Not only that, but she felt a real sense of community here. Some of the other regular volunteers had been working at the food pantry since it had started, and after she showed up the second time, they’d taken her under their wing. They’d laughed at her—but in a kind way—when she asked questions, they’d taught her to chop and dice, and they always oohed and aahed over her outfit when she walked in on Wednesday nights. She felt like she was part of something; that there were people who embraced her, and whom she embraced right back. Many of them were from the neighborhood and so they knew some of the recipients of the meals well, which almost made it feel like they were cooking for family. Olivia wondered what they would think of Max.
Max hadn’t pressed her to make any grand commitment to him before he’d left her place late Saturday night, and they’d texted more or less the same amount this week as they had in the previous weeks. But something had changed between them after the confidences they’d exchanged that night.
Why had she told him about her arrest? Their whole conversation had been about him, not her; it wasn’t like she would have been lying to him if she hadn’t told him anything. She’d woken up that night at four a.m. and spent an hour mad at herself for that. But when she woke up the next morning, she had a text from Max waiting there on her phone, and somehow she wasn’t angry anymore.
No, now the problem was that she was mostly scared. She’d meant for this to be a casual, easy, low-key thing to keep her busy while her firm was slow, but the amount of space Max took up in her head was neither casual nor low-key. And she had no idea what to do about it.
She knew one thing: if they slept together, it would absolutely not be casual. Which sucked—she just wanted to have some really fucking great sex with that really fucking hot guy who kept touching her like that and kissing her like that and, oh God, looking at her like that. But that was the problem—there would be nothing casual about the sex with anyone who looked at her like that.
Oh no. How did she look at him?
She needed to stop thinking about him. She was acting like some sort of lovesick puppy.
“Sooo, tonight was interesting,” she said to Jamila when they got in the car. “I’m glad we had all of the manpower, but . . .”
Jamila looked at her sideways.
“But how did those frat guys hear about us? I have no idea! One of them called me yesterday and asked if they could bring a group of ten, which I didn’t think was actually going to happen but I said sure, and then they brought a group of twenty. Must have been some sort of community service requirement from school.”
Olivia tossed her bag on the floor.
“Yeah, when I walked in, I thought maybe I was in the wrong place! But hey, I’ll take it.” That reminded her. “Do we ever get high school groups out to help? I used to do a lot of volunteering with teens—now that my work schedule isn’t as packed, I need to find a way to do that again.”
She’d thrown herself into that kind of work in her early years in New York, but then her job had taken over most of her life. Maybe now she’d have more time to do it again.
“Not as often as I’d like,” Jamila said. “I need to work on that; I’ve been wanting to find a way to get teens in the community more involved. Sometimes they do the delivering with their parents, but that’s not enough.” She laughed. “Speaking of that, our new friends from tonight are going to do a bunch of delivering for us tomorrow and next week!”
Olivia turned up the music.
“Wow, they all have cars?”
Jamila laughed at her.
“This is Los Angeles, Olivia—a lot of people here have cars.”
“I know, I need to get one. But it’s a big decision! And I’ve never actually bought a car before, so I’m intimidated by the whole going-to-a-dealership-for-it part.”
Jamila turned to her with a wide smile on her face.
“What are you doing tomorrow at lunchtime?”
Olivia desperately wished she had a client meeting, or a conference call, or something.
“Nothing specific, but I have work to do.” She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “Why?”
Jamila flashed a huge smile at her.
“Because I’m going to pick you up from work, and I’m going to take you to buy a car, that’s why.”
Olivia argued with her, but somehow the next day at 12:15, she got into Jamila’s car.
“Seriously, if you have better things to do on this beautiful Los Angeles day, you don’t have to spend the afternoon helping me buy a car,” Olivia said.
Jamila waved her words aside.
“Thanks for making me feel like a loser since I actually don’t have anything better to do on this beautiful Los Angeles afternoon.” She made a face at Olivia, and they both laughed. “Okay, what kind of car are we buying today?”
As soon as they walked into the dealership, a tall, thin salesman with a big smile on his face greeted them.
“Can I help you two today?” He looked back and forth between Olivia and Jamila. “Let me guess . . . sisters?”
Olivia looked at Jamila and grinned. Sure, why not.
Jamila nodded and smiled at the salesman.
“Hi . . . Brad,” Jamila said. Oh right, he was wearing a name tag. “My sister and I here would love to test-drive a few cars, if you have them on the lot?”
Two hours later, after four test drives—one car twice—some negotiation, and a whole lot of signing of papers, Brad handed Olivia a key.
“Congratulations on your new car, Ms. Monroe,” he said.
Olivia and Jamila grinned at each other as they walked out of the dealership.
“I’m taking you to happy hour for that,” Olivia said. “Isn’t there a good Mexican place nearby?”
