The scalding water hammered at the ever-present knots in my shoulders and neck.I scrubbed myself raw with my fancy sandalwood soap, the smell sharp and earthy.Say what you will, but a good bar of soap is one of life's simple pleasures—it makes you feel cleandeepdown.
I finally stepped out onto a plush bath mat that cushioned my aching feet.
Towel slung around my hips, I sauntered over to the black granite vanity, a beast of a countertop that gleamed dully under the lights.I swiped a hand across the fogged-up mirror and stared at the sorry son of a bitch looking back at me.
I looked like shit.Exhausted and miserable as hell.But that was par for the course these days.I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I felt any different.
I grabbed my phone from where it sat on the counter, mindlessly scrolling through emails to avoid staring at my own reflection any longer.Impulse got the better of me, and I pulled up a Google search and typed in the name “Olivia Friedman.”
Not much.
I glanced back down at her resume.Olivia Friedman Parker.
I adjusted my search to her married name, and dozens of photos from her years at the humane society appeared.
Her smile lit up her entire face, eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and joy.She exuded a natural grace and elegance, even in candid shots where she was kneeling to cuddle a rescue dog or laughing with colleagues.
I zoomed in on one photo in particular, taking in her fine-boned features.Sky-high cheekbones, cute freckled nose, bee-stung lips curled in a knockout grin.Shiny chestnut waves tumbled around her face.But damn, those eyes.Big, soulful, framed by mile-long lashes.
My pulse quickened as I continued scrolling, taking in photo after photo.Olivia in a simple black cocktail dress, the fabric clinging to her petite yet curvaceous frame.Olivia with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a few wispy tendrils escaping to frame her face.Olivia in a button-down shirt and slacks, looking both professional and approachable.
Fuck.I tossed my phone aside, scrubbing a hand over my face.This was a terrible idea.The absolute last thing I needed was to develop some kind of weird infatuation with my potential assistant.Especially when said assistant was the beloved baby sister of someone I was beginning to consider a friend.
I climbed into bed, the Egyptian cotton sheets soft on my skin.The mattress was memory foam, molded perfectly to my body.No expense had been spared in creating this oasis of relaxation.
But it seemed relaxation wasn’t in the cards.My brain pinballed between thoughts of Olivia and the community development project.The two were connected.Olivia's experience at the humane society, her clear passion for making a difference—she could really be an asset.
Of course, that was assuming she even wanted the job after meeting me.
CHAPTER THREE
OLIVIA
I satcross-legged on the bed, flipping through a stack of papers—my old portfolio from what seemed like a lifetime ago.Faded news clippings, glossy event programs, and crisp certificates of achievement.
I traced my fingers over a photo from the annual fundraising gala I'd organized for the shelter.There I was, resplendent in an emerald green evening gown, my hair swept up in an elegant chignon.I stood at the podium, a megawatt smile lighting up my face as I addressed the crowd.The Olivia in that picture radiated confidence, purpose, and an infectious joy that seemed to draw people into her orbit.
It was hard to reconcile that glowing image with the hollow shell I saw in the mirror these days.
A wet nose nudged my hand.I glanced down at Pete, who gazed up at me with those soft brown eyes that always seemed to see straight into my battered heart.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmured, scratching him behind the ears.“Guess it's time to face the music, huh?”
I set aside my portfolio with a sigh, steeling myself for the daunting task ahead.Today was my interview with Carter Cassidy, the allegedly prickly but brilliant architect Wick had convinced to give me a chance.A chance I desperately needed, even if the thought of stepping back into the professional world made my stomach churn.
After much deliberation, I'd settled on a sleek, charcoal gray pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse—classic, understated, and hopefully conveying an air of quiet competence.I dressed quickly, my fingers fumbling at the delicate buttons.
As I smoothed the fabric over my hips, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the full-length mirror.I looked… tired.My eyes were shadowed, my cheekbones stood out sharply and my hair was limp and dull.
I gave myself a mental shake and reached for my makeup bag.If I couldn't summon the effortless radiance of my former self, I could at least armor myself in a carefully applied mask of professionalism.
An hour later, I was as ready as I'd ever be.My hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of my neck, my lips painted a muted pink.I'd chosen sensible black pumps and a stylish leather tote that had seen me through countless meetings and events in my previous life.After slipping on a tailored black blazer, I appraised my reflection one last time.Not perfect, but polished enough to pass muster.
“What do you think, Pete?”I asked, turning to my faithful companion.“Do I look like someone who knows what she's doing?”
Pete cocked his head to the side, his tail thumping against the floor in what I chose to interpret as a vote of confidence.“Crap, I need to get going.”
I gave Pete a quick kiss goodbye before shutting the door and stepping out into the warm end-of-August sunshine.As I headed down the driveway, I caught sight of my neighbor, Amelia, pruning her rose bushes.The elegant older woman looked up, her eyes crinkling in a smile.
