Olivier (Chicago Blaze 9)

“It’s Olivier, and it wasn’t really a date.”

“Mmmhmm, sure. But you guys kissed at the end.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes and ask Linda if the whole world gets to see photos of her life every day.

The front door is pushed open and two more people walk in.

“Here to volunteer?” I ask, glad my conversation about Olivier is over.

I had fun with him Saturday night, and the kiss was really good. Great, even. But I’m not letting my heart call the shots anymore. My head says I need to take a break from men, and even when I’m ready to date again, I don’t want to have $300 dinner dates with a billionaire. I’d be a hypocrite, advocating for the poor during the day and living a lavish life by night.

“We’re going to start by packing some backpacks with supplies,” I tell the three volunteers who have arrived so far.

I lead them into our back room, where I have nine backpacks set out and supplies piled on folding tables. After instructing them on how much and what to pack each bag with, I go back out to the lobby to see if any of my other volunteers have arrived.

Two college kids introduce themselves and I’m about to lead them to the back when the door opens again. I do a double take when I see Olivier walk in, dressed in jeans, a plain black shirt under a thick jacket and a Chicago Blaze baseball cap.

“I didn’t think you owned shirts without collars,” I say.

“Hi, Daphne,” he says wryly. “I own lots of shirts without collars.”

“Sorry…hi.”

“Hey, aren’t you the guy from that video online?” one of the college kids asks. “The one who pulled the lady from the burning car?”

“I am.”

“That was fucking badass! You just climbed right in there. Was the lady okay?”

Olivier nods. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

“You guys should meet sometime and film it.”

Smiling, Olivier says, “We should; that’s a good idea.”

I clear my throat and say, “Hey, I need to get these volunteers going on packing bags. Can you wait like five minutes and then I can talk?”

“Actually, I’m here to volunteer.”

My mouth drops open. “What? You?”

One of the college kids says, “Man, this guy is pretty amazing,” in an awed tone.

“He has ulterior motives,” I say sharply.

“Me? Never.” Olivier gives me a mock innocent look.

“Hey Nina?” I call loudly enough for her to hear me in her office. “Can you get my volunteers going in the back room?”

“Yep.”

She comes out of her office, her face lighting up when she sees Olivier. “Hey, the poet’s here.”

“You told her about my poem?” Olivier asks, a boyish look of excitement on his face.

Nina laughs. “Told me about it? She’s got it pinned to her office bulletin board. She looks at it several times a day.”

I glare at her. “If you could take the volunteers back now, that would be great.”

“Okay.” She shrugs and leads the college kids to the back, leaving me and Olivier alone.

“Why so hostile?” he asks. “We’ve been texting this week and we’re having lunch Sunday. I didn’t think you’d mind seeing me here.”

“I just…it’s not that I mind, so much as…why didn’t you tell me? And why did you come?”

“The truth?”

I nod.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you looking for drug dealers in downtown Chicago at night since you told me you were going to do it. It scares the shit out of me.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s being so sweet, but I’m not sure Olivier thought this idea through.

“What will you do if something happens?” I ask him.

He bristles. “What, you think because I’m rich, I must be a pussy? I’ll stand between you and the danger, that’s what. I can take a punch and I can sure as hell throw one.”

“I know that, but we have police on standby for that. And I’m sure you know you’re extremely recognizable because of all the Twitter stuff going on. I can’t take you into dangerous neighborhoods when so many people will recognize you and know you’re a billionaire. That could get you kidnapped. Or killed.”

He crosses his arms. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, you’re recognizable for the same reason. You’re a Barrington. The daughter of a senator. You think it’s any safer for you?”

I don’t have an answer for that, which is unusual for me. I just shrug.

“So what do you need me to do?” he asks.

“This is a really bad idea.”

His laugh is unamused. “What? Going into the city’s most dangerous neighborhoods at night to seek out drug addicts? Where shootings are commonplace?”

I scowl. “This is my job. I do it all the time. No one asked you to go all Alpha Boyfriend on me.”

“I don’t need an invitation.”

I put my palms up. “Fine. You want to come? Go ahead. Everyone has to sign a waiver anyway. So if you get kidnapped and held for ransom, we aren’t liable and I told you so.”