Olivia pulled into a parking space by the restaurant after circling the block only four or five times. She made it to a table before Jamila did, so she pulled her phone out of her bag. She had to tell Max about her car. They’d texted a few times already today, but she hadn’t told him she was going to actually buy a car. Partly because she hadn’t really believed it herself.
Guess what I did today?
Just then, Jamila dropped down into the seat across from her. Olivia pushed a menu toward her friend.
“I shouldn’t drink anything if I have to drive that car home; I’m too paranoid,” Olivia said as they looked over the menu. “But you should have something if you want. I’m definitely getting a plate of nachos as big as my head.”
Jamila shook her head.
“Oh, thanks, but I don’t drink. You should come back here sometime when you’re not driving—the margaritas are supposed to be great. And the nachos are fantastic.”
After they ordered food, Jamila cleared her throat.
“Before you started your own firm, did you work in a different law firm for a while?”
Olivia nodded.
“For the bulk of my career, so . . . what, twelve or thirteen years. Why?”
Olivia geared herself up to give law school advice—that’s where questions like this usually led.
“Did you have to deal with people—mostly men—not listening to you, or your ideas? Or pretending they’d come up with your ideas themselves?”
Olivia laughed.
“Every single fucking day, more or less. That was one of the reasons I started my own firm.” She took a sip of the agua fresca the waitress dropped down in front of her. “Why, do you have to deal with that at the community center?”
Jamila’s eyebrows went sky high.
“Every single fucking day!” They both laughed. “I mean, that’s a slight exaggeration, but for instance—I got involved with the center really early on because I grew up in that neighborhood and was excited there was a new community center. And when I suggested a meal delivery service to the executive director, he blew me off
. For months, he blew me off! And then all of a sudden I find out he went to the board and told them his amazing idea about what to do with the cafeteria we weren’t using, and the board got all excited, and I wanted to throw things.”
Olivia nodded.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. And you feel like an asshole complaining about it, since it’s happening, isn’t it, and it’s doing good in the community, isn’t it? But—”
“But I’m still so bitter! Exactly!” Jamila said. “And you know how yesterday we were talking about getting more teens involved in our work? Well, I had a great idea while I was driving home: you know how people always say the best time to get teenagers talking to you about what’s really going on with them is while you’re in the car? What if we paired up teens and our adult volunteers to do deliveries, in a sort of stealth mentorship program? It would get the kids more involved in the community and the center, and over the course of the weeks and months, they’d get to know the other volunteers, and have someone else to get advice from and rely on.”
Olivia could feel a huge grin spreading across her face.
“I love this idea.”
Jamila grinned back at her.
“Good, because I love it too—thank you for inspiring it. But . . .”
“But you’re worried that if you tell your boss, he won’t give you the credit for it. Again.”
Jamila nodded.
“Exactly. And don’t get me wrong, I really love this job, and for the most part I get to have a lot of free rein, and I feel really proud of the work we do. But he takes all the credit for it! Over and over again! I’m sorry for ranting about this, you’re a volunteer, but I just saw the board meeting minutes, and it goes over all of the meals we’ve made and given out over the last quarter, and congratulates him, again, for his great idea! Olivia, I’m so mad I could spit.”
Olivia wished she were surprised.
“What I would do—” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry, like the older sibling I am, I have the habit of giving advice whether someone asks for it or not. Do you want advice? I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings if you say no, you just needed to vent over some nachos.”
Jamila shook her head.
“No, I’d love your advice, actually. That’s partly why I brought it up. You always seem so . . . put together and no-nonsense. Like you wouldn’t stand that shit for a minute.”
Olivia sighed. She was glad she seemed like that, at least.
“Thanks, but sadly, I’ve had to stand it, many times. Especially early in my career, when I felt blindsided by it, and had no idea what to do other than just sit there. But my biggest piece of advice is very lawyerly—do everything in writing. And shout yourself to the heavens. Email him your ideas, your successes, your numbers, and be as bold as hell in claiming them for yourself. And this is the key: cc board members on those emails. Especially the one you’re going to send about this teen program, because I love it. Hell, feel free to cc me on that email too! Basically, you need to make it impossible for him to keep pretending you have nothing to do with this, and even more impossible for the board to be clueless.”
Jamila nodded slowly.
“That sounds . . . smart, but really scary.”
The waitress put their nachos in front of them, and Olivia picked up a cheese-laden chip.
“Oh, it’s definitely scary, especially at first. It gets a lot better with practice, though. Feel free to send me any draft emails, if you want me to look them over before you send them. I’ve gotten very good at this in the past six or seven years.” She took a bite of the chip, and reached for another one. “It’ll be good payback for your help in buying that car—maybe even better than these nachos.”
Jamila spooned salsa over a chip.
“I’ll definitely take you up on that. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
Olivia smiled at her.
“My pleasure. We shouldn’t all have to reinvent the wheel every time, you know?”
