Page 35 of Devil in the Details
“We can reschedule, Larry. I’m sorry, but an emergency has come up.”
Fuck this meeting. Fuck everything else that didn’t have to do with Olive and making this right.
Because there was no way in hell I was losing her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Olive
Iwas depressed. Here I was, sitting on my couch with a bottle of wine in front of me and a glass filled to the brim in my hand. I could’ve called Michael, had him come over so I didn’t have to drink alone, but right now, I just wanted to be by myself. I didn’t want to have to explain anything. I just wanted to wallow in my emotions and feel self-pity.
I brought the glass to my mouth and took a long drink, refusing to cry even though the tears were right there at the surface.
I’d been home for less than ten minutes, opting to pay for a cab instead of using the subway. I’d spend more if it meant not having to be crammed on a train with a bunch of strangers when all I wanted to be was alone.
And as soon as I’d walked through the door, I grabbed the bottle of wine, a glass, and sat my ass right down on this couch.
I looked over at the bags that sat on my dining room table, one filled with groceries, the other with sexy lingerie I’d bought, because I thought Pope might like seeing me in it. I thoughtabout what I’d seen tonight. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe I should have waited and found out what had actually happened.
I should’ve spoken to him, not let my emotions dictate my actions as I ran off like a scared little girl. But all I had seen was painful. All I had felt was hurt. And my first reaction was to get away from it, to go to a safe place, to go to my place surrounded by my things that comforted me.
No, I refused to cry. I tipped my glass up and finished drinking my wine, about to reach for the bottle and refill my glass, when I heard three hard raps on my door. I could assume maybe it was Michael, but I knew it wasn’t.
I hoped it wasn’t.
I set my wine glass on the coffee table and stood, my legs feeling weak, my knees threatening to buckle. My movements were slow as I walked toward the front door, reached out, and grabbed the handle, the brass cold in my grip. My heart was racing hard and painfully. I could feel it in my throat, hear it in my ears.
I turned the handle and pulled the door open, seeing Pope standing on the other side. Those tears that had threatened to spill came rising up violently then, but I held them back, put them on a leash. I wanted to be strong. I didn’t want to break down.
“Olive,” he said softly, pain in his voice. “I saw you at the restaurant. I know what you think you saw.” I shook my head slowly. “I want to fix this. Make this right. Make you understand nothing happened. I want to fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix. We weren’t ever together officially, Pope.” I saw the way his eyes widened, how my words hurt him, cut him deeply. It pained me to say it, because I didn’t feel that way. I thought about our time in his office, how he’d pressed me against the wall and shown me how possessive he was.
I, of course, didn’t believe what I’d just said. But I wanted those words out there. I wanted him to have an out if he needed it. I wanted to guard myself, to build that wall around my heart.
I wanted to save face.
“Nothing to fix?” He took a step closer to me. “Nothing official?” He took another step, crossing the threshold, filling the apartment. “If there’s nothing to fix, if what we were—are—wasn’t more than that, Olive, then I wouldn’t be staring into your eyes, seeing the same pain I feel inside.” He swallowed and I watched as his throat worked from the act. “And if I told you I loved you?”
My heart raced.
“What then, Olive? Would you deny it and say you don’t love me back?”
I didn’t know what to say, how to say it. I didn’t think this was going to go this way.
“Tell me the truth.”
I inhaled sharply. My throat was thick, because of the emotions I felt inside. “Pope.”
He shook his head slowly. “Tell me you don’t feel for me the way I feel for you.”
I couldn’t breathe, but I knew the way my emotions were right now meant I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But he leaned back as if he knew I needed some room.
“There’s obviously something to fix, Olive. You ran away and didn’t let me explain.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t know what I was saying no to. “It doesn’t matter.” My voice was no more than a whisper.
I didn’t say anything more, because I didn’t know what to say. He took a step forward and I took one back, the silent dance with him crowding my space, making me feel like this was more intimate than it should be in this moment. And then he closedthe door behind him, and all I could do was stare at him, wonder what was next, what was going to happen.
