Thank God there was so much traffic that he didn’t really have to pay attention to the road, because when he thought about Jamila’s face at that moment, it set him off again.
Olivia reached for her phone, connected it to his car Bluetooth, and cranked up a Dolly Parton playlist.
“Thank God for Dolly,” she said. “See, she was the best part of the night.”
They spent the rest of the drive back to her house singing along with Dolly, and they could tell a bunch of the cars around them were doing the same thing.
They didn’t talk about any of the other events of the night until they got back to her house. He parked around the corner, and as they walked down the sidewalk, he reached for her hand. She hesitated, and looked around her quiet street before sliding her fingers through his.
“Sorry,” she said as they walked up to her door. “I guess I’m just not used to this yet. And still a little—or maybe a lot—paranoid.”
He shrugged.
“You have reason to be paranoid, don’t apologize. You notice that I’m still not parking in your driveway.”
She unlocked her front door and he followed her inside.
“I noticed.” She kicked her shoes off and walked into the kitchen. Max grinned and followed her. “I was terrified when Jamila saw us together. I felt like a teenager again, like I’d been caught. Then I remembered I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and also that Jamila is my friend, not my mom.”
Olivia turned to look at him and finally saw the box in his hands.
“What’s that?”
He looked down and pretended to be surprised.
“This? Oh God, I don’t know. What is this? I just saw it on the counter, what could it be?”
He flipped open the top and turned the box toward her.
“CAKE!” She stared at the cake then back up at him. “Is that for me?”
He grinned at her and opened the sides of the box so he could slide the cake out onto the counter.
“Who do you think it’s for? I got it this afternoon. I had a feeling tonight might be stressful—Dolly notwithstanding. I thought we both might need a pick-me-up afterward.” He picked up the cake cutter from where he’d left it on the counter, cut a fat slice, and slid it onto a plate.
“Yellow cake with chocolate frosting!” Olivia took a fork out of the drawer and took a big bite of the cake.
“Oh God. Oh God, this is just what I needed.”
She dropped the fork on the counter and wrapped her arms around him.
“I love you,” she said.
He tasted the sugar and butter and chocolate as he kissed her.
“I love you, too,” he said.
She stepped back and picked up the fork.
“And I really, really love yellow cake with chocolate frosting.”
He cut another slice and grabbed his own fork.
“So do I.”
* * *
* * *
Olivia woke up absurdly early the next morning to find Max standing over her.
“What’s wrong?” she said as she squinted up at him.
He bent down to kiss her.
“Nothing, I just have an early flight this morning back to DC, remember? I’m sorry I woke you up, but I have to go and I didn’t want to leave before saying good-bye.”
She sat up and kissed him again.
“I’m glad you woke me up.” She touched a finger to his cheek and brushed down his hair. “Have a good week. I’ll miss you.”
He kissed her hard on the lips, then stood up all the way.
“I’ll miss you so much. I’ll be in touch. About everything.”
He kissed her again and left. When she heard her front door open and close a few seconds later, she flopped back down on her bed with a long sigh.
She tried to drift back into sleep again, but even though it was just after six a.m. and she almost never woke up before seven thirty, she was wide awake. She missed Max’s warm, comfortable, soothing body next to her, and now all she could think about was the “everything” he’d meant. Maybe all hell had already broken loose and he hadn’t told her? No, Max would have told her, that wasn’t his style.
The problem was, this was a hell of a bigger deal to her than it was to Max. Max was already famous—this wasn’t going to change his life that much, maybe even at all. But it was going to change hers, at least somewhat. She just had no idea how much. Or what was going to happen next.
She threw back the covers with a sigh—there was no point in staying in bed and pretending she’d go back to sleep. She might as well drink some coffee and eat some leftover cake for breakfast.
Ten minutes later, she was back in her bedroom with a cup of very strong coffee and a big slice of cake. She took a sip of coffee and a bite of cake and smiled—the super chocolatey frosting cut through the bitterness of her coffee perfectly. She should definitely have cake for breakfast more often.
She reached for her phone and laughed out loud when she saw Jamila’s text, sent approximately one minute after they’d said good-bye last night:
THE MYSTERY MAN YOU ARE DATING IS MAX POWELL THE MAX POWELL WAS I JUST IMAGINING THINGS HOLY SHIT OLIVIA I NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING
Olivia laughed out loud again and took another big bite of cake. THE Max Powell indeed.
