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Playboy’s Ruthless Payback by Laura Wright
“I want you.”
“I realise that,” Olivia said cautiously. “There’s just one problem.”
“And what would that be?”
“Your relationship with my father.”
Mac’s brows lifted just slightly, then he scowled.
“He called this morning and said you might be stopping by.”
“Did he?”
“Yep.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Now, Mr Valentine, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
Like Lightning by Charlene Sands
“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” Maddie said.
Trey spread his hand through her hair, coppery waves spilling over his fingertips, soft and smooth and silky. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Maddie,” he whispered. “I’m gonna need a better thank-you.”
Maddie slipped her hand inside his shirt, stroking his flesh until his skin sizzled. Then she lifted her head and gave him the best thank-you of his life, a long, hot, sexy kiss that knocked the breath out of him.
“Was that better, Trey?”
“Better,” he croaked, barely catching his breath.
Maddie stared deeply into his eyes and every shred of willpower he could muster wasn’t enough for the intoxicating look of desire she cast him. “Ah, Maddie,” he whispered, brushing his lips to her ear, “how am I supposed to keep my hands off you now?”
Playboy’s Ruthless Payback
LAURA WRIGHT
Like Lightning
CHARLENE SANDS
PLAYBOY’S RUTHLESS PAYBACK
by
Laura Wright
LAURA WRIGHT
has spent most of her life immersed in the world of acting, singing and competitive ballroom dancing. But when she started writing romance, she knew she’d found her true calling! Born and raised in Minneapolis, Laura has also lived in New York, Ohio and Wisconsin. Currently, she has set down her bags in Los Angeles, California, and, although the town can be a little crazy at times, Laura is grateful to have her theatrical production manager husband, two young children and three dogs to keep her sane. During her downtime, Laura loves to paint, play peek-a-boo with her little boy, go to the cinema with her husband and read with her daughter. She loves hearing from her readers and can be reached at PO Box 57523, Sherman Oaks, CA 91413, USA.
Dear Reader,
What would you do if someone set out to ruin your reputation? Take down your business? Destroy everything you’ve worked so hard to achieve? Is your blood boiling yet?
These are the questions I wanted to have my hero, Mac Valentine, face. I wanted to see how far he would go, how ruthless he would be in destroying the man who set out to destroy him.
Honestly, I’ve felt Mac’s anger – that roaring sound of injustice that rings in your ears every time you think about how you’ve been screwed over. Maybe you have, too, and you want your payback. But after you have it, is the satisfaction of making that person pay enough? Does it heal you?
Let me know what you think about Mac and Olivia’s story. And, if you want to share your story, I’d love to hear it. E-mail me at laura@laurawright.com.
All my best,
Laura
To Daniel, thank you for seeing me through
this book. You’re the best!
One
“Congresswoman Fisher is on line two, Derek Mead is still holding on line three and Owen Winston is on line four.”
MacValentine relaxed in his chair. His executive assistant, Claire, stood in the doorway of his modern, chrome-and-leather penthouse office, an expectant look on her grandmotherly face. She had been with him for eight years and she was somewhat of a voyeur when it came to watching him work. She especially enjoyed moments like this when he was about to crush someone. She thought of him as a ruthless, unflinching businessman, and on more than one occasion he’d heard her refer to him as a black-haired, black-eyed demon who held each one of his thirty-five employees to incredibly high standards.
Mac grinned. The woman was right. The only thing she’d left out was that if any one of those employees fell short of his expectations, if they didn’t strive for the goal of making MCV Wealth Enhancement Corp. the first choice of not only the Minneapolis area, but also the entire Midwest, they were sent packing.
Behind her black frames, Claire’s eyes glistened like a child waiting for dessert to be served. “Mr. Winston says he is returning your call, sir.”
Mac palmed his BlackBerry. “Tell both the congresswoman and Mead that I’ll return their calls. This won’t take long.”
“Yes, sir.” Claire hovered in the doorway.
“And close the door when you go,” Mac said evenly. “Today is not a school day.”
“Of course, sir.” Looking thoroughly disappointed, Claire left the room.
Mac pressed the call button and leaned back in his chair. “Owen.”
“That’s right,” came the irritated voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve been holding for longer than I care to. What can I do for you?”
