“You didn’t want to go two weeks without seeing each other!” Olivia hadn’t planned to put it exactly that way, but it was the truth. She nodded. “Oh my God, that’s adorable!”
Olivia reached for more cheese as she absorbed that. She wasn’t used to being one half of an adorable couple. It didn’t feel like her—the Olivia who had worked her ass off for years and had kept relationships at bay, the Olivia who never took a plus-one to a wedding, the Olivia who rolled her eyes at a guy clearly trying to hit on her at a bar, the Olivia who men found intimidating, or too closed off, or too self-assured, the Olivia who had hardened herself against the world because of all that and refused to let herself hope. Was she still that Olivia?
She poured Jamila more sparkling water.
“Anyway, we decided we were tired of being a secret, so last night was our first semipublic night out.” She bit her lip. “It’ll be actually public soon—his chief of staff leaked it to a photographer that we’d be there, so pictures should pop up online of us any minute.”
Jamila opened her eyes wide.
“Wow, that’s a big deal. How are you feeling? About all of this, I mean. You looked kind of . . . shell-shocked last night.”
Yeah, that was a good description of how she’d felt.
“Last night was kind of overwhelming, to be honest. I did—I do—want to be public with him, I’m getting tired of sneaking around. But when we got to the Hollywood Bowl, and he wasn’t in any kind of disguise, and there were so many people there, and they all had their phones out . . .” She let out a deep breath. “I didn’t know what I’d gotten myself into. I’d relaxed a lot during the concert; Dolly Parton can make anyone feel better, I think, but then I saw you, and it all hit me again. Sorry if I looked like I was mad at you or something, that wasn’t it.”
Jamila shook her head.
“No, I get it. I’m sure this is all a lot.”
It sure was. It had all happened so fast, and Max had become such a fixture in her life so quickly that she hadn’t stopped to think about just how wild this whole thing was.
“It feels totally normal most of the time, when we’re together. But sometimes I’ll be flipping channels and hear my boyfriend’s voice, and it feels really fucking weird.” They both laughed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I really wanted to, but . . .”
Jamila brushed that aside.
“Of course you couldn’t tell me. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone until you give me specific clearance to do so.”
Olivia let out a deep breath.
“Thanks. I really appreciate you saying that. I have no idea what’s going to happen here—which is not a phrase I enjoy saying, trust me—but I just hope whatever happens, I can handle it.”
Jamila clinked her glass of sparkling water against Olivia’s glass of wine.
“I’ll toast to that, but then I’ve only known you for a few months, and I have full confidence that you can handle anything.”
If only that were the case.
“I’m glad I give off that impression, anyway,” Olivia said. “Truthfully, I can handle a lot, but I sort of feel like I’m in uncharted waters right now. Max is very chill about the whole thing, but then Max is always either very chill about things or very fired up; there’s no in between with him.”
Olivia poured herself some more wine and piled more cheese on her plate. She’d been talking so much she’d barely eaten any.
“So. That’s the story. Stay tuned for updates.”
Jamila turned and looked in the direction of the kitchen.
“Not to be greedy, and I know you said there are more snacks, but . . . is there more of that cake you mentioned?”
Olivia waved her toward the kitchen.
“On the counter, in the pink box. Cut me a slice, too, now that you brought it up.” Dessert in the middle of a meal was exactly what she needed tonight.
While Jamila was in the kitchen getting the cake, Olivia reached into the pocket of her yoga pants for her phone. She’d been so intent on talking to Jamila that she hadn’t thought about checking her phone for at least an hour.
Nor, apparently, had she felt it vibrate.
The photographer was as advertised; you look fantastic
And then there was a link to some website she’d never heard of:
Max Powell steps out with a mystery woman!
Here we go.
“I’m a mystery woman!” She waved her phone in the air as Jamila walked back into the room, plates of cake in her hand.
“Oh shit, the pictures are out?” Jamila put the cake down on the coffee table. “How are they?”
Olivia tried not to let her hands shake as she scrolled down the page.
“Okay, I guess? I tried to smile the whole time we were walking around, so I look kind of weird, but mostly fine?” She handed her phone to Jamila. “What do you think?”
Jamila scanned the pictures and nodded.
“I think you look great. I mean, I see what you’re saying about the smile, but it’s fine, don’t worry about it. And your outfit is great.” She held up the phone to Olivia. “And that one? It’s perfect. The way Max is looking at you? Every woman in America will be jealous of you.”
Olivia took the phone back to see what Jamila was talking about. She’d concentrated on how she looked in all of the photos; she hadn’t stopped to look at Max. But Jamila was right—in the third picture, she was smiling that weird smile and looking straight ahead, while Max was looking straight at her and just . . . beaming.
That look on his face made her fall in love with him all over again.
“Wow,” she said. “This might have all been worth it, just for that picture.”
Jamila handed her the cake.
“I wonder how long it’ll take the press to find out who you are.”
Olivia clicked on the picture to save it to her phone.
“Hopefully weeks. Maybe months.”
Chapter Fifteen
It took until 10:25 Monday morning. Olivia was at her desk at work, her gossip with Ellie over, her third coffee in her hand, when she got the first call.
“Is this Olivia Monroe?” the caller asked.
“Speaking,” she said. “How can I help you?”
Olivia hoped it was about that potential pitch to Clementine, a huge local biotech company. Bruce had introduced her to someone in their legal department, and she’d had coffee with him the week before in the hopes that she and Ellie could get some of their vast amount of legal work. If Monroe & Spencer could get some Clementine business, maybe she could finally take a deep breath.
“Can you answer some questions for me about your relationship with senator Max Powell?”
She froze. She’d expected some warning before this happened. From Max, or his office, or something. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to say.
“Um, no comment,” she said finally, and hung up the phone. Then she texted Max.
I just got a call from a reporter—is there something I’m supposed to do?
“Ellie!” Ellie came running into her office.
“Was that a good call?”