Backspace.
I miss you.
She’s probably with Will. I immediately hit the backspace, deleting the words as the thought lands like a pit in my stomach. Tonight may not have worked like I intended it to, but I have to keep trying. I have to keep trying to get her off my mind.
I’m going to hurt someone if I keep this going, but I just can’t seem to stop. I think back to Grant’s words. Everything I'm doingdoesmatter. I can explain it away as innocent but I am well aware that my thoughts are anything but. I need to get over this. Not just for Will’s sake, but for hers.
16
Olivia
My Neverfull ungracefully slides off my arm and onto Ian’s couch, weighed down by my laptopandthe multiple copies of this week’s newspaper he demanded I transport for him.
“I thought we had people for this,” I whine, tossing the copies his way.
“We do. You’re just one of the people I rarely choose.” His tart smile causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle, and I can’t stay annoyed for long. If anything, I should be glad he’s being this chill with me. I’ve been severely slacking on the column I cowrite, have only been to one meeting in the past two weeks, and still have nothing to show for Ben’s story.
The thought of Ben’s story makes my teeth grind against each other, and I hope that Ian won’t bring it up.
“So where’s my story?” he asks, resting his chin on his hands.Dammit.The expectant look on his face isn’t necessarily aggressive, but it does tell me he’s ready to lay the pressure on me. “A little birdie told me you two were awfully cozy in the city the other day.” His eyes glitter with mischief, and while I don’t want him to pry, I’m grateful Ian “the hard hitting editor-in-chief” isn’t going to be hard hitting me. He wants gossip.Buthow much can I tell him without ending up in the gossip column myself?
“First of all, I resent the fact that you have little birdies spying on me— a staff member.”
“You may be on staff here, Liv, but you’re also one ofthem.” He says “them” like the word itself is greasy, and I’m reminded that Ian harbors some resentment for the distinction between old money and new. It usually never comes to bear when he’s with me, but I guess today he’s feeling feisty.
I sigh, wishing I would’ve come up with an excuse when he texted me. Instead, I’m in his apartment getting the third degree.
“Second of all, we were on a class errand. There was nothing cozy about it,” I add, shrugging nonchalantly. My day with Benhadfelt cozy, but his radio silence, other than when we’re in class, has felt anything but. I push the thought away, unwilling to let him consume even more of my thoughts.
“He was carrying your bags,” he prods, his brows raising slightly.
My eyes narrow, intent on ending his speculation. “Because they were heavy?” I say this like it’s obvious, which it kind of is. His eyes search mine, seeking the truth of the matter.
He purses his lips, like he’s considering his next words wisely. “What are you doing, Liv?
“I mean, I’ve been busy, but I’ve already outlined my angle and?—”
“No, what are you doing withBen?”
I run my tongue across the top row of my teeth, wondering the same thing.
“Nothing,” I tell him, because thatistrue. Nothing is happening between us.
“Listen,” he leans in closer from across the counter, his expression uncharacteristically genuine. “I’m the first one to callWill out for the douchebag he is.” I roll my eyes. “But things look messy from where I stand. And the Olivia Beckett I know doesn’t do mess.” He stands back from the counter, picking up the papers I tossed there earlier. He glances at the door, apparently dismissing me already. “So clean it up. And get me my story.”
“I don’t know if you’re confused, Ian,” I start, irritation prickling my neck, “but the value I add to the paper isn’t in cheap sports gossip. I’ll entertain your shallow assignments,” I pause, watching him flush. “But I won’t be treated like a junior contributor who can’t point to a deadline on a whiteboard.”
His flush dissipates, my words only unsettling him for a moment. “I see I’ve poked the bear,” he says, a smug, playful grin on his lips. “So there is something there.”
A sigh, over this conversation. “And even if there were,youwould be the last person I would tell about it.” I grab my bag and make my way to the door.
“Wiser words were never spoken!” he calls out as the door shuts, the mirth in his voice evidence that he won’t hold my wit against me.
“Babe, I’m sure you look fine. Can we please get going?” Will complains from my kitchen, hurrying me along.
I take one last glance in the mirror, liking what I see. I’ve paired my blue knit dress with black Stuart Weitzman thigh highs and thrown the black cashmere cardigan I bought while out with Ben the other day over the dress. Half of my hair is swept up with a banana clip, the front pieces continuously escaping no matter what I try. This is what’s taking so long. Shaking my hair out so it's all down again, I grab my clutch and head toward the kitchen.
“See. Totally fine!” Will exclaims after a cursory glance at my ensemble.