Satisfaction rolled through Mac at the slight tremor in the older man’s voice. He turned his chair toward the wall of windows behind him and stared out at the view of the Minneapolis skyline. “I won’t waste my time or yours asking why you did what you did.”
“Excuse me?”
“Or force you to admit it,” said Mac. “Attempting to ruin the reputation of a competing firm happens quite a bit in our game. Mostly with the older set. You guys get tired, lose your edge and the clients start looking elsewhere.”
Mac could practically see Owen’s face darkening with rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Valentine—”
“You can’t help it,” Mac continued coldly. “You see these hotshots coming up the ranks with cooler heads and sharper minds and you start to worry that you’re not going to be taken seriously anymore. And when you realize it’s only a matter of time before you’re forced out of business, you panic.” Mac leaned forward and said without emotion, “You panicked, Owen.”
“This is ridiculous,” Owen sputtered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mac continued as if he hadn’t heard. “A respectable man would recognize his limitations and retire, maybe play a round of golf in the morning followed by a nice nap in the afternoon.”
“A respectable businessman, Valentine.” Owen laughed bitterly. “A respectable businessman wouldn’t give preferential treatment, key information or tips to certain privileged clients. A respectable man wouldn’t give that information based on their client’s long legs and large breasts.”
It was the accusation of a desperate man, total BS, but the rumor had spread like the flu. “You are this close to a lawsuit, Winston.”
“That sharp mind of yours would never allow these observations of mine to go on the record in a court of law. Such a long, drawn-out process. Even worse for your reputation, I would think.”
It took a few seconds for Mac to respond, then a deadly calm crept over him like the blackening sky before a thunderstorm. “True enough,” he said slowly. “Perhaps legal recourse isn’t the right way to deal with you.”
“Smart man. Now it’s late and I have—”
Mac stood and walked across the room. “No, I suppose I’ll have to come up with a different way to make you pay for what you’ve done.”
“It’s after seven, Valentine,” said Owen tightly. “I have dinner plans.”
“Yes, of course—get home to your family.” Mac opened his office door and gestured for Claire. “Especially that lovely daughter of yours. What’s her name again? Allison? Olive?”
Owen didn’t answer.
“Ah, right…” Mac raised a brow at Claire. “Olivia. Beautiful name,” Mac said as he watched his assistant go to her computer and begin a search. “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman, I’m told. You know, your daughter has a reputation for being a very good girl. Sweet, loves her father and steers clear of anything scandalous. Might be interesting to see how easy or how enjoyably difficult it would be to change that.”
Claire glanced up, her expression a mixed bag of respect, curiosity and horror.
“You stay away from my daughter.” The once cocky old man now sounded like an anxious pup.
“I’m not a religious man, Owen, but I believe the phrase ‘an eye for an eye’ is appropriate here.” Mac stalked back into his office. “I may be an arrogant, selfish prick, but I’m no fraud. I give every one of my clients two hundred percent, male and female alike. You went too far.”
Mac stabbed at the off button on his BlackBerry and walked to the windows. The bleak, gray light of a hostile rainstorm hovered over the parking lot and street below, making Mac feel as though his threats to Owen Winston might be so powerful they could not only affect the sexual status of an innocent young woman, but the weather, as well.
“She owns No Ring Required.”
Mac didn’t turn around to address Claire’s statement. “How do I know that name?”
“Minneapolis Magazine did a cover story on the business last month. Three women—a chef, an interior designer and a party planner—all top-notch businesswomen who have banded together to create—”
“A service for men who need the help and expertise of a wife,” he continued. “But either don’t have one or don’t want one.”
“That’s right.”
He turned around and nodded to his assistant. “Perfect. Set up an appointment with Olivia Winston for this week. It would seem that I’m in need of her services.”
“Did you read the article, sir?”
“I don’t remember…I probably skimmed it.”
“These are hardcore, upstanding women who are well-respected in the business community. They are adamantly against any and all fraternization.”
Mac grinned to himself. “Get that appointment for tomorrow morning. First thing.”
Lip pulled under her teeth, Claire nodded and left the room.
Mac returned to his desk and thumbed through the files of the clients that had gone AWOL since Owen Winston’s lies had surfaced two days ago. Who knew if they were ever going to return to his company or if their relationship with his firm was dead in the water.
