CHAPTER FOURTEEN Olive

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Olive

"Oh, honey. This is going to take a bit of work." Frannie frowns down at me, a giant brush in her hand. "It's just so ..."

"Ugly?" I finish for her. "I know."

She squeezes my shoulder with her free hand. "Don't worry. We got this. I'll get you looking good as new in no time."

She's full of shit, and we both know it.

As much as I hate the idea of having to have my face edited—it's even in my contracts that I don't allow it—Uma has insisted it's going to be necessary if I want this campaign to run, and I really want this campaign to run. I could use a burst of good news, given the circumstances.

It's been four days since the run-in—literally—with the piano, and my forehead looks more like I had a fight with a brick wall.

It's nothing compared to my knees, though. Both are still swollen and sore and purple. It's a damn good thing we're shooting winter clothes today, because there is no way I can let them on camera.

"So," Frannie starts as she digs through her bag of supplies, "is it true that Jude Rafferty came to your rescue and carried you into an ambulance like a hero straight out of a romantic comedy?"

Is that what the media is saying now? I wouldn't know since I've intentionally scrolled by every article even hinting at Jude since reports of his date with Keely Haart broke.

I shouldn't have been surprised, not because of who he is or how he betrayed me—but seeing him with Keely ... I think that hurt worse than running into the piano.

He has every right to date her. We're nothing.

But it doesn't mean I have to like it.

I really don't like it.

I don't want to think about it now. I want to focus on the shoot. I need my focus to be completely on work right now, not on some guy who fooled me. I'm going to have hospital bills to cover. That's important. Not Jude.

"They've definitely exaggerated about him carrying me like some hero, but he was there." I hope it's enough to pacify her.

"So you know him?"

Dammit. It didn't work.

"No. No, I don't know him."

I thought I did—or at least, I thought I knew his brother. But I don't. Not really.

And I'm trying to convince myself I'm okay with that.

She pauses mid-riffle, arching both perfect brows my way. "You're telling me you just happened to have a medical episode right in front of the Jude Rafferty?"

No, Frannie. The truth is, Jude was there because he's a horrible, manipulative, lying asshat who was chasing me after I uncovered all his secrets and exposed him for the fraud he is.

"Yep," I tell her. "How was the drag competition with your cousin? Did they win?"

And that's how I get Frannie to ramble for the rest of the session, telling me all about the show she worked on. It's a much-needed break from all the other awful thoughts rolling around in my head.

I block them out, and I keep them out. Since the only thing people want to do is ask about Jude, I'll use the shoot to distract myself.

I've spent the past few years craving recognition, and now I want nothing more than to be anonymous.

My name has been splashed across the internet for days now. At first, nobody was aware who I was, but that changed very fast. Overnight, I gained a hundred thousand new followers, and my inbox was suddenly full of reporters from various news outlets asking about Jude and him rescuing me.

I've been all over the internet so much that even my mom called to check in with me. Of course, she didn't quite understand all that was going on, but I appreciated her reaching out anyway. I'm sure it wasn't easy to see me injured in front of the whole world like that.

Between the headlines and fielding my mom's questions, these last few days have been a little too much to handle, and I'm beyond over it.

So I do what I've been doing—tuck it far away in the back of my mind and don't think about it. I'll unpack it in therapy with Ingrid later.

Five hours later, I'm on my way home and feeling a little better. The shoot went off without a hitch, and I didn't google myself or Jude a single time.

Progress, right?

My phone pulses against my hip as I round a corner on my walk home, and I pull it out, surprised to see Annie's name on the screen. Like two rational humans, we call each other only if there's an emergency.

"Hel . . . lo?"

The greeting comes out a broken question. I have no clue what I'm about to hear. Will it even be Annie? Did she get kidnapped? Will it be her captor on the other end? Do they need ransom? Do I have ransom?

"Please tell me you're on your way home," Annie—thank God—says in my ear as I maneuver through the crowded street toward my trusty coffee truck, in dire need of a pick-me-up.

"I am. Why? What's going on?"

