I open my laptop. Close it. Open it again. Every thought circles back to him—his mouth, his hands, the things he wouldn’t say, the one thing I wanted him to say. Would things be different if he had said the words?
I tell myself I chose this. I tell myself it was the only choice. It doesn’t make it any easier.
The knock at the door makes me freeze. For one hard beat, I’m sure it’s him. If it is, I don’t trust myself not to open the door and fall into his arms. I need to feel safe so badly.
I stand, walk to the peephole, and look. Caterina.
My stomach dips. Not better.
I back away a step. She knocks again. “Come on, Olivia. Open up, please.”
I curse silently, then unlatch the deadbolt and pull the door a few inches. “What do you want?”
“To talk,” she says. “Just talk.”
“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”
“Ten minutes. Please,” she adds softly, her brows pulled together in worry.
I open the door and turn my back on her. “Fine.”
She steps in and closes it behind her. I walk to the small table by the window and stop, arms folded. She doesn’t come too close. Good.
“Hi,” she says, softer now.
“Hi.”
Her eyes flick over me like she’s checking for damage. “You didn’t come in today.”
“Working from home.”
She nods. “Okay.” A beat. “I’m sorry to show up without asking.”
“You’re here,” I say. “Say what you came to say.”
She laces her fingers together. “The comps you saw were routed to you by mistake. That part is true. I fixed the table so it won’t happen again.”
“Great,” I say, my voice hard.
“Olivia…” She swallows.
But she doesn’t continue.
Finally, I snap. “What?”
She flinches.
“What do you want, Caterina?” I continue, my voice harsh. “Is there some other part of my life you haven’t ruined yet? You come here to finish the job?”
She opens her mouth to speak, looking hurt, but I don’t let her.
“I mean, my job is a sham. Our friendship is a sham.” I raise my voice. “And my love life? Safe to say that one’s a big, fat lie.”
Caterina goespale. “That’s not true,” she says, voice low. “You built that weekend. You. No one can take that from you.”
I laugh once, sharp. “Except the part where the owners—one of whom is supposed to be my best friend—uses the property for money laundering.” I say the last two words through my teeth. “I gave up legitimate job offers for this. I moved my whole life out here for this.”
“That’s not all it is,” she insists. “It’s a legitimate business. I hired you to be the marketing coordinator for The Regent.”