Olivia hated that this all-too-familiar thing was happening to Jamila, but it made her feel good that Jamila had asked for her advice. Especially since the whole car-buying process, and her anxiety over it, had made her feel vulnerable. She was glad both she and Jamila had shared with each other.
Maybe she’d made a real new friend here in L.A.
“Okay, and can I ask you another question?” Jamila put down her chip. “Where do you get all of those great button-down tops? I can never find ones that fit my chest; but yours all fit perfectly!”
Olivia laughed.
“I couldn’t, either, for years. Then finally I just gave up and bought one two sizes too big—which was hard enough to find—and got it tailored. It was so perfect I got like ten more.”
Just as Jamila got up to go to the bathroom, Olivia felt her phone buzz in her pocket.
Don’t keep me in suspense!
She grinned, and sent Max the picture of her and the car that Jamila had taken right before they left the dealership.
I bought this!
Just as he sent back a flurry of exclamation points and applause emojis, Jamila sat back down. Olivia slid her phone into her pocket.
Jamila grinned at her.
“Sooo, things are going well with that guy?”
Shit, Olivia had forgotten that she’d told Jamila anything about Max, if only vaguely.
“It’s . . . complicated. But . . . yes, I guess so.”
Jamila laughed.
“That smile on your face as you looked at your phone was more than ‘I guess so.’”
Olivia covered her face with her hands. Apparently she had her answer about how she looked at Max.
“Okay, you got me. Yes, it’s going well, it’s just that . . .” She put her hands back down on the table and looked at Jamila. “When we first started—and actually, when I first told you about him—I thought it was going to be a casual thing and probably wouldn’t last very long. But . . .” She took a deep breath. “It’s possible I was wrong about that. And I wasn’t really prepared for something like this.” She laughed. “I don’t know why I say that in the past tense; I’m not really prepared for something like this.”
Jamila looked at her like she was a brand-new species.
“What do you have to prepare for? Can’t you just keep dating?”
It sounded so easy when Jamila said it like that.
“That’s sort of what we’ve been doing, but . . .” It was too early—both in her friendship with Jamila and her relationship with Max—to tell Jamila who Max was, so she couldn’t tell her the whole story, even though she desperately wanted to. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this about me, but I’m not that much of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of person.”
Jamila laughed at her again.
“Oh, really, the woman who took two months to buy a car isn’t a ‘go with the flow’ kind of person? I never would have guessed.”
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m just saying,” Jamila said as she picked up a chip, “any guy who makes you smile like that is worth getting out of your comfort zone a little.”
Her other friends, or her sister, would tell her she wasn’t acting like herself, that they hadn’t seen her so into a guy in a long time, and blah blah blah. But Jamila didn’t know her well enough for that, so she just cheered her on. It was kind of nice to have a new friend.
“You might be right,” she finally said.
She texted Max back as soon as she got into her car.
Can’t wait to show you the car in person this weekend! That hike you mentioned sounds good, but please remember that I’ve spent the last ten years living in New York, where there are no hills, and be gentle on me. See you Saturday.
She looked down at her phone and smiled.
* * *
* * *
Max co
uldn’t stop thinking about Olivia as he got ready for their hike on Saturday. Obviously, Olivia was gorgeous and brilliant, but there was more to it than that. Maybe it was just that she challenged him in a way no one had in a while. She forced him to earn her respect, and whenever she smiled or laughed or nodded at something he said, he felt like he’d won something. But she was also so warm and caring, under that perpetually suspicious look on her face—the way she’d noticed something was wrong last weekend was proof of that. He felt such a connection with her already. If he was honest with himself, he’d felt that since the very first night at the bar.
She was the only person he’d felt this easy with, this comfortable with, this happy with, in as long as he could remember. He could open up to her in a way he couldn’t, and didn’t, to almost anyone other than Wes. Sure, he could be impulsive in his actions, but he rarely let himself be anything other than the public version of Max Powell with other people. Why didn’t he mind doing that around Olivia? Maybe because she’d been the only person in years who had looked past his whole senator persona and asked if he was okay. She’d recognized he was a person in there, that he had feelings underneath his senator facade.
He had to admit it to himself: he was falling for her, and the more time he spent with her and the more he thought about her, the harder and faster he fell. And no, that wasn’t taking it slow, but you know what—fuck taking it slow. Slow was a waste of time; he was thirty-nine years old, he knew his own mind, he knew what he wanted. He’d known Olivia for two whole months now. That was plenty of time for him to know how he felt about her.
Was that enough time for her, though? He hoped to find out.
Olivia got to his house at two on Saturday afternoon, and he threw open his door and pulled her inside.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked as she walked in. “You know I’m still not sure about this whole hiking thing.” She was wearing leggings, sneakers, a black T-shirt, and a very doubtful look on her face.
God, he’d missed her.
Before she could step farther into his house, he wrapped his arms around her.
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