Mac wanted to throttle that bastard—but violence was too quickly given and gotten over. No, it would have to be a rep for a rep. Owen had taken Mac’s and Mac would take his daughter’s.
Well-respected or not, Owen’s little girl was going to have to pay—for the loss of revenue to MCV and its employees, and for her father’s stupidity.
Two
Olivia closed her eyes and inhaled. “I’m such a genius….”
“How long are you going to make us wait, Liv?” Tess asked, her stomach rumbling loudly. “I skipped breakfast.”
Seated at the table, Mary Kelley stared at the tall redhead’s trim belly, her brows drawn together. “Sounds like a train’s derailing in there. Very ladylike.”
Tess gave Mary a teasing glare. “Give me a break, I’m starving.” She pointed to the massive yellow diamond engagement ring on her pretty blond partner’s finger. “Not all of us have beautiful men bringing us poached eggs and bacon in the morning.”
Smiling, Mary touched her growing belly, her blue eyes soft and happy. “Ethan’s very concerned about feeding his child. If I don’t have something to eat every few hours he freaks.”
Tess snorted. “That’s just a little too sweet for me.”
Mary laughed. “Oh, c’mon. You’ll change your mind about that someday. Guaranteed.”
“Doubtful. I’m too much of a loner—and I like it.”
“Well, then we have to get you to go out and socialize more.” Mary’s eyes lit up. “Maybe you’ll meet someone at Ethan’s and my holiday engagement party at the end of the month. He has some cute friends.”
“No thanks.”
“You might meet up with the right guy.”
Tess shook her head and laughed. “I don’t believe in the right guy, Mare. Now, a truckful of not-so-right guys—that’s something I believe in.”
Mary poured herself another glass of milk. “You’re not old enough to be so cynical. How many men have you dated at twenty-five?”
“Enough to know better,” Tess said seriously, then turned to Olivia. “You and I are lucky to have escaped the noose for so long, right, Liv?”
“Oh, so lucky,” Olivia drawled as she cut squares of brownie. Olivia tried to ignore the wave of envy that moved over her heart as she recalled the tenderness in Ethan Curtis’s eyes that morning when he gave Mary a goodbye kiss at the reception desk before leaving for his office. He had looked so in love, so happy, so over-the-moon excited about their baby.
Olivia didn’t begrudge her friend the beautiful man and solid relationship, but she did wonder if it was possible for someone like her to have half of that kind of happiness. In her heart of hearts, she wanted a man—someone to cook for and love and make babies with, but odds of that kind of life coming her way weren’t great. Even though she had grown up in years, she was still very much stuck to the past. In many ways, she was still that depressed sixteen-year-old who had just lost her mother to cancer, couldn’t get her father to notice her and had escaped from her pain in the most foolish ways possible—parties and boys and sex.
The shame of what she’d done and how many boys she’d allowed herself to be used by hadn’t diminished in the ten years since, but in that time she had grown extraordinarily tough. She had also become cautious and resolutely celibate. Today, her reputation was lily-white—she was a hard-nosed businesswoman who kept the secrets of her past to herself.
“All right,” Olivia said brightly, setting two extra large squares of chocolate brownie before Tess and Mary. “These will keep your mouths occupied.”
“I believe she just told us to shut up,” Tess said with a grin.
Mary picked up her brownie and sighed. “But it was in the very nicest way possible.”
“True,” Tess said, her pale gray eyes raking the gooey chocolate square. “And for another one of these I will not only give up on the guy and marriage talk, but if asked, I will gladly roll over and pant.”
“Before you do,” said a husky male voice behind them, “just be aware that you have an audience.”
Mary and Tess whirled around in their chairs, and Olivia glanced up. Filling up the doorway with a cynical, though highly amused, expression was a man with eyes the color of espresso. He was tall and broad and was dressed impeccably in a gray pinstripe suit and black wool coat. Olivia found herself clenching her fists as she felt an irresistible urge to flip up the collar of his coat and use it to pull herself against him. The feeling was so out of character that it frightened the hell out of her and made her stomach churn with nervous energy. In the past seven years, since her self-imposed exile from sex, her body had rarely betrayed her. Sure, there had been a few late nights with a good romance novel in her bed, but other than that, nada.
