Fine, even though she’d never actually picked up and gone to Portugal for a weekend.

Plus, what if she actually got attached to Max? Despite what he’d said, she didn’t think there was any way it could lead to anything serious. Sure, he said he wanted a girlfriend, but he probably actually only wanted someone to have regular Saturday night plans with whenever he was in Los Angeles, someone who would drop everything and hang out with him at ten at night after events and let him vent about his stressful career and applaud him when he was on national TV, maybe text him a few times throughout the week, and that was it. And that was all well and good, but what if his stupid charm made her fall for him?

Ellie pointed a finger at her.

“Come on. Out with it.”

Olivia sighed, and said what had been in the back of her head all weekend.

“What if I end up actually liking him? Really liking him, I mean. If that happens, I have so much to lose, Ellie! What if he gets me to like him and then he gets to know me better and doesn’t like me anymore, which is what always fucking happens? I didn’t move out to L.A. to get my heart broken.”

Olivia knew she didn’t have to say anything more; Ellie knew all the details of the other times her heart had been broken.

“Do you remember what you said to me when you and That Asshole broke up?” Ellie asked, after a few moments.

Olivia loved how Ellie refused to even use her ex’s name.

“I said a lot of things to you then—which thing do you mean?”

Ellie picked up her coffee cup.

“You said that he never made you feel wanted, and you couldn’t do this again until a man made you feel like he wanted you, all of you. Well?”

She’d completely forgotten that she’d said that. But it was true then. And was still true now.

“Max does make me feel wanted,” she said slowly. “At least, so far he does. He’s made his interest in me clear, since the very beginning. But it’s not just that: he listens when I talk, really listens, he always looks at me like he’s so focused on me and glad to be with me, and . . . did I tell you he went back to the hotel bar to look for me after that first night? But it’s still early, that doesn’t—”

Ellie cut her off.

“Then I believe you have your answer, don’t you? And look, I know it’s still early, and I know you don’t want to risk anything here, but sometimes the only way to get something good is to take a few risks.”

Easier said than done. She loved Ellie, but married people gave such glib dating advice sometimes. Plus, didn’t Ellie remember she hated taking risks?

“I’d say remembering your favorite cake after a quick conversation—then sending it to you—says the man wants you all right,” Ellie said, that smug-married smile still on her face.

The problem was, as much as Olivia wanted to argue that point, she couldn’t. She still marveled that Max had done that.

“Sure, fine. But . . . maybe he’s just good at that kind of stuff, and it’s not about me.”

Ellie smiled at her.

“Only one way to find out.”

Max got back to his office late Wednesday afternoon after three interminable committee meetings in a row. Four members of his staff followed him into his private office, and he waved them all back out.

“Give me ten minutes to catch up on things; decide among yourselves on who goes first. You all get the next hour, but divvy it up responsibly.”

He shut the door before they could argue with him, and immediately pulled his personal phone out of his briefcase. Did he have a text from Olivia? He scrolled through the texts that had come in, looking for her name, but nothing.

Not to be arrogant, but there were a hell of a lot of women out there who would jump at the chance to be his girlfriend. Hundreds! Maybe thousands!

Okay, that was pretty fucking arrogant, and also absolutely untrue. But there were at least a few! Why was it that the one person he’d met in the past two years whom he couldn’t stop thinking about was not in that number?

Olivia had seemed all in on him on Friday night, until she very much wasn’t. He winced at the memory of that night—he really should have figured out a plan in advance. The look on her face when he’d said the word “girlfriend” . . . well, he hadn’t expected that.

He sighed and spent the rest of his ten minutes of silence playing a game on his phone, his one real guilty pleasure. At exactly ten minutes, he threw his door back open.

“Okay, who goes first?”

As he’d known would happen, Kara, his chief of staff, walked into the room. Kara had been by his side for three years now; he’d hired her to run his campaign for Senate in the early days, and he’d managed to convince her to come to DC with him after he won. Everyone had told him it was a bad idea to make your campaign chief of staff your Senate chief of staff, but he didn’t listen; he’d known from the first time he met her that he and Kara would work well together. And he’d been right not to listen—she did a great job steering his ship, and any bad decision he’d made so far in the Senate was his fault, not hers.

“You’re in a bad mood today, sir—were the hearings as boring from inside the room as they seemed on TV?”

He laughed. This was also why he liked working with Kara; she could come right out and say he was in a bad mood. All of his other staffers were too polite and formal with him; he still wasn’t used to it.

“Even more so, if possible,” he said. “Sorry for snapping at everyone, it’s been a long week.”

Kara shook her head.

“Sir, it’s Wednesday.”

In his first year in the Senate, he’d tried to break Kara of her habit of calling him “sir,” but to no avail. She’d told him that he was just as worthy of respect as all the older senators were, and she wasn’t going to let anyone think he wasn’t, down to what she called him. He’d given up, but it still felt weird to him. Wes was one of the only people in this whole city who called him by his first name.

He sat down at his desk and picked up a pen.

“Okay, what’s on the agenda?”

Kara looked down at her notebook.

“You asked me to check in with my contacts with leadership about your criminal justice reform bill, and . . . it’s not great news. Unfortunately— ”

He sighed.

“In an election year, when some of the people who would vote for the bill are fighting tooth and nail for their seats, we don’t want to give their opponents ammunition,” he finished her sentence. “Is that it?”

They both knew he was quoting her own words back to her. She’d said that to him months ago, when he’d told her he wanted to push this bill now, this year. She’d tried to get him to wait until the following January. But he hadn’t listened.

“That’s certainly part of it, sir,” she said, her eyes firmly on her notepad. Kara never said “I told you so,” even when he knew she must be dying to.

He let out a deep sigh. He knew what Kara wasn’t actually saying out loud was that his bill was close to dead. Damn it.

“I’m not going to give up on this, I’m sure you already know that.”

Kara stood up.

“I did already know that, as a matter of fact.” She grinned at him. “That’s why I work for you.”