Chapter 1 - The Guest at the Door
The champagne bottle was cold against Olivia Parker’s palm, and for once, she had allowed herself to imagine the evening going perfectly. She had pictured Jake opening the door, lifting the bottle in both hands, and saying something dramatic about how proud he was of her. Maybe he would have ordered Thai food from the place downstairs. Maybe he would have lit the cinnamon candle she kept saving for special occasions.
She had been promoted that afternoon, and the news still felt too bright to touch. Senior project coordinator at Northline Civic Design. More money. More responsibility. Her own team. The kind of title that made her mother say, “You’re finally being seen.”
The apartment door was unlocked.
Olivia pushed it open with her elbow. “Jake? I brought—”
She stopped.
Jake was on the sofa with Megan Ellis, his hands tangled in the red hair Olivia had watched him compliment at office dinners. Megan’s blouse was unbuttoned. Jake’s shirt was on the floor. Between them sat the empty takeout containers Olivia had planned to fill with celebration.
For a moment, the room became perfectly silent except for the rain ticking against the windows.
Jake stood so quickly that his knee struck the coffee table. “Liv.”
The champagne slipped in Olivia’s hand but did not fall. “That’s what you’re going with?”
Megan pulled her blouse together. She looked embarrassed for approximately two seconds. Then she glanced at Olivia’s bottle and smiled. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Olivia stared at her. “You work three desks away from me.”
“Three tables,” Megan corrected. “At the office dinner.”
“I remember.”
Jake stepped between them. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’re having sex with Megan in our apartment.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No,” Megan said. “It really isn’t.”
Jake turned on her. “Megan.”
She folded her arms. “What? You said you were ending things with her.”
Olivia’s fingers tightened around the bottle. “Ending what things?”
Jake went pale.
Megan laughed softly. “Six months, Olivia. Six whole months. He told me you were basically roommates. He said you hadn’t touched him in ages.”
The lie landed harder than the betrayal. