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“Oh please,” I chuckle, finding the courage to stay brave even though I’m shrinking from him being in this enclosed space with me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ronan. I didn’t know, and I won’t have you mess this up for me. The Ferreris are important clients for my career and that thing you were trying to do out there…” I get closer to him for effect but quickly shrink as it affects me instead, sending torrents of heat through me, “Stop it. Stop trying to sabotage me.” I stand in front of him, knowing I should step back but staying still.
He holds my gaze, and I see the exact moment he softens.
Then he nods. “Whatever happens, be on your best behavior.” He closes the distance, and my body fires up as his body brushes mine. “Behave yourself, Olivia.” It’s a breath, and it brushes against my temple.
“Or what?” I puff, standing on my toes so as not to make myself look so small before him. Then he dips his head, reminding me how small I am and for many reasons other than the difference in our sizes.
His eyes drift to my lips, and mine instinctively look at his mouth. Hislush mouth, his rich, vibrant lips--like hot, melted strawberries.
He swallows,continuing to stare at my lips. I can think about only one thing. Later, I will kick myself, but for now, in this moment, it doesn't feel all that bad.
He chuckles,and the little puff of air from his mouth caresses my lips, making me close my eyes and tilt my head. His body presses flat against mine, and he plants a single finger in the middle of my lower back, scorching me there like a hot coal.
He can see right through my trembling. He can feel it. I open my eyes to see the cloudiness in his gaze, but he is staring at my lips with his long, curly lashes covering his hooded eyes.
I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.
“Or else,” he bites his lower lip. “You won’t like what I would do to you and your…” He lifts his eyes back to mine. “... pretty little dream,” he takes a step back, opens the door, steps out of the pantry, and slams the door.
Chapter Three
OLIVIA
One Week Later
Tension.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been doing this for years. When it’s time to deliver, the tension is always on high speed.
Today is the day. I woke up with mixed feelings of wanting everything to go perfectly and praying for it all to just not be true.
I’m trying as hard as I can to ease some of the tension, but the screwing of my stomach walls around my shrinking organs seems to be happening at the speed of lightning every time I stare at the people present.
Ronan and Barbara’s wedding reception.
The hall, the music, the people, everything is evocative.
The theme color is black and cream, and the fashion trend isreminiscent of the Hollywood nineties. I was expecting nothing less from Barbara.
The media is everywhere, taking shots of every single thing and every single person. It looks straight out of a top bridal magazine—the wedding of the year.
One of Boston’s most eligible bachelors and one of the city’s most stunning women decided to unite, leaving everyone wishing and daydreaming.
Working on their wedding cake and getting the food ready for this big day has not been easy.
It wasn’t easy when she showed up again without him to taste the gourmet dishes and approve each one. As much as I wanted to find something to hate about Barbara, I couldn’t.
She is very decent and hasn’t held my past against me in any way. She was never rude.
I smooth my hands over my ponytail and manage to regain my smile.
While we were dating, Ronan was lovely and kind to me. His assertiveness aside, which I never had a problem with.
I slip my hand into the pocket of my black jumpsuit, which allows me to blend into the elegance needed for an occasion like this one but be comfortable as well. I take out the little finger-size jotter I take with me everywhere to make notes and to-do lists.
On my part, I check my list, and things seem to be going according to plan.
So far, even better than I had planned.
