It was more like two minutes than one second, but finally, Ellie hit save and turned around.
“Okay.” She took a sip of coffee and opened her eyes wide. “What story do you have for me?”
Olivia took a deep breath.
“I went out with . . . Max again this weekend.”
Ellie put down her coffee.
“And then what? What’s wrong? What did that man do to you? Do I have to go kill a member of Congress?”
Ellie might actually do it, too, all while in her string of pearls and perfect blowout.
Olivia laughed and shook her head.
“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just that . . . Ellie, he wants to date me.”
Ellie looked at her quizzically.
“Um, yeah, I sort of assumed so, since this was your second date and all.”
Olivia shook her head.
“I just thought he wanted to sleep with me! I thought he just wanted a fun little fling and then we could both go on our own merry ways, but no. He doesn’t want a fling! He wants a girlfriend! More specifically, he wants me to be his girlfriend! Maybe not immediately, but, like . . . at some point.”
A broad grin spread across Ellie’s face.
“And?”
Olivia threw up her hands.
“And??? Ellie, I don’t know what to do with this! I am not senator girlfriend material; you have to be all poised and blond—no offense to present company, obviously—and smiling and characterless for that. Hell, I’m not even Max Powell girlfriend material, forget the senator part! I’m not thin enough, my butt is far too big, hell, my hair is far too big for men like him! Plus, I don’t have time to be dating someone right now! I just moved here, I need to devote myself to making this firm a success, and . . . I don’t know, buying a car, and learning L.A. geography, and whatever else. I don’t want to be a girlfriend!”
Ellie nodded, a little too forcefully.
“Sounds like someone is protesting a little too much, don’t you think? What’s wrong with being a girlfriend?”
Olivia ignored Ellie’s first question and stopped to think about the second.
“I was in too many relationships in my late twenties and early thirties with men who got mad at me for how much I was working, or required so much of my time to sympathize with them about their mean lady boss or tuck them into bed when they had a man cold or whatever. And worse, they never really cared about me, even though I didn’t want to admit that to myself. I just couldn’t do it anymore, especially not when I was trying to make partner. And even after I made partner, I still had to prove myself at the firm, so I just never wanted to have to choose.”
Ellie folded her hands together.
“And now, you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone anymore. And despite what you said about how you don’t have time, I know just as well as you do that you do indeed have time. Date the man, unless he’s totally unattractive or a pompous asshole. And I’ve seen pictures, I know he’s not the former; and if he was the latter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
Good point, Ellie, but . . .
“He isn’t a pompous asshole YET, you mean. So far he’s smart and funny and hot and listens to me, but that all seems far too good to be true. Max seems far too good to be true, Ellie! Men like him always have this vision in their head of who they think I am and what they want me to be and why they want to date me, and then they get to know me better and decide I’m too loud, or too intimidating, or too ambitious. They don’t want the real Olivia. He must be bullshitting me about all of this. He’s a politician, after all; they’re good at that. I know his whole sunny, positive, golden-retriever-fighting-for-justice thing can’t last! And what if he really is thinking about running for president like people are saying? In that case, he’s definitely not to be trusted: there’s no way a candidate for president would want a Black woman with natural hair and big hips on his arm!”
She’d been perfectly happy about the idea of a fun little fling, and Max had to ruin it all.
Ellie nodded.
“Mmmhmm, sure. Then why are we having this conversation again?”
Another good point for Ellie, damn her.
“Because I was so stunned when he said he wanted to date me that I said I’d think about it! He said he’d hold Saturday night for me, and I said I’d let him know by then. And now I have to figure out what I’m going to let him know!”
Ellie’s smile widened.
“So you’re thinking about it. You wouldn’t be thinking about if you didn’t like him.”
She was thinking about it. She was thinking about it too much, as a matter of fact.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about it. I shouldn’t be, I should have just said no right away. But . . . he was a very good kisser. And he’s a lot more interesting and smart than I expected him to be. Fine, yes, I like him. And, I don’t know, he seems to really like me.”
It was more than that, but she wasn’t sure if she could explain it to Ellie. Somehow, she felt connected to him, which seemed ridiculous. But even from that first interaction at the bar, they’d been on the same wavelength. She’d thought it was just attraction, the same kind she felt with plenty of other guys she’d had flings with. Now she didn’t know anymore.
