Page 43 of All Bets Are Off

“It’s not necessarily good, though,” I added.

Her smile disappeared. “I happen to think that right is right. I was right. They’re wrong for what they did.”

I didn’t disagree with her. That didn’t mean she was going to get the things she wanted out of life simply because she was right. “Just think about it.” I drained the rest of my coffee. “If you don’t have an interview, why are you dressed up?”

Olivia glanced down at her pretty pastel capris and flowy white peasant top. She wasn’t one to worry about current trends—something I actually appreciated—and obviously didn’t care that her outfit was dated. She looked good in it, and she seemingly knew it. “This is not dressed up.”

“Compared to what you’ve been wearing, it most certainly is.”

“Don’t pick on my comfy joggers.”

I smirked.

“As for what I’m doing, I think I’m going to try to be proactive for a change. I might not accomplish anything, but just getting out will be a good thing, right?”

“It will probably improve your mood,” I agreed, frowning as she chugged her coffee like it was water. “Why do you do that?” I asked when she put her mug in the dishwasher without prompting.

“You told me that you don’t like it when I’m a pig.”

“Notthat.” I shook my head. “Why do you chug your coffee like that? You’re supposed to sip coffee.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Well, I prefer a latte, but there’s no milk foamer up here, so I have to use creamer. If I don’t chug it, then it will be cold by the time I’m finished. As it is, the coffee is only lukewarm. I have to be fast.”

“You could go downstairs. There’s a coffee bar. They’ll make you a latte.”

“I know, but … it’s weird.” She leaned her hip against the counter, seemingly in no hurry to end our conversation. Ever since she’d stopped being a pig and I’d stopped leaving toenail clippings all around the penthouse, we’d been getting along relatively well. That didn’t mean we confided in one another like giggling schoolgirls. We’d been known to have rousing conversations about movies and sports, though. We were comfortable together—at least more so than before—and I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“How is it weird?” I was honestly curious.

“Because everybody knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That we’re married.”

I didn’t know what to make of the statement. “I believe that news has spread now. Would you prefer if it was a secret? That doesn’t really work for our plan.”

“I know.” She squirmed. “It’s just … do you know how the women here look at you?”

“I … um … would guess they look at me as the boss’s son.”

“Yes, but they think you walk on water.”

“They do not.”

“Oh, yes, they do.” She bobbed her head. “They think that you’re handsome, smart, and basically the warm gooey center of a fresh apple pie.”

The picture she was painting sounded flattering and yet it made me distinctly uncomfortable. “Okay,” I hedged. I had no idea what this had to do with her getting a latte in the morning.

“Do you know all the women here had a competition going?”

“Like … a trivia competition?”

“No, numbnuts.” She flicked me between the eyebrows, causing me to yelp.

“That hurt!”

“You’re fine, you big baby.” Her smirk told me she was enjoying my discomfort. “Their competition was to see if one of them could get you to settle down.”

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