“Come on, Livvie.” I stood and stepped closer to her, crowding her on purpose because I knew it bugged the shit out of her. “Don’t lash out irrationally just because you burned up all your good clothes. We both know that I look sexy as hell in my luxurious vacation wear.”
I did a little spin, and was rewarded with a lip twitch that told me she wanted to laugh when she said, “We both know you only like it because it makes you look shredded, attention hound.”
“Don’t be snarky.” I tousled her hair and laughed at her, because she talked about my body like it disgusted her. I wasn’t the arrogant asshole she thought I was—that I let her believe I was—but I also was pretty sure the sight of my chest didn’t gross anyone out, either. “Just drink it all in, Marshall.”
* * *
? ? ?
THREE HOURS LATER, I got an email from Liv.
Colin—
You never emailed your letter, but I remembered the gist of it. Sadly, the control freak in me couldn’t let it go, so I drafted a version. Use it if you want, delete if you don’t.
Liv
What the hell? I hadn’t bothered her with it because （a） I didn’t want her to feel obligated, and （b） I wasn’t sure a business proposal was something she had any experience with, but she’d done it anyway. I clicked on the attachment, unsure of what to expect and worried I was going to have to lie and tell her I’d use it.
But once I started reading . . . holy shit. She nailed it.
She’d taken my sterile words and made them sound personal yet professional. She managed to exude warmth while totally wielding the subtle power of persuasion.
She had to have spent a couple hours working on it because it was perfect.
I stacked my hands on top of my head and blew out a huge breath of relief. It was ready to go now.
Because of Olivia.
I responded to her email:
Liv—
This is incredible and you’re my hero. I owe you BIG TIME! Thank you x 100.
Colin
8
Olivia
The minute I woke up the next morning, I grabbed my phone and pulled up the newspaper online. Seeing my column in print with the cool professional logo made it feel official, almost as if someone else wrote it. I read it three times before jamming my bare feet into running shoes and running down to the c-store on the corner, where I purchased five copies of the newspaper. I had no idea what I’d do with all of them, especially since no one actually knew the column was mine, but it somehow felt important for me to collect them.
I was so excited that I had to text Mr. Wrong Number, even though he hadn’t responded to any of my texts since brunch the day before.
Me: I know you don’t know any of the details and you’re suddenly mute, but I don’t even care because I’m so excited! Remember that opportunity I told you I landed by lying?
I waited ten seconds before texting: Oh, that’s right—you’re not there. Well, anyway, that opportunity happened and today is the first day!
I didn’t wait around for a response, because I knew he wouldn’t text back.
When I got back to the apartment, Colin was sitting at the breakfast bar, reading a copy of the paper while eating a bagel in a pristine gray suit and a black-and-white-dotted tie. He looked like GQ and smelled like sin, and he raised his eyes when I walked in.
I was his hero—which made me feel like the world’s most incredible writer—so I gave him a little smile.
Jack was eating a bowl of cereal over the sink and said, “I’d tell you that we already have a subscription to the paper, but they only give us one and clearly you need more.”
I shut the door behind me and toed off my shoes. Shit. How to explain my stack of dailies? Thankfully I didn’t have to because Colin set down his bagel and said, “I read your piece about the new restaurant. Nice job. Made me hungry for steak.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a grateful look and was excited that I had something tangible running that day. I’d been so excited about the 402 that I’d totally forgotten about the bistro intro. “Perhaps my parents will finally believe that I’ve got a job now that there’s a byline.”
He picked up his cup. “They’ll be so proud.”
Jack made a derisive snort; he knew my mother.
“That I wrote a five-hundred-word piece about a restaurant that puts bourbon in every dish? Hardly.” I reached over and snagged Colin’s bagel, taking a tiny bite of the burnt side. “But they’ll be appeased for now.”
I set down his bagel and regretted my decision as Colin watched me closely. That was clearly some sort of healthy peanut butter, and it made me want to scrape off my tongue with my finger, but that would totally destroy the badassery of my move, so I had to swallow it down without gagging.