“No, but she’s supposed to be coming over tonight. I’ll test the waters,” I say.
“She’s not from around here. She would have no reason to think twice about the name Conti, but be careful,” she warns. “I meant what I said.Olivia’s sharp.”
“I’m always careful,” I say and hang up. I lay the fish skin-side down in the sizzling pan and start a shallot sweating in a second pan. Rice in. Stir. Splash of wine. Pour stock in with a ladle.
Olivia should be here soon. I have to see how much she knows and suspects. But how do I do that without making her suspicious?
I tilt the pan and spoon hot oil over the fish.
It’s not like I can just bring up the comps. Then she’ll really be suspicious.
I ladle more stock into the risotto.
The phone buzzes on the counter.
Olivia: I’m sorry—can’t make dinner tonight. Something came up.
I wipe my hand, pick up the phone.
Me: Are you okay?
Olivia: I’m fine. Long day. Can I take a rain check?
Me: Yes. Rest. I’ll make this for you next time.
I have to wonder if it’s really a rain check she wants, or if she’s avoiding me?
I won’t know until the next time I see her. I make a mental note to drop by her office in the morning, bring her a breakfast sandwich as an excuse.
I set the phone down and finish the fish. Risotto comes together. I plate one serving, cover the other, and slide it into the refrigerator. Put the second place setting back in the drawer.
I squash my acute disappointment and eat standing at the counter, keeping an eye on the phone in case it should light up again.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Olivia
I kick my door shut with my heel and drop my keys in the dish. I was supposed to go to Roberto’s for dinner, but the knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened since my meeting with Caterina this afternoon.
The situation just won’t stop nagging at me.
It’s the comps. The way she cut me off and told me to stay in my lane. The way those approvals didn’t match the rules we wrote together. The feeling sits low and heavy, like my body already knows something my brain hasn’t quite figured out.
It’s not that I think I need to know everything, but it wasthe wayshe did it, dismissive and a bit quick and sharp.
I pull my phone out and type before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: I’m sorry—can’t make dinner tonight. Something came up.
His reply made me feel warm and guilty at the same time.
Roberto: Are you okay?
I stare at it, guilt pinching, and answer.
Me: I’m fine. Long day. Rain check?
He sends back:
