She took a small, dainty bite. “So you truly don’t care about my talk with Celeste?”
I faked a yawn. “Boring stuff, Sutton.” That wasn’t entirely true, and I could tell from her smile she wasn’t buying it. It was weirdly nice having someone in the house to talk to, but I’d stab my tongue with the fork tines before admitting that to Olivia.
She relaxed her shoulders and propped her elbow on the counter, her hair falling over her shoulders like a caress. “In that case, Celeste was terrible to me. She had my termination packet ready and told me how disappointed she was—how she’d expected me to be her protégé and I’d let her down, telling me I was nothing like her after all.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“She let me know my behavior was a total embarrassment to her and Flair, even making her point with the help of visual aids.”
“Like a PowerPoint? Interpretive dance?”
“Worse.” Olivia shuddered. “I had to rewatch our Vegas videos.” She paused as she chewed a bite of noodles. “New ones have popped up online, by the way.”
“Not one person has paid us for all the online content we’ve provided.” I pierced a piece of chicken and brought it to my lips. “Is it because we don’t have SAG cards?”
“Celeste claims it wasn’t the marriage that’s a fireable offense, but the way I handled myself—like a drunkenBachelorettecontestant.”
My fork stilled over my plate. “Did you tell her the truth?” We’d decided we’d keep it quiet until the investigation wrapped up in case the police turned up nothing.
“I almost did.”
Panic hooked me by the collar. “But?”
“Instead I told her I’d secured your PR account, and I’d take it somewhere else.”
Well, wasn’t that a much-needed shot of relief? I gave Olivia a smile. “Mrs. Hayes makes threats.”
“Mrs. Hayes is still employed.” Her phone dinged for the fourth time since she’d sat down.
“One of your disappointed boyfriends?”
“My sisters.” She tapped out a quick reply. “They’ve now committed to nightly check-ins to make sure you haven’t tied me up and thrown me in a closet.”
“I would never do something that unoriginal.”
“I’m pretty sure they still doubt my sanity—and our story.”
“I’ll win them over.” People liked me. Especially the ladies. I didn’t question my superpower; it just was. “Do they play games? I could create them each one. Do you think Rosie seems more like an alien hunter or a fire-breathing warlord?”
“Leave my sisters to me.” Olivia pulled an elastic from her wrist and tied up her hair in a movement of hands and tresses that held me spellbound. Everything she did was so efficient, yet elegant. “The less interaction you have with my family, the better,” she said. “The last thing I need is for them to get attached to a husband I don’t intend to keep.”
“So you’re saying I’m incredibly charming and need to turn it down?”
A little moan escaped from her lips as she took another bite. “At the risk of giving you a compliment, this pasta is amazing.”
“Thank you.” I would cook Alfredo every night if she’d make that satisfied noise again. “I’ll probably be insufferable for at least twenty-four hours now.”
“Sounds like a normal day.” She ate in silence for a few moments before resting her fork and regarding me with reluctant interest. “So where did the game mogul learn to cook? Le Cordon Bleu? Personal lessons from your pal Gordon Ramsay? No, no, I’ve got it—you once employed a hot chef who showed you a thing or two.”
I rubbed a napkin across my mouth. “Taught myself.” Did I enjoy watching Olivia’s doe eyes widen? I did indeed. But did I also enjoy the way her blue irises darkened? No. I hardly noticed.
She pushed aside her plate and leaned back against the upholstered barstool, her posture sliding into a relaxed pose. “Recently?”
“When I was a kid.” I could still remember that little apartment in Texas—the peeling Formica kitchen counter, the cracked tile floor, the way smoke would waft in from our Marlboro-puffing neighbors. “It was either that or eat bologna every day. My mom worked two jobs and wasn’t home much.”
Olivia’s forehead wrinkled with a small frown. “Did you have other family to look out for you?”
“No. I was a latchkey kid by the time I turned ten.”
