Page 23 of All Bets Are Off

That statement was enough to distract me from our previous topic, even if only for a short while. “What now?” My hand was a little shaky when I reached for the juice.

Calmly, as if he did it every day, Zach got comfortable next to me and helped me keep the glass steady as I tried to sip the juice. “Here, Tiny Tot.”

I glared at him around a mouthful of orange juice. I made sure to swallow before telling him exactly what I thought of the nickname. “I’m not tiny any longer,” I argued. “I’m five-foot-four.”

“Do you really think that doesn’t make you tiny?” he asked on a laugh.

My glare only grew more pronounced.

“What would you like me to call you?” he asked.

“Olivia is fine.” I stared at the soup. It seemed weird to be having soup for breakfast, but I didn’t see where I had a lot of choice. The pain meds were starting to take effect, but I couldn’t chew anything with any actual consistency at present.

“Don’t husbands and wives have cute little nicknames for each other?” Zach asked. “I mean … that is the standard, right?”

He was really pushing things. “Livvie can be the nickname.”

“No.” He decisively shook his head. “That doesn’t seem special enough. Your brother and parents call you Livvie. I mean … it will do in a pinch. I need something else.”

“Well, I don’t like nicknames.” I gripped my spoon and stared at the soup. I was determined to eat it … and without help. “How would you like it if I called you a nickname?”

Rather than shoot down the idea, Zach shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

“Um … Snookums.” It was the only thing I could think of. My brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

He choked on a laugh. “If you want to call me that, I guess I’ll take it.”

Well, that was disappointing. I decided to change the subject. I couldn’t get in a battle of wits with this man when I was currently unarmed. “What did you say about picking up stuff for me?” I glommed on to the only thing I could think of.

“Well, we’re married,” he said. “You’re going to need stuff here if you’re living with me.”

My spoon, which was winding through the soup to cool it, froze. “Who said I was living with you?” Was he joking? He had to be. It was cruel to joke with someone after dental surgery. What was wrong with him?

“We’re married, Livvie,” he reminded me.

“Um … I was there. It’s not a real marriage, though.”

“My parents have to believe it is. What married couple do you know that doesn’t live together?”

“But…” I was flustered. “I have my own apartment.”

“Yes, and I looked up your lease. The building is owned by one of our subsidiaries. I can make your lease go away. We’ll just move your stuff here—any furniture you have can go into storage on me—and all your other stuff will be at your fingertips in the penthouse.”

“But … we can’t live together.” That was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard.

“Why not? This place has three bedrooms, one of which I currently use as an office. We’ll make it so a few of your things are in my bedroom just for show. You’ll have your own bedroom. If somebody other than your brother comes to visit, we’ll just move your stuff into my bedroom and bathroom and hide whatever needs to be hidden in the closet.”

I shoved soup in my mouth because I needed time to think. He took advantage of my silence.

“Olivia, this is the best thing for you financially,” he said in a serious voice. “You can save all your money—everything financial will be on me—and then you can take your time finding another job.”

What he said made sense. Still … living under the same roof with him threatened the sort of danger I wasn’t prepared for. Sure, I’d spent a lot of time hating him, but I was already starting to wonder if it was fair. It wasn’t his fault I’d developed a crush on him as a teenager. He’d never been overtly mean to me.

Okay, he’d been mean a few times. It was nothing more than brother’s friend stuff, though. It wasn’t as if he’d snuck into my bedroom, put my hand into a warm bowl of water, and let me think I’d turned into a chronic bedwetter at the age of sixteen. No, that had been Rex. His little prank had lasted for an entire month, and I was a nervous wreck by the end of it. In his defense, when he realized I was close to a nervous breakdown, he’d apologized profusely. I was still scarred.

I opted to be pragmatic with my argument. “Don’t you think that it’s going to be weird to live on top of each other?”

He shrugged. “Why would it be? I spent the night at your house all the time when I was a kid. We’re not going to be in the same room. I think we can share the living room and kitchen without any bloodshed.”

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