"My brother just dropped Daphne off. Payton is having ... issues." She whispers this last part, and I assume it's because her niece is right there and she doesn't want to worry her. Daphne may be only four, but she's intuitive as hell and aware that her mother has a new baby growing in her belly. She'll put two and two together. "I have a shift at the hospital in an hour and a half."

Translation: Can you watch Daphne for me?

"I'm stopping for coffee. I'll be home in about twenty, depending on how long the line is."

Annie sighs in relief. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

"No, but I'm all ears."

"Well, I love you. So, so much."

"Go on . . ."

She laughs. "Are you going to JT's?"

"Of course."

"Even after . . . ?"

She doesn't say his name, and I appreciate it more than she could ever know.

I've not been by JT's since my run-in with Jude, for obvious reasons. But today feels like it's time.

"I'm not letting him chase me away from my favorite coffee spot," I say, hoping I sound more confident than I am. "Besides, I doubt he'll be there, anyway. I'm sure he's off with Keely Haart, living his best Hollywood-elite life somewhere I could never afford."

"You don't even know if they're dating."

"You saw the pictures, Annie. They're dating."

And why wouldn't they date? Keely is a funny, talented, gorgeous actress. She's famous and rich and from his world. They make perfect sense together. Unlike us. I was a fool to think anything otherwise.

"I don't know. The pictures I saw didn't look romantic at all. If anything, he looked a little pained to be there with her."

She could be wrong and she could be right, but I saw all I needed to see. He was out with her the night after he put me in the hospital. It's clear that whatever we had—if you can even call it anything—is over.

"Are you on his side or mine?"

There's a pause. Too long of one. So long that I pull the phone away from my ear to see if the call is still connected.

It is.

"Annie?" I ask, barely sidestepping some guy on a skateboard.

"I ..." She clears her throat. "Sorry. Daphne had my attention."

I've known Annie long enough to tell she's lying. Her niece didn't steal her attention. She was just avoiding the question.

"I'm on your side," she finally says.

"Why do I feel as if you're about to come at me with a big but?"

"My butt is not that big!"

I laugh, thankful for the joke that breaks the tension between us. Annie and I get along almost always. Any tiffs we have are resolved quickly. I'm glad this isn't going to turn into something big.

"But ..." I swear I can hear her smile as I pass by a store that's been advertising it's going out of business for the past two years. "I do think that maybe you could see where Jude is coming from."

I blow out air, the smile slipping off my face and right into a frown.

Mostly because ... I know she's right.

There is a small—like, absolutely minuscule—part of me that understands why Jude lied. And there's a slightly bigger part that could totally chalk us meeting in the coffee line and him not knowing who I was up to coincidence.

But adding them together . . .

"Just think about it, Liv, okay? I'm not saying you need to forgive him, but maybe just have a conversation with him? He did stay with you at the hospital all day. There's no way he didn't blow off an entire schedule to stick by your side."

She's guilting me, and I hate it.

I hate more that it's working.

Jude did take care of me. He was respectful and he was there. Not only that, but the look in his eyes when he poured his heart out and told me he was sorry ... It was real.

He was real.

I swallow at the thought, then shake my head, almost as if I'm trying to get rid of it, because if I sit and think about it for too long, then I'll forget why I'm mad at him and maybe even miss him.

"I'll think about it," I tell Annie as I round the corner, JT's coming into my line of sight. The delicious smell of fresh coffee hits my nose, and I inhale sharply, already feeling a bit better. "You want coffee?"

"Please. A huge one."

"Coffee? I want coffee!" Daphne hollers in the background. "Coffee! Coffee! Coffee!"

"The last thing you need is coffee," Annie mutters, but I'm sure her niece doesn't hear her. She's still chanting about the nectar of the gods. "And I suppose a hot chocolate for the little gremlin."

"One gremlin-sized hot chocolate, coming up. See you soon."

I end the call, then slip my phone into my pocket as I approach. Lucky for me, the line for JT's is only four people deep when I step up to the back.

I shuffle back and forth on my feet as I wait for the line to move. It looks like it's only JT in there today, so it's moving slower than I'd like.

After several minutes, I finally move up one person just as someone slides in behind me, standing so close their body heat wraps around me like an unwanted blanket, making this warm August evening even hotter.

I take a small step forward, trying to run away from it, but they move with me.

