39. Olivier

Where the fuck is he?

I'm freezing to death, I just saw a rat the size of my forearm, and Drew does not appear to be home. I want to scream.

I jam my finger into his intercom button several times in rapid succession while my breath puffs out in clouds of steam and the tip of my nose turns to ice.

Finally, finally, thedoor to his building unlocks, and I rush through it, blowing into my bare hands as I climb the stairs hoping to find him and not a roommate.

And there he is, in the clothes I last saw him in, smelling faintly of liquor, with a messy head of hair and bleary blue eyes. For a second, I'm so relieved, I nearly throw my arms around him, but I remember how pissed off he was last night and why. I'm probably the last person he wants to see, but I've been up all night, running on adrenaline and energy drinks.

"That was quick," he mumbles, stepping out of the way so I can come in. "I thought I told you to call."

"I mean, I did. Several times."

"Oh."

I'm still cold, so I don't take off my coat right away. Standing in his living room with my hands in my pockets, I stare at him from a six-foot distance. He runs a hand through his hair and glances around a moment before he finally takes a deep breath and meets my eyes.

This is where I'm supposed to apologize. Possibly even grovel. But if he doesn't tell me how to go about it, I'm not sure what to do.

Groveling for my parents usually comes with a task that requires completion—say marrying someone to save face and ensure a prosperous business relationship. Maybe it's not obvious, but apologies aren't really my forte. I do know how they're supposed to start, though. "I'm really sorry for what I said last night."

"We covered this."

"I wanted to say it again."

"So what?" he asks, stumping me. "What does it change?"

"I know what I don't want it to change," I say.

"Then it might be too little, too late."

My hope plummets. "Please tell me that's not your final answer."

"You made it really obvious how you see things last night, and I got the picture. Do I think you're making a mistake? Yeah—you are. But do I think a doorman could change your mind, no I fucking don't."

"Drew, you're not just a doorman…"

"Oh, I know that, Olivier. I'm very fucking aware of that. And as big of a dick as you are, I know you're aware of it, too. But I'd put up any failure of mine to anything you've ever done in your privileged life and still be able to say I gave it everything I had."

"You're right. You're a better man than I am?—"

"That's not what I said."

"But it's true," I say, so earnest it hurts. "By literally every measure, you beat me by a mile. I was freaking out last night when I saw Elodie like that. I had no clue about her dad, and it scared me. And everything you were saying was giving me even more things to be scared about, and I was trying to shut you up, so I said what I said, and it wasn't right. It wasn't fair at all. It was dismissive and shitty, and I get that. So, with all that being said, I'm sorry, Drew. I know you were only trying to help."

Drew considers my words. Me. He swallows and then looks away. "Fine. Apology accepted. Is there anything else?"

"That's up to you," I whisper, echoing the words he said to me last night before he left.

He takes a deep breath that makes him seem exhausted in a way I can't even comprehend. "Let me ask you this, then… Can you imagine any universe where you don't marry Elodie?"

When a fully formed response pops immediately into my mind, I nearly choke on it because for one, crystal clear second, I recognize three life-changing things at once: This is what it means to be vulnerable. I am only granted one life on this earth, and I am in love with Andrew Riley. I clear my throat and say exactly what's on my mind. "Would that universe include you?"

He works his jaw and finally lets his eyes track back to my face. "That might end up being the only one that does."

"So it's you or her? An ultimatum? God, I might start getting used to these." I whirl around and pace a few steps.

"It's not—no. But I don't like being bought and paid for. It's hard enough to work uptown and see all the things I wanted but can't have every single day because people were born better than me."

I stop walking, but I keep my back to him while I listen.

"It's bad enough that I've managed to internalize all that. I hate the way I feel up there. And I hate myself for not being able to be happy with what I do have. I think I was a coward to take you up on your offer to stay here another month. I wasn't ready to leave, either, but now I don't trust this. I don't trust myself. And I'm not sure I trust you."

My body goes still as another chill, colder than the wind outside, rushes through me.

"I'm not as strong as I look, Olivier."

I know. "I know," I say out loud in a whisper, turning to face him.

His lips are pulled into his mouth and the edges around them are white. His eyes are on the floor, and his arms are folded tightly against his chest like they're the only things keeping him together. He's as broken now as he was when I met him.

I thought at the time that I'd been the one to break him, but the more I've gotten to know him, the more I realize there's something deeper and darker inside him he doesn't want me or anyone to see.

