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ad been bullied into going out for soccer and baseball.
Nor had he been in control at Harvard. The circumstances surrounding his father’s disappearance led him to act out. Partying and doing drugs had been a deep dive into his anger that his father had abandoned them all.
“Control,” she murmured, her bitter tone deepening Oliver’s fascination. “What’s that like?”
Control was choice. He’d learned in therapy that everyone responded differently to pressure. Josh had chosen responsibility. Jacob decided to retreat. Oliver’s refuge had been oblivion. Until rehab had taught him a different way to cope.
“I like being in charge.”
Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “I imagine you do.”
He considered the scene between her and the man who’d left. “You should try it.”
“Maybe I should.” She swiveled on the stool, facing him. “How do I start?”
“You might start by dumping the boyfriend.”
“Too late.” Her gaze rolled toward the exit. “He already gave me the heave-ho.”
Oliver greeted the bit of news with a nod while satisfaction fired in his chest. His mood was lightening with each passing second in her company. “His loss is my gain.”
Her eyes widened in surprise at his blunt statement, but she made no move to shut him down.
“Earlier you said you’re a model for now,” he continued, eager to learn more about what made her tick. “Are you thinking of quitting?”
“I’ve been modeling since I was one year old. Twenty-five years in the business is long enough, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “I only modeled for five.”
“And quit at the top of your game,” she pointed out. “How come?”
“Always go out with a bang,” he quipped, before thinking the better of his answer. This woman was contemplating a major life change and deserved better than a flippant reply. “If I kept going with modeling, I’d be dead.”
Rather than shock her, his stark declaration caused her to nod. “It really is a terrible business,” she said in complete seriousness. “Why do so many want to break in?”
He wanted to banish the shadows filling her eyes. Their presence hinted at a painful history.
“Obviously for the fast and easy money,” he said, dark amusement lightening his tone.
“And the short hours,” she added, the corners of her lips twitching into a semblance of a smile.
“And of course,” he added, recalling hundreds of rejections that followed hours and hours spent in casting calls, auditions and go-sees, “the self-esteem boost.”
She dipped her head in recognition. “Nothing like being regarded like a piece of meat.”
They both took a second to absorb the words, and Oliver found himself in sync with someone for the first time in more years than he could count. A second later he noticed that his earlier anger was gone. Conversing with this woman was the distraction he’d been looking for.
“So, if you’re not planning to model in the future, what do you want to do instead?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, looking crestfallen. “And until I have a plan, I can’t stop modeling.”
The same desire that had prompted him to dump a drink on her date and pay her bar tab swept through him now. Having little patience for weakness, he’d never championed anyone before. He had no explanation for why now and why this woman except that since she’d entered the bar, his mood had improved, and he didn’t want the distraction to end.
“Maybe I can help.”
* * *
The wild pounding of Sammi Guzman’s heart drove the breath from her body. She gaped at Oliver Lowell, astonished how readily her teenage crush flared back to life.