Seriously? Hasn't this person ever heard of personal space?

They step closer, and now I can really feel them.

But more than that, I can smell them.

And I'd know that scent anywhere.

Pine.

"Hey, Sunshine."

Two words. That's all it takes to widen all the small cracks in my resolve, and they threaten to splinter, to shatter.

I don't turn around or acknowledge he's there.

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend he's not there.

But just like this tactic didn't work with Uma, it doesn't work with Jude either.

He inches closer, the fabric of his clothes brushing against the backs of my arms and sending a shudder through me.

I also pretend that didn't happen.

"Can we talk?"

I peel one eye open, then the other, and when the person in front of me moves forward, so do I.

And so does Jude.

"Please."

The word tickles my ear, causing goose bumps to rise along my arms as it slides over me and into those damn cracks that can't seem to stop growing.

Stupid cracks.

Stupid splinters.

Stupid Jude.

He shuffles closer once more, and I can't take it any longer. I whirl around and level him with a heated stare, arms crossed over my chest.

"What?"

To his credit, he doesn't step back. He doesn't even look surprised by my ire.

No.

That asshat smirks.

Smirks!

"I missed that look, Sunshine."

And I missed being Sunshine.

But I don't admit that out loud.

"You've never seen this look."

He reaches up and lifts his cap, then slides his hand through his ash-blond hair before replacing the cap. Then—and I'm not expecting this at all—he tugs his sunglasses off, securing them safely to the pocket on his overshirt.

His very wet overshirt.

"Did you run here?" I ask, taking a step back.

He darts his eyes to the left. "No."

He's lying. The eye shift was a tell.

I lift a single brow.

He chuckles at the challenge, lifting his hand to the back of his neck and squeezing it while giving me a lopsided grin.

I could melt, and not from the sweltering heat.

It's all from Jude.

If I thought he was attractive before, it's nothing compared to now. Seeing his eyes ... those green and soulful and magnetic eyes ... Well, I'm a little bummed I've been missing out on this view, but I don't dare voice that. Not to him and not to anyone else. Never, ever.

"Maybe I did run."

I give myself a shake because, oh yeah, we were talking. I forgot, too busy admiring him.

"Why?"

Another eye shift. "No real reason."

"Jude."

His smile slips, and I search my mind for what I've said wrong, especially when he takes two steps toward me, closing the distance I've so carefully put between us.

Suddenly, he's right there. So damn close that gone is the scent of coffee and all I smell is pine and him and everything I can never have because he belongs to someone else.

It's intoxicating and overwhelming and the most amazing thing ever.

"Say that again," he commands.

"What?" I ask, trying with everything inside me not to lose myself in his eyes. They remind me of the sea during a storm—dark yet alluring, and so damn unpredictable. The perfect mixture of green with just a hint of gray.

"My name. Say it again."

"Jude."

It drops from my lips before I can think twice about what he's just asked or why.

All I can think about is how his chest is heaving and how tight mine feels. How my throat is closing and how goddamn hot it is.

I've said his name before, but only when my voice was full of contempt.

This time it's different, and apparently Jude feels that too.

"Next!"

And just like that, the spell he's cast over me is broken, and I stumble out of his warmth, turning toward the coffee truck.

"Liv!" JT says with a grin. "Haven't seen you in a few days. How you been?"

I'm not stupid. JT knows. He has to know. How could he not? Everyone knows.

JT's eyes shift over to Jude, tightening ever so slightly, and while most people wouldn't notice, I do. I've been coming to this truck for far too long not to see it—Jude isn't welcome here anymore.

"Good, JT. No, scratch that—I'm great." I turn and give Jude a look. Not that it does any good. He's staring down at me with a goofy grin. I divert my attention back to my favorite coffee-truck owner. "I'll have my usual, a large iced vanilla oat milk latte, and a small hot chocolate."

He nods, grabbing a cup for each and scribbling on them, then getting to work on my order.

"Having a party?" Jude asks, stepping beside me.

I ignore the way his shoulder brushes against mine.

"Me, Annie, and Daphne."

"Daphne?" he questions, but it seems like it's more to himself than me. "Daphne, Daphne, Daphne ..." he repeats. He snaps his fingers. "The niece. A total hell-raiser and four going on twenty-four."