As she looked at this man, every inch of her screamed Caution!
“Mac Valentine?” she said, relieved that her voice sounded steady and cool.
He nodded. “I think I’m early.”
“Only by a few minutes,” she assured him. “Please come in.”
As he walked toward them, his stride runway-model confident, both Mary and Tess stood and offered him their hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Valentine,” Mary said evenly. “We were just enjoying a midmorning pick-me-up.”
“I understand.”
“Chocolate is life’s blood around here,” Mary continued warmly.
“I wondered what that amazing scent was the minute I got off the elevator.”
Tess patted Olivia on the back. “Well, that’s our resident chef’s doing. Olivia makes magic and we all get to enjoy it.”
His gaze rested on Olivia. “Is that so?”
Olivia shrugged good-naturedly. “I’ve never been good at false modesty, so I’ll just say, yes, I’m a damn fine cook.”
Amusement glittered in Mac Valentine’s dark eyes, and Olivia felt a shiver travel up her spine.
“And on that note,” said Mary, packing up the rest of her brownie and half-full glass of milk, “Tess and I will leave you in Olivia’s capable hands. Welcome to No Ring Required, Mr. Valentine.”
“Thank you.”
Tess shook his hand again, then when his back was turned grabbed another brownie, before following Mary out of the room.
Trying not to laugh, Olivia watched Mac take off his coat and lay it over an empty chair, then she gestured to the table. “Please, have a seat.” She snatched the orange platter of brownies off the counter and held it out in his direction. “Would you like one?”
He glanced up at her. “Do I have to roll over and pant?”
“Only if you want seconds.”
Mac Valentine’s eyes flashed with surprise at her quick comeback. “I’ll let you know.” Then he took a brownie from the plate.
She sat beside him and folded her hands primly. She didn’t know exactly why this man was here, but she had a feeling he brought trouble with him—several varieties of trouble. “Now, your assistant didn’t reveal much about why you’re here today when she made the appointment. Perhaps you could.”
“Of course.” He sat back in his chair. “I need you to turn my home into something far more ‘homey’ than what it is.”
“And what is it?”
“A lot of unused space.”
“Okay.”
“I have clients coming in from out of town, and I want them to feel as though they’ve visited a family man, instead of a…” He paused.
She lifted her brows. “Yes?”
His lips twitched. “Someone who has no idea what those two words really mean.”
“I see.” And she did. It wasn’t the first time she’d worked with a clueless millionaire playboy.
“I think it would be best if you saw my house for yourself.”
She nodded, her gaze darting to the untouched brownie before him. “All right. But you understand my main area of expertise is in the kitchen.”
“I was led to believe you were a multitasker.”
Why wasn’t he eating her brownie? “I am, but if it’s true homemaking you’re looking for then Tess might be a better—”
“No,” he said, cutting her off.
She paused and gave him an expectant look.
“I want you,” he finished, his face hard.
“Yes, I can see that,” she said cautiously. “There’s just one problem.”
“And what would that be?”
“Your relationship with my father.”
His brows lifted, just slightly. “I have no relationship with your father.”
“He called me this morning and said you might be stopping by.”
“Did he?”
“Yep.”
Mac studied her for a moment. “You have the reputation of being a soft-spoken sweetheart, did you know that?”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m not living up to my reputation?”
That query produced a wry smile from him. “I think I’m going to have a bite of this brownie now.”
It’s about damn time, she thought as she watched him slip the thick dark cake between his teeth. He had large, strong-looking hands and thick wrists, and she felt a humming in her belly as she wondered what he did with his hands that garnered him such a roguish reputation.
Her father had left her with a big warning about Mac Valentine. But instead of being worried she felt as curious as a one-year-old with an uncovered wall outlet in her sights.
“Good?” she asked, pointing to the half-eaten brownie on the plate.
“Very good.”
“I’m glad,” she said evenly. “Now, Mr. Valentine, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
Three
If there was one thing Mac Valentine could spot a mile away, it was a worthy adversary. She may have been only a few inches over five feet with eyes as large and as soft as a baby deer, but Olivia Winston’s cleverness and sharp tongue clearly declared her as a force to be reckoned with.
He hadn’t seen that coming.
But then again, there was nothing he loved better than a challenge.
He watched those brown fawn’s eyes narrow, and knew she would wait all day for the answer to her question.
