He tells the man at the door that he’s going back to visit several people he knows, but the roses are for Olivia Montgomery.
Oh, hell no.
Who the fuck is this guy?
His name, he tells the man with the iPad, is Julian Bartlett.
Who the fuck areyou, Julian Bartlett?
The door guy’s eyes light up. Christ, this pot-scented, generic rose–buying, stringy-haired man must be somebody important in the ballet world. I guess that’s a thing.
“Oh, of course, Mr. Bartlett. I didn’t recognize you without the fedora.”
I think I’m going to be sick.
“I’m a huge fan of your work,” Door Guy continues. “Olivia’s expecting you.”
Good luck with that, buddy. She thinks red roses are a cliché. Her brother would hate you. Her entire family would hate you. I unequivocally despise you.
But this is not ideal.
Somehow it did not occur to me that Olivia would be expecting another man.
I know she wasn’t expectingme,but it would be the wrong kind of surprise if I showed up when this normally-fedora-wearing person is there. With his leather jacket and pinky ring and thoughtless bouquet of clichés.
Fuck that guy.
But also…this is good.
This is a problem.
Problems are opportunities for smart people like me to create solutions.
This is where I thrive. This is where I get creative. This is where I create a solution to the problem of this fucking guy and all other guys who think they can bring shitty gas-station flowers to my future wife.
The door guy leans in to inhale my lavender bouquet. “Mmm, those smell amazing. Who are you here to see?”
After a beat, I decide to tell him, “No one. Can you make sure that Olivia Montgomery gets these?”
“Sure. Lucky girl. Is there a card? Will she know who they’re from?”
“No. She’ll have no idea who they’re from. Just make sure she gets them.” I turn to go, pretending I don’t hear him when he asks for my name.
This changes nothing. I’m only twenty-five. She’s only twenty-one. I’ll wait. I’ll work even harder. I’ll get even richer, more established.I’ll learn everything there is to know about ballet. I’ll get better looking. I’ll get better at sex. I’ll get better at everything. I’ll get in better shape.
I’ll get in better shape thanthatguy. He’s probably all skinny with ropey muscles. He probably shaves his entire body and yells out his own name when he comes.Julian.I literally cannot think of a more pretentious name.
But that guy doesn’t matter. He’s just one of the guys she’ll be with before she’s with me. I’m the guy who knows her. I’m the last man she’ll ever kiss. I’m the man she marries. Eventually.
As long as my best friend doesn’t murder me first.
CHAPTER 1
OLIVIA
NOW
“Excuse me, Chef?” I set a plate on the pass counter and bat my eyelashes at the sous-chef through the window. “This gorgeous burger appears to be well done. I had it as medium rare on my pad. Would you mind checking the ticket for twelve?”
