Page 12 of Ms. Lead

The more I talk, the further away he seems, so I shut up. I don’t think he was even listening.

There is a painful lump in the back of my throat from constantly resisting the urge to get choked up. I want to go home, crawl under my blankets, and not come out for a month. Or at least until Oliver leaves to go home. My embarrassment is now complete.

Chapter Seven

OLIVER

THE LONELIEST

Shit. I knew this dinner was a bad idea, but I had to go and invite Bianca anyway. Why did I do this? Just to torture myself?

Well, top marks, you’ve achieved your goal, idiot.

She’s looking at me expectantly, her face flushed from what I can only guess is embarrassment at her earlier question, and I swear there is hope behind it too. I want to be honest. I want to yell to the whole restaurant, ‘Yes! Since the moment I met this woman, I’ve felt a connection!’ But, of course, I can’t bloody do that. I can’t allow myself to give in to these feelings she is stirring in me.

I also don’t want to lie to her. How the hell do I get out of this? Do I ignore the question since she’s moved on from it? I’ve got to say something. I’ve stalled enough.

“Okay, well, the book is an in-depth look into the Calnetta and Mamana families, their ties to each other, and organized crime here in Las Vegas. I understand that the families’ illegal activity goes back decades to the city's beginnings.”

There. Subject changed. Crisis averted.

The disappointed look she gives hits me straight in the heart and tells me exactly how big of an asshole I am. She covers it up quickly, but it’s unmistakable.

That’s right. I’m an asshole. You’ll be better off with someone else.

I hope the change in subject is enough to warn her off. God, this is difficult.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize those families were here that long.” She seems interested but also distracted.

I, too, am distracted, watching her lips move as she speaks, wondering if they’re as delicious as they appear. I take in her bare shoulders, imagining my hands caressing all of her curves, getting her out of that dress, or maybe leaving it on while I—

“Oliver? Are you okay?”

I eventually realize she’s calling my name and force myself back to reality.

“Yeah. So sorry. I’m still fighting jet lag.” And I’ll be using that excuse for everything for the next four weeks. Or, at least as long as jet lag can reasonably last, I can get away with it. “You were saying?”

Leaning her head to the side, she eyes me curiously, trying to read me before continuing. I have the scary feeling that she can see through the walls I’m putting up between us. This is only the second time I’ve been in her presence, and each time I have felt entirely vulnerable but utterly comfortable at the same time.

“I asked if you would interview Normandy and Brandon at the barbeque on Sunday. Is that the plan?”

The disappointment is back, and I hate it. I hate that I have to make her feel that way.

“Yes. That is the plan. I know most of their stories from news reports, but I like to get firsthand accounts as much as possible.”

“And Max Calnetta? Will you talk to him too?”

Max’s father and brother kidnapped Normandy before she and Brandon were married and tried to ransom her for $10 million. The plan went to hell, and Normandy got shot but luckily survived. Max turned his entire family into the authorities and testified against them for immunity. His input would be helpful for my book.

“I hope to, yes. He’s been a little difficult to locate and communicate with. Darcie’s been able to get hold of him a few times, but she can’t get a confirmation for dates or times from him. He’s flying way under the radar now.”

“Darcie?”

I sense a bit of jealousy in her questioning tone, and my chest clenches. I like it, even though I have no right to.

“My agent.” I debate telling her the rest but give in. “And friend. I’ve known her since university.”

“Oh, nice.” She nods, and her clipped words make it obvious she’s jealous.

---