She shrugged. She had no choice here but to go all in, did she?
You free tonight? Come over for dinner. This is a story that has to be told over a bottle of wine—for me, not you—and also not in public
Jamila texted back a lot faster than Olivia thought she would this early in the morning.
Just tell me what time and I’m there
At 6:03 that night, Olivia finished making a cheese and charcuterie plate that even her sister would be proud of her for, and opened one of the bottles of wine she’d picked up along with the cheese. Thank God Jamila was one of those people who was always five to ten minutes late, which Olivia considered to be perfect timing. The worst people were the five-to-ten-minutes-early people—half the time she wasn’t even dressed ten minutes before someone was supposed to arrive at her house.
At exactly 6:10, the doorbell rang. Olivia swung open the door and handed Jamila a wineglass full of sparkling water.
“Come on in. I hope you’re hungry, I got us a ton of food.”
Jamila was smiling from ear to ear when she followed Olivia inside.
“Starving—I haven’t eaten since brunch, and that was at eleven. Brunch always throws me off for the rest of the day—it makes me want to eat again at like three, and then again at nine. But I refrained from doing so because I knew I was coming over here and why the hell am I still talking about brunch when all I care about is what the HELL IS GOING ON BETWEEN YOU AND SENATOR MAX POWELL?”
Olivia laughed as she poured herself a glass of wine.
“I was waiting for you to get there. Come into the living room so we can get comfortable; this story will take a while.”
They sat down on the couch, and Jamila looked at Olivia expectantly. Olivia took a sip of wine and started with that first night at the bar, giving her an edited version of the past few months.
“And that’s why I went up to the Bay Area a few weeks ago—yes, to see my sister, but also because Max was there instead of in L.A. that weekend, and we . . .”
Jamila put her hand to her heart.
“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?”
Olivia made a face.
“The opposite. It was from a reporter. I texted Max, but during the day he’s usually so busy I don’t hear back from him for hours. I don’t . . .” She picked up her coffee, then put it down. “What am I supposed to do? They didn’t prepare me for this.”
Ellie sat down.
“What did you say?”
Olivia stared at her phone, willing Max to respond.
“‘No comment,’ which made me feel like I was on TV or something. Is that what people actually say?”
Ellie got up.
“Yes, that’s what people actually say. Just keep saying that until you hear back.” She came around Olivia’s desk and leaned in for a hug. “You knew this was going to happen, right? This will be fine.”
Olivia nodded slowly.
“I mean, I guess I knew it would happen eventually, but this was all so fast. I guess I just wasn’t ready.”
The phone rang again, and she and Ellie looked at each other. Olivia took a deep breath and picked it up.
“Olivia Monroe.” She paused for a second, and locked eyes with Ellie. “No comment.”
“Olivia Monroe,” she said yet again, thirty minutes and ten phone calls later. She’d started answering the phone like that, instead of “Monroe and Spencer” like she had before, just to make these interactions move along faster.
“Ms. Monroe, this is Kara Ruiz from Senator Powell’s office.” Oh thank God. “I owe you an apology—I started getting calls from reporters about you about an hour ago, but I was outside of the office at a meeting where I couldn’t have my phone. I assume you’ve gotten some calls to this number?”
Olivia had assumed she’d like Kara, just from the way Max talked about her. But the competent, brisk, warm tone to her voice immediately made her feel better.
“Kara, it’s good to talk to you, I’ve heard a lot about you. And yes, there have been many calls to this number over the past hour or so. I’ve just said ‘no comment’ to all of them—was that right?”
This was definitely one of those rare times where she couldn’t wait for someone else to tell her what to do.
“Yes, that was right, just keep saying that. I’ll ask them not to call you again, and many of them will respond to that, but not all, I’m sorry to say. It’ll probably be best if you have your secretary answer this line, at least for the next few days. You’re pretty easy to find; this is the number on your website.”
Easy to find: great for business, bad for when you were trying to dodge the press.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a secretary; it’s just me and my business partner. If it gets bad, she might step in, though.”
Ellie had offered to take over and blow off all the reporters for her, but she’d felt like at least one of them should be able to get work done today.
“That might be a good idea, at least for a little while. It’s a rare slow news day, which must be why everyone’s running with this. And again, I’m so sorry we haven’t spoken before. I should have insisted on speaking to you last week, but this all moved so fast. That’s no excuse, though.”
Party of Two Page 20
