26. Olivia

CHAPTER 26

OLIVIA

P art of me wants to linger and wait until Mile is gone from sight. Until I can say with absolute certainty that he's not coming back. But lingering will be awkward for both of us because he doesn't want to watch me standing there watching him. And I don't want him to know just how strong my stupid feelings are.

Our last ever conversation bounces through my mind as I leave the terminal. Of course, his final words to me were a joke about sex — I would expect nothing less of him. As if I needed more proof that I was nothing but some cheap fun for him, though. That thought twists my heart and drops it right in my stomach. The sooner I get over this, the better.

I have to put my business face back on now anyway. Even though I want to go home and sleep off the whirlwind that's been the past few months, I've been told to get back to the club for a meeting as soon as possible. Performance review were the exact words Tim used. Not words I like to hear.

Today, not only am I losing the best lover I ever had, but I might also be losing my job.

As soon as possible isn't an exact time, though, so I take a long route back to the club and sit in my car in the parking lot for as long as I think I can get away with. I walk as slowly as I can from the car to Tim's office, taking the stairs instead of the elevator and taking them real slow so I don't look breathless when I arrive.

But finally, I can't put it off any longer. Here I am. I could not be less ready for the inevitable. With a lump in my throat, I rap on Tim's door. From within comes a muffled "Enter," and I close my eyes hard, gritting my teeth as I grab onto the cold metal of the door handle and twist it.

"Olivia," he smiles as I walk in. I can never tell if Tim smiling is a good or a bad thing. He's the kind of guy whose face never matches his emotion.

"Good afternoon," I say, trying not to fidget nervously.

"Take a seat," he says, and the knot in my stomach pulls even tighter. This is it. This is the end of my career. I'm washed up at twenty-six.

"I just want to say thank you," he says in a tone so incongruously harsh for his words that I have to take a second to really understand what he's saying. "Miles has been hard work for everyone," he continues, "and you've handled him like a champ. There's been hardly any press reports on him at all, and the handful I've seen have been, overall, pretty positive. I knew I could rely on you to do this."

"Rely on me?" I squawk back like a parrot.

"Yeah," he says, leaning in conspiratorially over his desk. "Between you and me, Mia wanted this job. But I said to the others, no. Terrible idea. Mia won't be able to handle him. She won't keep a tight enough leash and it'll be a disaster. Let's give this one to Olivia. It's good to see my trust wasn't misplaced."

"Thank you," I stammer, my mind reeling with the confusion of knowing that all of this was Tim's idea to begin with. And all this time I've assumed he's been ready to cut off my head and throw me to the wolves. Sometimes it's nice to be wrong.

"Here," he says, sliding an envelope over the desk. "Open this." I stare at it for a moment, not sure how many more surprises I can handle today. Tim laughs kindly. "Don't worry. It's not a bomb."

With shaking hands, I pick up the envelope, fumbling with the paper under my nails. I'm glad it wasn't sealed, because the embarrassment of trying to open an envelope neatly and failing would probably kill me right now.

Inside, there's just one sheet of paper with the official club letterhead, signed by the club owner. This is important news, then. I blink and force my eyes to read the words in order instead of letting them dart around the page. It starts with the usual formalities, a thanks for my work with Miles, a recognition of some of my other work — the stuff I'm actually paid for and am proud of.

Then, there at the bottom, the words promotion and raise are written in stark, black ink.

I read the words six times until they sink in and promptly burst into tears the second they do.

"Olivia?" splutters Tim, flailing at the outburst of emotion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, sniffing. I'll be embarrassed about this later, but right now my professional self needs to regain composure. "Thank you so much."

"It's the least you deserve," says Tim. "Hell, if I had it in my power, I'd give you a bigger raise than that."

"No, this is wonderful. I'm sorry, I'm just— I'm tired and I've worked really hard recently and…" I trail off, not sure where this sentence is going, my mouth just flapping around randomly. I take a sharp breath. "This just means a lot."

Tim gingerly reaches over and pats my shoulder. It's kind of awkward, but the gesture is well meant and appreciated. And I'm telling him the truth. I am incredibly overwhelmed by all of this. I was expecting to get fired today, not thanked.

But the truth is deeper than that as well. These are all the tears that I couldn't cry at the airport. These are tears of joy and of heartbreak. I couldn't confess it before, not even to myself, but I'm going to miss Miles so much. I think I was growing to love him — and now I'm never going to see him again. I know he said I could call anytime, but texting him too quickly seems like an intrusion.

And anyway, what are we going to talk about. Soccer?

Even though I work so closely with the game, I don't really care about it that much. I definitely don't know enough about it to have any conversation of length about it. I'd bore Miles in a hurry telling him petty things about my day.

And it's not like we'd be able to see each other anyway; it's not like I could just ask him out for a coffee, or drinks, or a walk. Everything about this just feels so difficult, and it's all in my head. I want to text him right now. I want to tell him that I miss him and I wish we could spend more time together. That, sex aside, I just really enjoyed spending time with him. Once I started getting to know him, he was funny. He was kind.

He was Miles.

It's been a long time since I cried over a guy like this.

I keep sobbing, and Tim produces a tissue box, gently pushing it in front of me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks.

I nod, even though the answer is clearly no. I'm just not getting into personal issues with my boss right now. I'm definitely not telling him that I think I've fallen for Miles and that we used to sleep together, and that he saw me as nothing more than a casual side chick, and that I'm wasting my time even having any emotions for him, but now I've started having them. I can't turn them off, and that's why I'm still sitting here in his office, crying like I just got told the worst news of my life.

This is not a conversation I want to have with my manager. This isn't a conversation I want to have with anyone .

I take a tissue, smiling in thanks, and blow my nose. Immediately, it gets gross and damp, so I stand up to throw it in the trash.

"Do you… do you need a lift home?" Tim asks, stumbling over his words. I guess it takes a lot for him to show genuine concern like this. It's weirdly nice to see that he has a human side too.

"No, I'll be okay, really. I'm going to go for a walk. Thank you again, so much." I'm rambling as I'm heading for the door, but I need to escape this room now. Tim nods with a smile that looks more like a grimace, and I excuse myself, opening the door, clutching the envelope with my promotion in my hand.

This is everything I've been working for for such a long time. This is everything I've wanted for years. And now I've got it, all I can do is cry over Miles.

I walk out into the parking lot, meandering around the edges until I feel ready to drive.

Leaning on the car, I pull out my phone and my thumb hovers over Miles's contact. But he'll be on the plane now, so even if I did text him, it would be pointless because he wouldn't read it for another six hours. If he would even read it all.

I shake my head and text Tali and Elena the emergency signal. I don't feel like being alone tonight. What I need are my friends, and I need them to help me drown my feelings. I have enough of them to fill an ocean.