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“I certainly hope so, because it could be a while,” I retorted, stepping out of the car with Trouble at my side.
As Vlad pulled away, I glanced back to see Oliver sticking his head out the window, gritting his teeth, his eyes following me until I disappeared into the building.
Chapter 24
By the time I stepped into my apartment, I felt like I was floating. Oliver wanted me back. It was what I’d been hoping for since I packed my things and walked out of the penthouse.
But as much as I wanted to rush back to him, I didn't want to seem too eager. I busied myself with tasks to keep from obsessing over my answer—it was yes, but with a few stipulations. I wasn’t sure if Oliver would agree to them, but they were necessary.
By dinner time, I was ravenous and ordered a pizza with the works. I’d lost weight since our separation, but now my appetite had returned with a vengeance. I called in the food order and poured myself a glass of chilled white wine.
Twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on the door and frowned. Normally, the concierge didn’t let delivery people upstairs. I looked through the peephole, but no one was there, so I opened the door with the chain still on.
“Who’s there?” I called out cautiously.
Oliver's face suddenly appeared, holding my pizza. I gasped in shock. “What the fuck. How did you get up here?”
“Do I have to tell you?” he replied smugly.
“Fuck. You own this building? No wonder management is so nice to me. I didn’t see it on your holdings.”
“That’s because the minute you decided on this apartment, I bought the building,” he said, his tone nonchalant.
“But it wasn’t for sale,” I protested, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Everything is for sale at the right price. Now, are you going to let me in, or should I break the door down?”
“I said I needed time,” I reminded him, my voice firm.
“I’ve given you six hours. I can’t wait any longer. I need your decision,” he insisted, his tone allowing for no argument.
“You’re still a pushy bastard,” I muttered, closing the door to unhook the chain.
Oliver pushed past me, walking into my apartment and leaving a trail of his delicious citrusy cologne in his wake—the one he always wore when we were together.
“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my composure.
“To have dinner with you and to give you these,” he said, placing the pizza on my white quartz counter and handing me a white bakery bag.
Curious, I took the bag and unrolled the top, finding a clear plastic container filled with an array of colorful macarons. “From The Diamond Square?”
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “I knew you liked them.”
I raised an eyebrow. “When did you plan on coming over here? Suppose I had a guest?”
“I knew you didn’t, and I took a chance with the pizza. Imagine my surprise when I got here at the same time as the delivery man,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes serious.
“But how did you know it was for me?” I asked, curiosity tinged with suspicion.
“I asked the concierge,” he admitted with a shrug.
“Have you been keeping an eye on me?” I demanded, a mix of irritation and intrigue bubbling up inside me.
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oliver!” I exclaimed, feeling a strange mix of anger and warmth. “That’s a little creepy, you know.”
He held up his hands defensively. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
