demanding an apology—what the hell is wrong with her that she isn’t? Even more annoying…why do I want to give one?
“When was the last time you did any sort of lower-body workout?” she asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
I snatch her water bottle and take a long drink as I study her. “Not your business.”
She pretends to think about this. “Oh, wait a second, actually it
is
my business. If you want, I can get you my job description. It specifically says—”
“I’m sure it does,” I interrupt. “But you can go ahead and scratch that physical portion off because I’m not doing it.”
“Ten leg lifts,” she says calmly, ignoring me.
“What?” I ask, annoyed, as I get into a standing position. “No way.”
“We can start them easy. No weight at all.”
“I’m going back to the house,” I mutter, leaning down to grab my towel.
She moves in front of me. “Five. Leg lifts.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a terrible negotiator. You lower your price too quickly even before you’ve offered an enticing reward.”
“I’m not haggling with you for the thrill of it. I’m just trying to do my job.” She puts her hands on her hips. It reminds me that my hands were on that very spot not so long ago. And that I want them to be there again.
I tear my eyes away from the enticing points of her hip bone.
“Why
is
this your job?” I ask.
She jerks her shoulders back a little, defensively. Interesting. “What?”
“Why is coaxing me to work my shit leg your job of choice? My little recon exercise says you were a marketing major. Didn’t Daddy want you in the lucrative family business?”
Her eyes flit away from mine. “Sure. That was the original plan.”
“What changed?” I ask, surprised to realize that I’m genuinely interested.
“Life,” she snaps. “And we’re not talking about me.”
“Obviously we are,” I counter, taking another gulp of her water.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me to fuck off, but then she seems to reconsider. She tilts her head, and just then I realize exactly what I’ve set myself up for.
“I’ll trade you one question for ten leg lifts.”
“Nope,” I reply, already turning around. “No way.”
“Come on,” she says, scooting around to get in front of me. “Don’t you want to know why a hot twenty-two-year-old with everything going for her is hiding out here in Maine?”
I give her a glance over my shoulder. “Did you just call yourself hot?”
Olivia smiles a
gotcha
smile. “Aren’t I?”
I flick my eyes over her.
Yes.
“Maybe.”
“So you’re in? Ten leg lifts for one question?”
I hesitate, even though my brain is demanding I walk away now. “Will I get the real story?” I ask. “Or some bullshit evasion?”
“I’ll give you a true statement, but no guarantees that it’s the
whole
story. Final offer.”
“Not good enough.”
She sighs. “How about I’ll give you a true statement,
and
I’ll let you give me running pointers tomorrow?”
I put a hand over my chest. “I can’t believe this is happening. All my dreams are coming true.”
“You in or out, Langdon?”
Walk away. Walk the hell away.
Her green eyes are practically bursting with challenge. And, even more intriguing, secrets.
“Fuck it. I’m in.”
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia
Yeah, okay. So agreeing to answer Paul Langdon’s questions isn’t going to go in my Good Choices Hall of Fame. But to be totally fair, I’ve been pretty short on good choices lately, so this feels about par for the course.
However, that doesn’t make it any easier to think about the possibility of spilling my guts, even though I fully intend to censor the heck out of whatever truth I have to give him.
For a second I’m about to back out and tell him there’s no way I’m going to spill my guts just to bribe him to do something he should have started a long time ago.
But then I see the tension on his face when he looks at the waiting leg-press machine. He’s
“When was the last time you did any sort of lower-body workout?” she asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
I snatch her water bottle and take a long drink as I study her. “Not your business.”
She pretends to think about this. “Oh, wait a second, actually it
is
my business. If you want, I can get you my job description. It specifically says—”
“I’m sure it does,” I interrupt. “But you can go ahead and scratch that physical portion off because I’m not doing it.”
“Ten leg lifts,” she says calmly, ignoring me.
“What?” I ask, annoyed, as I get into a standing position. “No way.”
“We can start them easy. No weight at all.”
“I’m going back to the house,” I mutter, leaning down to grab my towel.
She moves in front of me. “Five. Leg lifts.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a terrible negotiator. You lower your price too quickly even before you’ve offered an enticing reward.”
“I’m not haggling with you for the thrill of it. I’m just trying to do my job.” She puts her hands on her hips. It reminds me that my hands were on that very spot not so long ago. And that I want them to be there again.
I tear my eyes away from the enticing points of her hip bone.
“Why
is
this your job?” I ask.
She jerks her shoulders back a little, defensively. Interesting. “What?”
“Why is coaxing me to work my shit leg your job of choice? My little recon exercise says you were a marketing major. Didn’t Daddy want you in the lucrative family business?”
Her eyes flit away from mine. “Sure. That was the original plan.”
“What changed?” I ask, surprised to realize that I’m genuinely interested.
“Life,” she snaps. “And we’re not talking about me.”
“Obviously we are,” I counter, taking another gulp of her water.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me to fuck off, but then she seems to reconsider. She tilts her head, and just then I realize exactly what I’ve set myself up for.
“I’ll trade you one question for ten leg lifts.”
“Nope,” I reply, already turning around. “No way.”
“Come on,” she says, scooting around to get in front of me. “Don’t you want to know why a hot twenty-two-year-old with everything going for her is hiding out here in Maine?”
I give her a glance over my shoulder. “Did you just call yourself hot?”
Olivia smiles a
gotcha
smile. “Aren’t I?”
I flick my eyes over her.
Yes.
“Maybe.”
“So you’re in? Ten leg lifts for one question?”
I hesitate, even though my brain is demanding I walk away now. “Will I get the real story?” I ask. “Or some bullshit evasion?”
“I’ll give you a true statement, but no guarantees that it’s the
whole
story. Final offer.”
“Not good enough.”
She sighs. “How about I’ll give you a true statement,
and
I’ll let you give me running pointers tomorrow?”
I put a hand over my chest. “I can’t believe this is happening. All my dreams are coming true.”
“You in or out, Langdon?”
Walk away. Walk the hell away.
Her green eyes are practically bursting with challenge. And, even more intriguing, secrets.
“Fuck it. I’m in.”
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia
Yeah, okay. So agreeing to answer Paul Langdon’s questions isn’t going to go in my Good Choices Hall of Fame. But to be totally fair, I’ve been pretty short on good choices lately, so this feels about par for the course.
However, that doesn’t make it any easier to think about the possibility of spilling my guts, even though I fully intend to censor the heck out of whatever truth I have to give him.
For a second I’m about to back out and tell him there’s no way I’m going to spill my guts just to bribe him to do something he should have started a long time ago.
But then I see the tension on his face when he looks at the waiting leg-press machine. He’s
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