Whether it's shame or something more profound like self-loathing, I don't really care. I just want to take some of the burden of it off his shoulders, but I'm relatively certain he doesn't think I can handle it. It doesn't stop me from wanting to try, though.

"I wasn't offering to buy you, you know. I was trying to buy more time for us. The fact that actual money had to be involved complicates things for you, which I think I understand, but the intention wasn't to put an obligation on you. I never meant for you to feel like I felt entitled to you. I just wanted a chance."

"A chance for what?" he asks, his words whispered and somehow shattered.

"To keep you," I say, just as softly.

The full force of his blue gaze hits me. "Why?"

"Because losing you isn't acceptable."

"Why?" he asks again.

"Is there something specific you need to hear me say?"

"Kinda—yeah."

"Like…I'm falling in love with you, too?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. "I can't do this right now. I have a really bad headache."

He walks to the kitchen and shakes a few pills loose from a bottle, swallowing them with a half-empty bottle of water from the counter.

"When can you do it?" I ask. "When can we talk if not now? As far as I can tell, it's just you and me here, and a headache isn't a stroke."

He's not getting rid of me that easy. Did I mention that the rat outside came within two feet of me? "Do you want me to take back my offer? Fine. I can take it back. You want me to get a job? A degree? I'll look into it. Do you want me to pretend like nothing ever happened between us? Dream the fuck on."

"I don't want anything from you. I want to be left alone. Are you not listening? I can't do this. Not now, not in a week—not next year. I can't do this. I'm not okay."

"I'll give you you're not okay—that's obvious, but you can't do this? Bullshit. Last night, you were all in on moving in with me and having Elodie as a roommate. I make one shitty comment, and all of a sudden, you're what? Back to wanting to leave the city?"

"It's not about the one shitty comment."

I am not reassured, but I'm trying really hard not to act like I'm on the verge of a complete meltdown. "What, then? What do you want?"

"If I tell you, are you going to give it to me?"

"Maybe. Try me."

"I want you to do whatever the fuck you want. If that's to stay rich and spoiled and marry Elodie so you can inherit a company you have no clue how to run—do that. If you want to get a job or a degree, go for it. If you want me—tell me."

"I want you. How many ways do you want me to say it?"

"I don't mean physically—I mean in your life?—"

"So do I."

He grips the edge of the counter and hangs his head between tense shoulders.

I'm officially as frustrated as he is. "You don't have a clue what you want, Drew. Or if you do, you're not saying it."

"Fine," he grits out. "I don't want to share you. I don't want to share you with Elodie, or your parents. I don't want to be a dirty secret you have to keep. I don't want to be your fucking doorman."

I suck in a breath, but it meets resistance when my chest clamps down. That's it? He wants to be my boyfriend? I wish this were simpler, but it's so complicated. Between wanting to help Elodie and wanting to keep Drew at all costs, I'm genuinely torn. Choosing him in that way means losing everything else I have, and screwing Elodie over in the process.

But the truth is the truth. "That's what I want, too."

"But?"

So he heard that, did he? I sigh. "This doesn't just affect me. And you can't just say something like you don't trust me without knowing how hard it is for me to trust you. On the one hand, it's weirdly reassuring that you're willing to just walk away, but on the other hand—what if you go public? What if you blackmail me or my family? Or Elodie? What if you end up getting me to agree to all these impossible terms, and then you get sick of me and fuck someone else like you cheated on Jericho? You think I don't have a few things holding me back here?"

His eyes burn with rage that feels as harsh as a physical shove. "Get out."

"Please stop," I say. "I need us to stop fighting."

"I don't care what you need," he says, his voice as cold as the first time he knocked on my penthouse door.

I bark out a laugh. "I don't believe that, either."

"What do you want?" he shouts. "You keep asking what I want even though you don't have a fucking thing to offer—what the hell do you want from me?"

That stings. Why's he been hanging around so much if I have so little to offer him? He's trying to hurt me. He might even be trying to scare me. Too bad for him—I'm reckless.

"I want you to be patient, Drew. With the situation. With me. I want you to stop running and stay put for two seconds. I want you to stop expecting me to change my entire life for someone I've been hooking up with less than a month."

He shakes his head again like I'm just not getting it. "I can't afford to be patient. I'm out of money. I'm out of time. And I don't want to be here anymore."

The last part comes out sounding so final, I swear something inside me dies, but it makes room for something altogether new and unexpected. An overwhelming desire to do something.

I just don't know what.