Olivia was distracted in the cab on the way home, trying to remember what was in the freezer, what fresh vegetables she had, what she needed from the corner deli. Salad, chicken breasts with a jar of her homemade marinara sauce, and bread. Bread and cheese from the deli. That’s it.
She was back home with the sauce simmering and the chicken in the oven by seven. The doorbell rang just as she was coming out of the bedroom. She padded barefoot to the door, finishing up the last few buttons on her blouse.
“You’re early.” She looked up and froze in the open doorway.
Ryan Marshall was standing in the hallway, a bottle of Macallan in his hand.
“Not who you were expecting?” He brushed past her into the apartment and she stared after him, trying very hard to understand why Ryan would be in her apartment, much less with a bottle of Macallan.
“Ryan. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to bring you something. A present. Peace offering, as it were.” He held out the familiar oval-shaped bottle of amber liquid. Olivia looked down at it, taking a step back as if he were offering her a snake. Her mind was reeling; the last person she expected to see was Ryan. And the second to last person she wanted to see now was Logan.
“I came to apologize, Olivia. For my behavior. I know you’re only trying to do your best. I know that you want to succeed. And maybe I’m pushing you a bit too hard.” He took a step toward her and she backed up, bumping into the kitchen counter.
“Why so tense? Here. Let me open this and you can pour us a glass. I think a nice, stiff drink would do both of us some good. We can sit. Have a talk. I’d like that. Wouldn’t you?”
He took another step toward Olivia. As he reached past her to set the bottle on the counter, she tried to move away, but he outmaneuvered her, placing his hands on the counter, effectively pinning her between his arms.
Ryan looked down at her, emotions crossing his face almost too quickly to be read. But there was one that was all too clear. It made her heart pound and her stomach drop. He was looking at her with a feral lust. A look she’d never seen in his eyes before.
“No.” She shook her head. “You have to leave.”
She tried to slip beneath his arm, but he pulled her against his chest. She could smell him, the scent of his aftershave, and beneath that the muskier scent of his skin.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I know you don’t really want me to. And I think, if you just let yourself relax, we can make this much better for both of us.”
He bent his head, his lips finding hers in a crushing kiss. She twisted her head, trying to break free, but he grabbed the back of her head, winding his fingers through her hair, holding her tight against his mouth. Her memory flashed back to that afternoon in his office, to a moment just like this one.
Olivia jerked against him, trying to wiggle out of his grip, but his arm was wrapped around her waist, forcing her close to the heat of his body. The more she struggled, the harder he held her, and more evident his arousal became as he pressed his hips forward into hers.
He broke away from her mouth at last, looking down at her, his breath rasping from his parted lips.
“You’re playing hard to get, Olivia. Or—” Ryan yanked her hair, pulling her head back. “You think the boyfriend is going to save you?”
Olivia’s eyes went wide. “I don’t-I—”
“Don’t play coy. I know he’s on his way here. In fact, he should be arriving any time now. ‘Seven thirty or so,’ you said, right? But I don’t think there’ll be any dinner for Mr. Graham.”
“Why are you doing this, Ryan?” Tears were pooling in Olivia’s eyes. Tears of fear and anger. She’d asked the question before, too many times, but he’d always brushed her off.
Now, he bared his teeth in something that was almost a snarl. “Because you’re all I’ve ever wanted, Olivia. You were so distracted with Patrick, and now with this musician, to even see it. But I’m tired of being patient, of waiting for you to come around and realize what we could have together.”
“But I don’t want you. I never have.” Olivia looked up at Ryan. “You’ve been a mentor. A good friend. At least I thought you were. Nothing more. You have to know that.
Ryan let go of Olivia’s hair, his hands running down her back, one sliding further to cup her ass. She struggled briefly but he pressed himself against her again and she went still in his arms, afraid she’d only excite him more. She could feel the hardness of him, the heat, as he rubbed himself against her. It made her stomach turn.
“You’ve either misunderstood you’re delusional.” She met his eyes, her expression pleading with him to hear her, to step back and let her go. Please let this all be some kind of bizarre nightmare. “There’s never been anything between us.”
“Liar.” Ryan growled the word in her ear as he pulled her close again, his mouth on her neck. She felt one hand moving to the front of her blouse and as she struggled to push him away, she heard the tearing of fabric, the patter of buttons across the kitchen floor.
The sound of breaking glass made them both jump. She turned her head toward the noise, looking over the bulk of Ryan’s shoulder, and saw Logan standing in the open doorway to her apartment. A shattered bottle of Macallan was on the floor at his feet.
“Logan—” Shit! Shit! Shit! She saw the confusion cross his face, and then the pain in his dark eyes.
“I should have known,” he muttered, looking down at the puddle of Macallan on the floor. “Waste of a good bottle of Scotch.”
And then he was gone.
“Logan!” Olivia shoved at Ryan and he let her go. She struggled to pull the front of her blouse together as she ran for the hallway. But she had forgotten the glass.
Olivia cried out as she stepped in the mess, sinking to the floor with a shard of it embedded in her foot.
The slam of the stairway door was loud, echoing back down the hall. Olivia sat for a moment, her foot forgotten. She felt tears spill over and roll down her cheeks. Her thoughts spun. How can I explain this?
“Well that’s unfortunate,” Ryan said dryly. He was standing behind her, looking down at the broken glass and the amber liquid seeping across the floor.
Olivia twisted around, looking up at him. “Unfortunate?” she choked. She struggled upright, pushing aside Ryan’s offer of an outstretched hand, and rounded on him, anger stilling her tears. “You call hurting the man who loves me ‘unfortunate’?”
“I meant the Scotch, actually. Macallan isn’t cheap, and this was a good year.” Ryan shook his head. “The man, well... If he’s so easily put off, then it wasn’t meant to be I guess.”
“You bastard! What do you know about him? What do you know about me?”
“Oh, I know enough. And I know that this little...affair...you’ve been having needs to end. For many reasons. Not least of which is that it’s beneath you. He’s beneath you.”
The crack of Olivia’s hand against Ryan’s cheek was shockingly loud. Her palm stung, and she clutched it reflexively with her other hand, breathing hard.”
“What the hell?” Ryan took a step backward. He raised a hand briefly to his face, with a grimace that was probably about the sting in his cheek, if it hurt anywhere near as much as Olivia’s hand did. She hoped it hurt worse.
He stared at her. Strands of blond hair, dislodged from their careful style by her blow, fell into his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face. Olivia recoiled, repulsed by the strange, somehow dangerous calm.
“Be very careful, Olivia.” He walked to the door, casually avoiding the glass, and the whisky now tinged with blood. “And you really should clean this up before it stains.” He turned to look at her, the smile on his lips not quite reaching his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
* * *
OLIVIA TRIED LOGAN’S cell phone, calling over and over, but only reached his voicemail. She left a message each time, until finally the inbox was full and the phone stopped accepting them. Finally, she dug the glass out of her foot, slapping a band-aid across the wound, then called a cab and headed to his hotel.
Arriving breathless in the lobby, she punched the elevator button, willing it to hurry. On Logan’s floor she limped as quickly as she could down the hall. She had every intention of pounding on his door until he answered it. But as her fist struck the wood the first time, the door swung open.
“Logan!” Olivia stepped through into the room beyond and stopped. He hadn’t opened the door. “Logan?”
She flipped the switch by the door, and her heart dropped. The room was empty, the door to the bedroom open, the bed stripped. No flowers remained. Nothing.
He was gone.