Plus, no man had done this kind of full-court press on her in a long time. She had to admit she really enjoyed it.
Ellie just sat there and looked at her silently as Olivia thought through all of this. Finally, she put down her coffee.
“Olivia. You know the only reason you walked in here was because you wanted me to tell you to go out with him, so go out with him! What do you have to lose?”
What did she have to lose? So much: her control over her own life, her freedom, her focused concentration on her work, her ability to do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted without consulting someone else or worrying about anyone else’s work calendar or schedule or finances or desire to pick up and go to Portugal for a weekend. That’s what she had to lose.
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 lis
tens 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.”
After three more meetings with his staffers, Max gathered up his papers to walk home. It was already dark, and he was suddenly depressed. About being in this dark, cold, lonely city; about having this difficult, stressful, pointless job, where personalities and conflicts and elections and money mattered more than helping people; about not having anyone to talk to about any of that.
He picked up his phone, but no, Olivia hadn’t texted. Instead he texted Wes, whom he hadn’t seen since the week before, because of their terrible schedules.
Heading home now, and look at me, I’m going to order the pizza this time. What kind do you want?
He walked out of his office and waved to his staff members who were still there. As he left the building, he looked back down at his phone, willing Olivia to contact him, right now, tonight, to turn this day around.
Just then, a text flashed across his screen.
Was this it? Did he finally have magical powers? If so, maybe there was hope for his criminal justice reform bill.
Nope, not Olivia.
Beat you to it; a pizza—and a SALAD—should arrive right when you do. But you can pick up more beer on the way home, we’re almost out.
Damn it. There went the one victory he thought he’d get today.
He took the food out of the hands of the delivery guy as he walked into their apartment building, and opened their apartment door to find Wes on the couch in his sweatpants.
“Here’s the food and the beer.” He tossed everything on the table.
Wes looked up at him and narrowed his eyes.
“No ‘Hi, honey, I’m home’? No complaints about the salad? What happened to you? Where’s Normal Max tonight?”
Max sat down and flipped open the pizza box.
“Normal Max has been beaten down by the machinery of the United States Senate, that’s where Normal Max went. Kara thinks my criminal justice reform bill is on life support. That’s confidential, of course.”
Wes patted him on the shoulder.
“Oh man, that sucks,” he said. “But the machinery of the United States Senate has beaten you down before, and I haven’t seen you like this since . . . What else is wrong?” His eyes widened and he held up a finger. “The girl! I haven’t seen you since last week—what happened with the girl?”
Max shrugged and looked away. Damn Wes for knowing him so well.
“I told her how I felt, and that—fuck you for making me do this, by the way—that we couldn’t have sex, which . . . well, never mind. Anyway, she seemed taken aback, and said she’d ‘think about it.’ But that was Friday night, and I haven’t heard from her since then. I think I lost my chance with her. I never should have listened to you.”
“I didn’t tell you to tell her that; good God, Powell! I thought you were a better politician than that.”
Yes, well, so had he.
“I didn’t make a plan! I just blurted it all out! This is why I have people write my speeches and talking points for anything important; I’ve always been bad at shit like this when I don’t prepare! Anyway, that’s what happened with the girl.”
Wes closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Okay, well, there’s nothing we can do about that now. That was Friday night—have you texted her since then?”
Thanks for the reminder.
“I texted her on Sunday from the plane, just saying to have a good week. She said, ‘Thanks, you, too!’ and that was it.”
Wes pushed the container of salad over to him.
“Please eat some of this and come to your senses. That was Sunday, today is Wednesday. What are you waiting for? We’re too old for those games about when you should text a woman and when you shouldn’t. You like this woman, that’s obvious—don’t whine about it to me. Text her!”
As much as Max hated to admit it, Wes was probably right. Well, not about the salad.
“I was trying to give her space!” he said. “But you might be right. Plus, she’ll definitely tell me to go away if she doesn’t want to hear from me; she’s that type.”
Wes grinned.
“I like her even more now.”
Max rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone.
How’s your week going? Any more thoughts on Saturday? Maybe we could tick off some more of the items on your to-do in LA list?
There. That was friendly and breezy but still interested. He hoped.
He pressed send, and immediately realized exactly why he hadn’t done this earlier. Because now, it was going to be even worse waiting for her to text back.
Party of Two: The brilliant opposites-attract rom-com from the author of The Proposal! Page 9