“Due to circumstances beyond my control,” he began, “my financial firm has lost its top three clients. I expect this to change over the course of the next few months when they realize that no one else in this town can make them the kind of money that I can, and did. But in the meantime, I need some help from you in landing a few heavy hitters.”
Olivia’s gaze flickered to the tabletop. “Do you need my help rebuilding your business or your reputation?”
“I see your father has done more than warn you about me.” She didn’t confirm or deny this, so he continued, “My business is not in any danger, but yes, my reputation has come into question and I cannot—and will not—allow that to continue.”
“I see.” Her smile turned edgy. “So, you want these potential clients to stay at your house instead of a hotel?”
“They’re the type who appreciate home and family and soft edges—” he waved his hand “—all of that.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.”
She stood and took the plate that was in front of him, the plate with half a remaining brownie on it. “I have a question for you,” she said, walking to the sink and depositing the dish there. She was small, but all curves, and when she walked it was seduction with every step. She turned to face him, leaned back against the countertop and crossed her arms over her full chest. Mac felt his gut tighten at the picture-perfect sight of her. “You believe that my dad caused your clients to leave your firm, right?” she said, arching her brow.
“Actually it was the lies your father spread that caused my clients to leave,” he corrected.
“If you think that, then why would you want to work with his daughter? Unless…”
“Unless what?”
She walked to him and stopped just shy of his chair. If he reached out, grabbed her around her tiny, perfect waist and pulled her onto his lap, what would she do?
Whoever said payback was a bitch hadn’t seen this woman.
“Unless you want to use me to get back at him,” she said in a voice so casual she might have been reading a grocery list.
He matched her tone. “Is that what he told you?”
“Yes, but he didn’t really have to.”
“And how exactly would I use you?”
She shook her head. “Not quite sure.” When she sat this time it was across from him.
“But your father has some ideas?”
“He’s worried about your…” She smiled, thin as a blade. “Obvious charms—I mean, you’re a great-looking guy. But I assured him he didn’t have anything to worry about.”
Well, this was a first. “Really?”
She nodded, said matter-of-factly, “I let him know that I would never be interested.”
Mac felt his brow lift.
She laughed. “I don’t mean to insult you, but the truth is, I would never go for a guy like you.”
“Why do you think I’m insulted?”
The question caught her off guard and she stumbled with her words. “I, well—”
“And what kind of guy do you think I am?”
She lifted her chin. “One who assumes he can have anything he wants and any woman he wants.”
Mac was not a man of assumptions, he was a man of words and deeds, and this woman was starting to piss him off. “I go after what I want, Miss Winston, but the people and things that come to me come at their own free will, I can assure you.”
“You’re just that irresistible.”
He sat back in his chair. “Do all clients of No Ring Required go through an interrogation process or is it just me?”
“You’re not a client yet, Mister—”
“Ah, Olivia.” Tess stuck her head in the office, a confused expression on her face. “Can I see you for a moment?”
“Sure.” Olivia turned to Mac. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Valentine.”
He saw, with vicious pleasure, that she was caught off guard and he couldn’t help but grin as he said, “I wish I could say I was looking forward to it.”
“If you can’t wait…” she began.
“Oh, I can wait.” He reached for his coat, and snagged his BlackBerry from the pocket. “I’ll make a few calls.”
Olivia felt like taking the man’s phone and crushing it under her heel, but she smiled and nodded. Once out in the hall, the door tightly closed behind her, she faced her anxious-looking partners.
“What are you doing in there?” Tess said in a harsh whisper.
“Talking to a potential client.”
“Insulting a potential client, is more like it,” said Tess dryly, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Tess, you don’t know the situation—”
Ever the mediator, Mary took over, her tone calm and parental. “Whatever the situation is, Liv, we could hear you all the way from our offices, and it sounded like an attack. Can you tell us what’s going on?”
Olivia blew out a breath. “He’s not a normal client. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s going to be a client at all.”
“Not after what I just heard,” Tess grumbled.
“At ease, Tess.” Knowing her partners deserved an explanation, Olivia offered them the simplest one. “He and my father are in the same business, and a few of Mac Valentine’s clients have decided to leave him and hire my dad instead. Mac thinks my father went the unethical route and told the financial community that he was doling out preferential treatment and tips to his better-looking clients.”
