A client.
A. CLIENT.
Not someone I’m jealous over.
Not a man I’ve had sex with and—
Stop thinking.
Olivia tilts her head—naturally, beautifully. Copper hair, green eyes, a blouse I wish I owned.
Cohen laughs.
He laughs.
What could she possibly have said that was that funny?
I lean forward, unable to look away, and mutter through clenched teeth, “If you make that face one more time you might as well propose to her right now.”
Lila blinks. “Were you talking to me?”
Wonderful. I’m talking to myself.
Cohen props an elbow on the table, perfectly relaxed. “So tell me more about your project for young athletes. I’m actually interested.”
You’re interested.
Right.
Cohen Becker also plays the part of a considerate, altruistic human being now.
“We should organize more off-field team activities,” Olivia says. “To build trust.”
“That sounds smart,” he replies, serious.
I scratch my forehead. I’m about to lose my dignity. I’m about to flip this entire control room.
Why am I this irritated?
IknewI’d find the ideal candidate.
I have a one hundred percent success rate.
I should be happy, right?!
Yes, I’m thrilled.
THRILLED.
I’m about to pop a bottle of prosecco to celebrate.
Actually, I’m texting Lina—drinks tonight.
Yes, great idea.
Lila claps softly. “Sloane, this is fantastic news! Cohen is making progress! He’s more receptive, open, engaged!”
“It’s… wonderful.”
