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“I’m sorry for rearranging your stupid kitchen without asking first. I’m sorry for calling you last week and making you feel like you have to deal with all this. I’m sorry about New York. I’m sorry about my mom. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! There! Are you happy?”
There was something magical about the late-night to early morning hours that compelled people to drop their guards, and for once, things between Olivia and Sammy felt like old times: easy, comfortable, and poignant all at once.
In that instant, they weren’t Sammy and Olivia, ex-lovers locked in a silent standoff on a summer California night; they were Sammy and Olivia, slick with sweat and heady with alcohol, dancing the hours away in a Shanghai nightclub.
“Say my name again.”
“What do you think of the San Francisco office?” Michael’s deep voice rumbled through the quiet and startled Olivia out of her fantasies of the future—striding into the boardroom suited up in badass Armani, kicking Wall Street ass during the day and coming home at night to a beautiful home and gorgeous husband with whom she’d have all the explosive, kinky sex she liked. Somewhere down the line, there’d be children. Even further down the line, she’d be a CEO, gracing the covers of Forbes and Fortune and carving a legacy for herself as one of the few women who rose to the top of the finance food
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Sammy knelt until they were at eye level, worry etched all over his handsome face.
“Relax,” he murmured. “That’s it. Good girl.”
Sammy was certain that if he were ever to go blind, he would still find his way back to her. He didn’t need to see her to know where she was; she was his North Star, his guiding light.