“Wow,” Tess began. “And did your father do that?”
“I can’t imagine. My father’s always been at the top of his profession. But the point is, Mac Valentine believes it. He thinks my father is responsible for the loss of three of his best clients, and now he’s hiring me to get even.”
Tess frowned. “What?”
“How?” Mary said, perplexed.
“I don’t know yet, but I intend to find out.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Tess said, shooting Mary a warning glance.
“Does he have a legitimate request for us?” Mary asked.
“He’s out to bag a few new clients to replace the ones he’s lost, and he wants me to make his house homey and inviting on several levels to impress them.”
Mary put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “If you don’t feel you can handle him, Liv, Tess or I will—”
“No. First of all, he only wants me, and secondly, I’m not about to run from this man. I’m a professional, and I’ll get the job done without getting involved.”
Mary put a hand to her belly. “Sounds familiar.”
“If I don’t take the job, I’m willing to bet this guy would find a way of letting it be known around town that one of NRR’s partners isn’t a true professional. We don’t need that.”
Both Mary and Tess begrudgingly agreed.
“Just be careful, okay?” said Mary, squeezing Olivia’s arm.
“Always.” She gave them a bright smile and a wave and returned to the kitchen.
Mac was just finishing a call when Olivia eased back into her seat at the table, an NRR contract for him to sign in her hand. She took a deep breath. “Sorry about that.”
“For leaving the room or for the insults?”
“Look, I’m going to take this ‘job’ because I am a professional and have partners who are counting on me. I’m also more than a little curious as to what you’re going to try and pull. But know this, Mr. Valentine, lay one hand on me and we’re done, understand?”
Mac looked amused. “For someone who believes herself so unaffected by a guy like me, you’re acting worried.”
“Boundaries and rules—good things to have.”
After a beat, Mac agreed. “I understand. Now, can we get down to business?”
Olivia slid the one-page contract and a pen across the table. “When would you like me to start?”
“I’m having the DeBolds to my home this weekend.”
“The diamond family?” She was surprised. The DeBolds would be a huge score and, according to her father, incredibly hard to land as clients. Mac Valentine had guts and drive, she’d give him that.
“They don’t have children yet, but they are very into family, and the lifestyle that accompanies it. I need to make them feel at home with me.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“I want home-cooked meals, family activities,” he continued. “I want them to see me as secure, a man who understands their needs and desires for the future.”
“Okay.”
“And I’d like you to stay at the house with us.”
She paused and stared at him, hoping her gaze was a cold as her tone. “No.”
“In a room upstairs, down the hall from the DeBolds.”
“And where will you be?”
“I sleep on the first floor.”
Out of patience, she stood from the table and shot him a hot look. “It’s not going to happen.”
He ignored her as if she’d never said a word, “I want you to be there with us from breakfast to evening.”
“Yes, I know. And I will.”
In his ever-present calm way, he studied her. “All right, we’ll discuss that particular detail at a later date. Now, on to something more important—this contract I’m about to sign, it guarantees confidentiality, is that right? You will not reveal anything about my business, and whom I do business with?”
“Of course.” She had loyalties to her father, but her loyalties to the business and her partners came first. “Do you have menus in mind or would you like me to plan something?”
“I’d like you to plan everything.”
After signing the contract and issuing a rather substantial check to NRR, Mac stood, towering over her like a statue. The soft scent of fading aftershave drifted into her nostrils and it annoyed her that just a small detail like his scent made her feel off balance. She found herself staring at his lips as he said, “I would like you to come by my house tomorrow, see what you have to work with and what you feel needs to be changed.”
She stepped away from him, trying to regain her cool composure. “How’s 10:00 a.m.?”
“You have my address?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him and grinned slightly. “And your number, as well.”
“Clever.” He held out his hand, and for just a moment Olivia felt this odd sensation to turn and run from him. But she knew how ridiculous and childish that thought was, and she confidently placed her hand in his.
There were no sparks or fireworks that erupted inside Olivia at that first touch. Instead something far more worrisome happened; she had an overwhelming urge to cry, as though she’d been on an island alone for ten years and had woken up to see a boat a few miles off shore—a boat she knew in her gut she wasn’t going to be able to flag down.
