Page 46 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

She fumbles to click the mouse pad again.

The next photo is taken from behind her. She’s obviously fooling around by smacking her own backside, looking over her shoulder at whoever is holding the camera with a playfully flirty expression on her face.

I want to have been that person—on a hike with her, laughing, having her glance back at me with that exact look.

My imagination fixates on what could happen on a hike like that with her.

I’m snapped out of my reverie when Olivia mutters one more “Um …”

I jump in. I don’t know where these personal photos came from or who she was with when they were taken. All that is irrelevant. What matters is saving her from humiliation.

“So,” I say with as commanding a voice as I can muster. “Those photos are an example of the vibe we want to convey. They say … exercise is fun, even flirty. They tell potential clients,You can do this. They send the message that everyday people enjoy life while getting fit. Our models will obviously not work for Barnes, but for now, we wanted to give you a real, tangible feel for the kind of aesthetic we’re including in our campaign.”

Olivia stares at me during the first few beats of my bluff. But then she seems to get a hold of herself. She turns off screen sharing while I carry on, regaling the client with our plans, transitioning to theactualplans our team has developed for the rebrand of Untethered.

By the time I’ve wrapped up my spontaneous speech, Olivia has the actual slideshow queued up and ready to go.

She takes over with her usual finesse. “So, as Logan was saying, we want to focus on the UN in Untethered. Your approach is UNconventional.” She flashes to a slide from the deck we prepared.

“Uninhibited,” Olivia says with increased confidence and a click to another slide.

“UNparalleled.” She clicks to another slide.

I watch her revive to the powerful, impressive woman she is.

“We can even do some visuals where the UN blends into the word UNique.” She clicks to the next slide, and the transition effect demonstrates the concept she’s worked up. “And that can lead into presenting how each person is an individual. We thought of the tagline: You are unique. Your fitness plan should be too.”

We spend the next hour presenting our preliminary ideas and absorbing feedback from the Untethered team. By the time we’re finished, no one remembers the initial stuttering start and personal slideshow—that is, no one but Olivia, Charlie, and me.

The Untethered team leaves the conference room with smiles on their faces, excited about what’s to come. We’ve promised them tangible plans with the concepts we just presented. The first of those will be sent to them in the morning.

Olivia turns to me. “Thank you for saving me back there.”

I’m so tempted to tease her about thanking me.

My knee-jerk reaction is to say something like, “Can I record this moment—the day Olivia Pennington actually thanked me?”

But I don’t mock her. I nod once to acknowledge her show of gratitude, and then I say, “You’d have done the same for me too.”

Olivia shakes her head and shuts her eyes briefly.

We both know she wouldn’t have done the same for me, even though she would for every other person on the planet. Her heart is bigger than she lets on whenever I’m around. With any luck, after today, the next time I’m in a bind in front of a client, she might actually cover for me.

The rest of the day Olivia avoids me except when necessary for a work-related question or to seek input on the package we’re sending to Untethered tomorrow. She’s obviously not over the botched slideshow.

When I leave work, Olivia’s still sitting at one of the tables in our open workspace, her laptop open. I have the strongest urge to walk past her to say goodbye, but instinctively, I leave her alone. I walk out of the room without even glancing in her direction.

Less is more.

Not trying to win her heart—but, still.

Tonight I’m having dinner with my family. I haven’t been over since my initial visit a few days after I moved back to Serendipity Springs. Mom kept extending the invitation, so I finally agreed to join them tonight. I make a stop at a florist near my parents’ home for a bouquet of peonies—Mom’s favorite. I pull onto my parents’ circular driveway at six o’clock.

Even though Dad always says I can simply walk in, I knock. One of the double-high front doors opens, and my mother’s smiling face greets me.

She’s dressed in pressed jeans and a silk blouse, an apron tied around her waist. Her hair and makeup are impeccable, as always.

“Oh, Logan. I’m so glad you made it. We’re probably not as fun as whatever you have going on most of the time, but I’ve missed you. Knowing you’re back in town makes me more aware that I’m not seeing you as much as I’d like.”

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