Sarah Helen frowned. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I just . . .” There was a lump in her throat. “I need to do a thing. That I don’t want to do.”
Sarah Helen hummed. “Is it a work thing, or a love thing?”
“Uh . . . both.”
“Yikes.” Sarah Helen scrunched up her nose. “Double threat. Can you put it off?”
“No, not really.”
“Can you ask someone else to do it for you?”
“No.”
“Can you change your name, cauterize your fingertips, enter the witness protection program, and disappear?”
“Um, not sure. I’m not an American citizen, though.”
“Probably no, then. Can you say ‘fuck it’ and deal with the consequences?”
Olive closed her eyes and thought about it. What, exactly, would the consequences be if she didn’t do what she was planning to? Tom would be free to keep on being an absolute piece of shit, for one. And Adam would never know that he was being taken advantage of. He would move to Boston.
And Olive would never have a chance to talk to him again, and all that he’d meant to her would end . . .
In a lie.
A lie, after a lot of lies. So many lies she’d told, so many true things she could have said but never did, all because she’d been too scared of the truth, of driving the people she loved away from her. All because she’d been afraid to lose them. All because she hadn’t wanted to be alone again.
Well, the lying hadn’t worked out too well. In fact, it had downright sucked lately. Time for plan B, then.
Time for some truth.
“No. I don’t want to deal with the consequences.”
Sarah Helen smiled. “Then, my friend, you better go do your thing.” She pressed a button, and the passenger door unlocked with a clunk. “And you better give me a perfect rating. For the free psychotherapy.”
This time, Olive managed to get out of the car. She tipped Sarah Helen 150 percent, took a deep breath, and made her way into the restaurant. —
SHE FOUND ADAM immediately. He was big, after all, and the restaurant was not, which made for a pretty quick search. Not to mention that he was sitting with about ten people who looked a lot like very serious Harvard professors. And, of course, Tom.
Fuck my life, she thought, slipping past the busy hostess and walking toward Adam. She figured that her bright red duffle coat would attract his attention, then she’d gesticulate for him to check his phone, and text him to please, please, please give her five minutes of his time when dinner was over.
She figured that telling him tonight was the best option—his interview would be over tomorrow, and he’d be able to make his decision with the truth at his disposal. She figured her plan might work.
She had not figured that Adam would notice her while in conversation with a young, beautiful faculty member. She had not figured that he’d suddenly stop speaking, eyes widening and lips parting; that he’d mutter
“Excuse me” while staring at Olive and stand from the table, ignoring the curious looks in his direction; that he’d march to the entrance, where Olive was, with quick, long strides and a concerned expression.
“Olive, are you okay?” he asked her, and—
Oh. His voice. And his eyes. And the way his hands came up, as if to touch her, to make sure that she was intact and really there—though right before his fingers could close around her biceps he hesitated and let them fall back to his sides.
It broke her heart a little.
“I’m fine.” She attempted a smile. “I . . . I’m sorry to interrupt this. I know it’s important, that you want to move to Boston, and—this is inappropriate.
But it’s now or never, and I wasn’t sure if I’d have the courage to . . .” She
was rambling. So she took a deep breath and started again. “I need to tell you something. Something that happened. With—”
“Hey, Olive.”
Tom. But of course. “Hi, Tom.” Olive held Adam’s gaze and didn’t look at him. He did not deserve to be looked at. “Can you give us a minute of privacy?”
She could see his oily, fake smile with the corner of her eye. “Olive, I know you’re young and don’t know how these things work, but Adam’s here to interview for a very important position, and he can’t just—” “Leave,”
Adam ordered, voice low and cold.
Olive closed her eyes and nodded, taking a step back. Fine. It was fine. It was Adam’s right not to talk to her. “Okay. I’m sorry, I—” “Not you. Tom, leave us.” Oh. Oh. Well, then.
“Dude,” Tom said, sounding amused, “you can’t just get up from the table in the middle of an interview dinner and—” “Leave,” Adam repeated.
Tom laughed, brazen. “No. Not unless you’re coming with me. We’re collaborators, and if you act like an asshole during a dinner with my department because of some student you’re screwing, it will reflect poorly on me. You need to come back to the table and—”
“A pretty girl like you should know the score by now. Don’t lie to me andsay you didn’t pick out a dress that short for my benefit. Nice legs, by theway. I can see why Adam’s wasting his time with you.”
Neither Adam nor Tom had seen Olive take out her phone, or press Play.
