Olivia stood, and I followed her to the door. She wore an off-the-shoulder blouse that made me want to trace the curve right to her collar bone and a skirt that made these sexy shh-shh sounds when she walked. With Olivia in my line of sight, it was hard to recall my own name, let alone the three talking points we’d rehearsed.
“Are you nervous?” she asked.
“Only ninety percent chance of my throwing up.”
Her pink lips curved. “Then that’s a ten percent chance you’re going to be just fine.” Her hands rested on my chest, a calming, warm pressure. “I believe in you, Lachlan Hayes. You’ve worked hard for this, and you’ve scored an interview opportunity coveted by top celebrities. And do you know why?”
“Because God is punishing me?” Was it a bad sign that I was already sweating?
“Becauseyou’retop level. People want to hear what you have to say. You’re an inspiration and a dream realized.” Olivia patted my left pec. “And you’re very mediagenic.”
“What does that mean?”
Her hesitation was adorable. “You film nicely,” she said.
I gave her the head tilt. “You think I’m handsome.”
“I didn’t say that.”
I took a step closer. “I think you did.”
“It was an objective statement from a professional perspective.”
“I love it when you get all uppity.”
“What I am”— Olivia smoothed a wrinkled spot on my chest— “is proud of you. So is my entire family.”
That touching revelation added voltage to the anxiety. “They’re watching today, aren’t they?”
“Sylvie and Frannie threw a watch party.”
Good Lord, the pressure. “I did not need to know that. They really go all-out in supporting you.”
“Their party isn’t for me,” Olivia said. “It’s for you.”
I coughed to get past the lump now firmly lodged in my throat. Man, I loved those people.
Olivia took a deep breath and motioned for me to do the same. “Don’t forget, eye contact, warm smile, and pivot to the movie if the topic strays into unwelcome territory. You’ve got this.” Olivia rose up on tiptoe and kissed my stubbled cheek. “I’m right here with you.”
I’m right here with you.
I’d pretty much waited a lifetime for those words.
The fact that they came from Olivia was problematic.
But... did it have to be?
* * *
“Interesting pick for lunch.”Four hours later, Olivia lowered her menu at the Lambs Club, an older dining establishment in Midtown.
“It’s very New York.” I scanned the room, still amped up from the interview. “I’m buying, of course.”
“You bet you are.” She tapped a price on the menu. “Celeste doesn’t pay me enough to eat here.”
“If you get the promotion,” I said around a waiter filling our water glasses, “this will be right in your backyard.”
Olivia didn’t look too thrilled at the idea. “I don’t want to talk about that today.” Breaking one of her own rules, she propped her elbows on the table, laced her fingers, and gave me her full attention. “Let’s talk about how you just killed an interview onGood Morning America.”
