“I guess I’ll take a lemon slice if it’ll make you lay off. Maybe a coffee too,” she settles, shooting me a curious glance. “You can relax. The chair alone has exceeded my expectations. You don’t need to list out all the different ways to serve water.”
So mouthy. But I take the hint and I make eye contact with the flight attendant, Andrea, who disappears towards the back of the plane to get Olivia a water and a coffee. Once she’s gone, I stretch over the aisle and kiss Olivia on the cheek.
To her, it’s likely just a simple kiss. To me, it’s a small token of affection—the minimum that I want to share—to record our first outing together outside of my apartment since dinner a few weeks ago.
Was it part of my maniacal plan to take Olivia to London? Obviously not. But again, do I give a shit? At this point, I really don’t. The plan has unraveled. The plan is long gone. The plan was about as successful as Enron, if not a marginally bigger disaster. I have no choice but to play it by ear, which is an unprecedentedly dangerous game for me because I’ve carefully curated every move I’ve made in my life since the last time I tangled with this woman.
The flight departs. An hour later, we’re leveling at a cruising altitude and well on our way over the Atlantic. I’m itching to take out my laptop and to get some work done before we land, but I know that I’m royally screwed when Olivia drifts over from her seat and lowers herself into my lap. “Can I share something pitiful with you?” she inquires. “Also—is this weird?”
I glance down where she’s perched atop my thighs and I know that the answer should be yes. This should be weird. A couple of days ago, we were fighting in my apartment, only to quickly transition to fucking and exchanging some of the dirtiest talk I’ve ever heard, and now we’re flying to London. Confused-as-hell doesn’t even begin to cover it. In all honesty, I’m not even sure if Olivia likes me or if we’re both playing a chess game despite thinking we’re playing checkers.
“I like it,” I say out of a gut reaction to feeling her on top of me. I rest my hand on her thigh, keeping her close to me and letting her know that she’s welcome to sit in my lap any time she damn well pleases—whether she likes me or not.
“I do too.” Her eyes travel over my face until they lock on my own. She spares a small smile that makes her look effervescent even in the dim cabin lighting.
“What did you want to tell me?”
“The last time I flew overseas, it was in a coach seat—a middle seat—that I bought with the money you gave me.”
I don’t respond. Gently, I tilt her chin lower and kiss her, enjoying the way that she tastes like coffee and lemon. She kisses me back, letting her tongue press through my lips and against mine for several indulgent seconds before she pulls back and rests both of her hands on my chest.
“That’s not pitiful,” I add. “The only thing pitiful is that I never reached out.”
“You were mad.”
“So?”Softly, I reach up and I tuck her hair behind her ear. “What are we doing,” I murmur as I study her, not quite asking the question directly.
“I have no clue,” she admits. “Honesty clause: It’s hard to stay angry with you, Davis Ridgeway.”
“Same,” I agree.
Olivia licks her lips, clearly unaware of what that does to me. “So, maybe for the next week, we decide not to be upset with each other. Maybe for a week we can be like those two kids who met in Amsterdam eight years ago.”
“That sounds a hell of a lot better than what we’ve been doing.”
“It is,” she says, nodding vigorously. “And this way, I get a free trip to London and the opportunity to learn about acquisitions from a genuine professional.”
Hearing her talk about work eases me in a way that I can’t fully put into words. “Are you nervous?”
“Not so much nervous as anxious,” she confesses as she takes her hands off of my chest, making the moment less intimate and more mellow.
“I get it. There’s a lot riding on this deal,” I reply, masking that I’m both nervous and anxious.
“So, how should we do this? Should I plan to watch and observe and let you drive?”
“Is that really what you want to do?” I inquire, holding back from telling her that I think her plan is an awful one. Olivia could and should do a lot of things during this meeting; sitting back and watching me definitely isn’t one of those things.
“Oh,” she replies, hesitating. “Well, I figured it would make sense. I’m just an intern, and you’re—”
“I was an intern seven years ago, and definitely less capable than you are.”
A skeptical expression passes over her face. “Stop it.”
This again. With a sigh, I bring my hand up to her cheek. “I mean it. There was no way I could have handled a trip like this when I was in business school. Now, granted, I was reporting directly to the CFO when I interned and this M&A internship didn’t even exist, so the circumstances were different. But this is why I wanted to create this opportunity—because I think people just need a push in the right direction to tap into the person who they’re meant to be.”
Olivia raises an eyebrow, probably surprised to hear me get so preachy and simultaneously holding back a snarky comment. “And who am I meant to be?”
“CEO. President. Whatever you want.”
Her little eye roll is so infuriating and yet so pretty at the same time. “You’re clearly buttering me up.”
“I don’t need to do that. I already pay you to fuck me. Why would I bother being nice unless I wanted to be nice?”
She releases an exhale as she climbs off of my lap. “You are impossible,” she declares lightly. “So, if I want to take a more active role in the meeting…”
“Let’s do it. I think that’s a great idea.”
Olivia’s face brightens like I’ve never seen before, and that really gets to me. Throughout my adult life, every time I’ve toyed with the possibility of a relationship, women have typically glazed over when I talk about work. I never blamed them: M&A can be boring as hell. But being around a woman who cares about it as much as I do is suddenly a non-negotiable that I didn’t even know I had.
The universe has done a number on me by putting this woman into my life in the most complicated way possible. She had to be gorgeous. She had to be sexy as sin. She had to be brilliant and ambitious. And she had to get swept up in the mess that is the Ridgeway brothers no less than forty-eight hours after walking into my life.
It occurs to me that Olivia and I could run the world together if we felt like it. She’s probably worked twice as hard as I have over the course of her life, and still has the capacity to grow in ways that neither of us could predict. That was never my life. There was a clear path for me: a blueprint that nobody in my position could ever screw up. For Olivia? She could be anything. Hell, I can’t even imagine where she would be if she had access to all of my privilege and finishing. She’d be a category-5 hurricane if she just had someone showing her the ropes.
“I need to offer you some feedback though,” I comment, changing my tone.
Immediately, Olivia’s relaxed expression shifts into one of concern. “Those are the single worst words in the English language.”
“I can say them in French if you want.”
“Bite me, you pompous bastard,” she snaps, which immediately makes my stomach flip with want.
“Okay, that—comments like that—”