He rattles off the information like it's nothing to him, but what I can't wrap my head around is ... he knows.

And there's only one way he could—my diary entries.

He really did read them all. More than that, he read them, and he remembered them.

I shouldn't be that impressed, really. He's an actor. It's part of his job to memorize things. But he's getting paid millions to do that.

This is different.

I take another peek at him, and he's still peering down at me.

"Can I confess something to you?" he whispers conspiratorially.

"Sure." I don't mean to say it, but the second it's out there, the urge to know whatever he wants to tell me grows tenfold.

"I knew you'd be here."

"Today?"

"Right now."

"So you are stalking me, then."

He snorts out a laugh. "No. Or maybe. I'm not sure."

"You're not sure if you're stalking me? It's usually obvious." I let my eyes rove over him. "Baseball cap, sunglasses, and a basic shirt so you blend into the crowd."

His lips twitch. "‘Basic'?"

"I said what I said."

Another twitch. He bends toward me. "I'm not stalking you, Sunshine. Annie told me where you were."

That little conniving, traitorous, hateful, beautiful, perfect, smart best friend of mine.

I love her, but I swear I'm strangling her the second I walk inside our apartment. Why would she send him here? Why is she even in contact with him? And how? Why any of this?

"Before you get too mad at her, please know that I was the one who reached out. You didn't want me to contact you after ..." He trails off, not voicing the very thing that's torn us apart. He clears his throat. "I wanted to check on you after the hospital, but I wanted to respect your wishes."

"So you went behind my back to my best friend?"

"Yep," he says, refusing to be scared off by the very obviously agitated tone in my voice. "And I'd do it again a thousand times over, no matter how much you glare or frown or cross your arms at me, Ollie."

I relax my arms—I hadn't even noticed I'd crossed them over my chest again. Am I really that defensive?

"Ollie?" I question the new nickname.

"You hate Sunshine, and you told me not to call you Olive." He shrugs. "Ollie it is."

"I hate Ollie more."

He grins. "Of course you do."

"Of course you do," I mock in a deep voice, which only makes his smile grow and makes me more irritated. At least, I think it's irritation. I almost can't tell anymore.

I should tell him to go away. Should make him leave.

But I don't.

Why don't I?

"Here you are, Liv," JT says, pulling me from my thoughts and back to the present.

Jude turns to JT. "My usual, please."

JT's dark brows shoot up. "Pardon?"

Jude chuckles lightly, but it's an uncomfortable kind of laugh. An awkward one. "Uh, my usual order."

The brows go higher.

Jude clears his throat, then repeats his order once again, this time louder.

"Oh, I heard you," JT tells him as he begins pushing buttons on the register, sounding and looking completely done with the man standing before him. "We're out."

"Of coffee? Drip coffee?"

"Yep. Just ran out."

I try with everything I have to fight the smile that's clawing at my lips, but it's pretty pointless.

Just like it's pretty obvious to everyone except for Jude what's happening right now—JT is refusing to serve him. And it's all because of me. Well, him too. More specifically, him and Keely and their date.

"Oh."

It's all Jude says. He lets JT refuse him.

And so do I.

Petty? Maybe. But damn, does it feel good.

JT reads off my total, but he doesn't say it to me. He says it to Jude.

The actor sighs, and then, to my utter surprise, he plucks his card from his wallet and hands it over. When JT does his thing and pushes it back over the counter, I don't miss Jude stepping up and giving him a hefty tip before grabbing Annie's and Daphne's drinks.

The two men exchange a knowing look, each dipping their heads in acknowledgment of what just transpired; then Jude turns to me like nothing's happened.

"After you."

"After me?"

"Well, you have three drinks, and unless you're hiding one somewhere I can't see, you only have two hands. So, after you."

"Jude . . ."

He shakes his head. "After you, Ollie."

I sigh. Jude following me back to my apartment? Nothing good can come of it. I just know it.

So then why—after everything—do I say, "Okay"?

And I let him trail behind me as we make our way back to my apartment.

It's a bad idea. A horrible one.

Yet somehow ... it feels right.