to do with Olive and making this right.
Because there was no way in hell I was losing her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Olive
Iwas depressed. Here I was, sitting on my couch with a bottle of wine in front of me and a glass filled to the brim in my hand. I could’ve called Michael, had him come over so I didn’t have to drink alone, but right now, I just wanted to be by myself. I didn’t want to have to explain anything. I just wanted to wallow in my emotions and feel self-pity.
I brought the glass to my mouth and took a long drink, refusing to cry even though the tears were right there at the surface.
I’d been home for less than ten minutes, opting to pay for a cab instead of using the subway. I’d spend more if it meant not having to be crammed on a train with a bunch of strangers when all I wanted to be was alone.
And as soon as I’d walked through the door, I grabbed the bottle of wine, a glass, and sat my ass right down on this couch.
I looked over at the bags that sat on my dining room table, one filled with groceries, the other with sexy lingerie I’d bought, because I thought Pope might like seeing me in it. I thought about what I’d seen tonight. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe I should have waited and found out what had actually happened.
I should’ve spoken to him, not let my emotions dictate my actions as I ran off like a scared little girl. But all I had seen was painful. All I had felt was hurt. And my first reaction was to get away from it, to go to a safe place, to go to my place surrounded by my things that comforted me.
No, I refused to cry. I tipped my glass up and finished drinking my wine, about to reach for the bottle and refill my glass, when I heard three hard raps on my door. I could assume maybe it was Michael, but I knew it wasn’t.
I hoped it wasn’t.
I set my wine glass on the coffee table and stood, my legs feeling weak, my knees threatening to buckle. My movements were slow as I walked toward the front door, reached out, and grabbed the handle, the brass cold in my grip. My heart was racing hard and painfully. I could feel it in my throat, hear it in my ears.
I turned the handle and pulled the door open, seeing Pope standing on the other side. Those tears that had threatened to spill came rising up violently then, but I held them back, put them on a leash. I wanted to be strong. I didn’t want to break down.
“Olive,” he said softly, pain in his voice. “I saw you at the restaurant. I know what you think you saw.” I shook my head slowly. “I want to fix this. Make this right. Make you understand nothing happened. I want to fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix. We weren’t ever together officially, Pope.” I saw the way his eyes widened, how my words hurt him, cut him deeply. It pained me to say it, because I didn’t feel that way. I thought about our time in his office, how he’d pressed me against the wall and shown me how possessive he was.