Page 101 of The Bossy One

This was a bad book.

The writing was clunky. The plot about a pig who made friends with a squirrel was boring. And theGrown-ups always know bestmoral of the story felt frustratingly dated. Convincing kids to blindly trust every adult they met was dumb advice. This was the kind of book I normally mocked on my blog. And now I would be getting paid to recommend it.

I thought of what Declan had said about choosing business partners. How it was better to choose someone perfect than invest time and energy in someone who wasn’t.

I stumbled over a word. “Shoot. Should we go back to the beginning?”

Declan grimaced. “Let’s keep going. We can edit something together if we don’t end up getting a perfect take.”

There was that word again. Perfect.

I wondered if he wanted perfection in his romantic relationships too. Maybe one of the reasons he didn’t feel the need to resolve any of our big tension points was because it wasn’t an efficient use of his time.

Why try to fix it, if we were already too imperfect, too messy?

The fears built and swirled together until everything felt tense. My breathing was too shallow. Declan might have been standing only a few feet away, but when he was on the other side of that camera, the distance between us felt vast.

“We’re still filming,” Declan reminded me. “You can start reading again whenever you want.”

“No,” I said. “Turn it off.”

“Olivia, relax. We have plenty of time to get this—”

“I said turn itoff,” I ordered, standing.

Declan paused the recording, looking wary. “Do you want a break?”

“No! I don’t want to do this. I hate being in front of a camera. And this book is bad.” I shook it at him for emphasis. “My blog makes me happy. I don’t want to ruin that just for money.”

Declan stepped out from behind that damned camera. He crossed the room to me and cupped my face. “Breathe,a ghrá.”

I inhaled deeply, then blew it out. It helped some.

“The book you’re writing, it’s about advice your mum gave you, right?” Declan prompted.

I nodded.

“What advice would your mum give you right now?”

Any calm I’d gained vanished. “I don’tknow.” I stepped back from Declan and ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. “None of her advice had to do with anonymous blogs, or becoming an influencer, or dating a career-obsessed billionaire.”

I waited for Declan to snap at me and deny he was career obsessed. It would be almost a relief to fight. All the tension building in my body needed somewhere to go.

Instead, he met my eyes and slowly, deliberately, laced his fingers through mine. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”

I grumbled, but let him lead me through the house and out into the garden. A light breeze brushed against my skin, and I could smell the sweet, delicate scent of flowers blooming. We wandered through the overgrown garden paths until my shoulders relaxed.

“Fine,” I admitted grudgingly. The corner of my mouth quirked up. “Maybe I needed a break.”

“You don’t say,” Declan teased. Then his voice quieted, and he squeezed my hand. “I know it’s hard on you that your mum isn’t here. It’s hard for me that I can’t go to my da for advice, too. But when I think back on the years I had with him…I remember some specific things he said, yes, but mostly I remember how proud he was of the person I was growing to be. How confident he seemed that I was going to be able to do anything I set my mind to. Maybe, when the person you go to for advice isn’t there anymore, you have to trust that they helped turn you into the best version of yourself—one who’s equipped to handle whatever surprises life throws your way. And then you start listening to your own gut.”

The words hit uncomfortably close to home. The problem was, when it came to Declan, my gut was saying two different things.

Part of me was saying,I want to stay in Ireland with Declan after this job ends.But another part was saying,This thing with Declan is far too fragile. I can’t count on it.

“That’s pretty good advice,” I said. “But it’s not always so easy to put into practice.”

He stopped walking and turned to face me, gently tilting up my chin so he could see my face. “What’s the real problem, Olivia?”

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