Not Sorry

I walk over to the door that is supposedly hers and knock, and I don’t hear any movement inside. I knock one more time before I decide to give up. But, just as I’m about to leave, the door opens, and Olive stares at me, wide-eyed, in the doorway.

“What…how…what are you doing here?” Olive asks, crossing her arms.

I grin, thankful that I finally found the right place. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“No.”

“Fine. Then, I have no choice but to believe that the reason you called in sick today is because of me. That you’re too embarrassed to see me again after we fucked.”

Olive frowns but opens the door wider, and I slip inside. I stare around the small place that she calls an apartment. But that’s obviously not what it is. It’s a closet or storage room. It’s definitely too small to be an apar

tment. I look around for a place to sit, but there is none. Because every inch of space in her apartment is filled with cookies, brownies, cakes, or muffins. I glance over at what is supposed to be her kitchen and have no idea how she’s made this many bakery items in such a small kitchen that I’m not even sure functions any better than one of those Easy-Bake ovens that kids use.

If this is all she can afford, she’s definitely not getting paid enough. Especially now that I know that, for some reason, the company practically falls apart without her there. But I’m not going to tell her that—at least, not yet. Not until I know that she has the confidence to actually earn the respect and that they think of her as a boss and not just a good-luck charm.

“Yeah, looks like you’re sick to me,” I say.

Olive glares at me. “I am sick.”

I look around at all the bakery items. “Then, why are you baking if you’re sick? Shouldn’t you be in bed? And aren’t you going to have to throw out everything now that they are contaminated with your sickness?”

An alarm goes off, and Olive walks over to the tiny oven. She pulls out a small pan of brownies and places it on the only space left on the counter. Then, she throws the dish towel at me. “Baking makes me happy. It relaxes me.”

“Relaxing won’t help you get over whatever sickness you have.”

“Migraines. I get migraines, especially when I’m stressed.”

“So, you’re telling me that I gave you a migraine?” I say, smiling.

She takes the tray of cookies off what I can’t tell is either a couch or bed and sits down, plopping the tray on her lap. She takes one of the cookies off the tray and starts eating it. “No, I don’t have a migraine because of you. I don’t care that you left me alone this weekend and didn’t call me. I’m not too embarrassed to go to work because I fucked my boss.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue because I just don’t believe her.

She sighs. “I’m anxious and stressed because Owen won’t give me my cat, Milo, back.”

I narrow my eyes at her. She’s never talked about a cat before, but then she does seem like the type to own a cat. Although I have no idea how two creatures could survive in such a small place.

“Have you learned nothing from me? If it’s your cat, you don’t have to ask permission. Just take the cat back,” I say.

“I tried, but it’s not as simple as that. Owen paid for the cat. I have no legal right to Milo, and he’s trying to blackmail me, so I’ll take him back. Because it turns out, he didn’t really cheat on me. It was just a quick kiss between him and his sister. It turns out, he was going to propose.”

My eyes widen when she says propose because Owen definitely doesn’t seem like the type, and it pisses me off that anyone would think they had a claim to a woman I just fucked.

“And you don’t want to marry him anymore because of me?”

She looks up from her tray of cookies as her eyes grow darker. “No, not because of you, you idiot. I don’t want to marry him because I’ve realized that I don’t really love him. I’m not ready to marry anyone yet. I want to be by myself for a while and figure out what I want without a guy. I just want my cat back.”

I stare at her a second longer, trying to tell if she is telling the truth or not. “Then, let’s go get him.”

12

Olive

My heart is pounding right along with my head as Sean drives us toward Owen’s apartment. Sean is talking, trying to pep me up to talk to Owen, but he doesn’t understand that it isn’t going to work. I’ve already tried talking tough to Owen. I have no legal right to the cat. And I doubt that Owen will even open the door. It’s before noon. He’s probably still asleep. And I was stupid enough to date a guy for a year without asking for a key to his place.

Maybe Sean will know how to break into his place, or maybe he knows the owner of the apartment complex, and he’ll let us into Owen’s place. I grab my head that is pounding worse than it ever has before. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I’m not getting back my cat or anything else I left at his place.

“Olive, are you listening to me?” Sean asks.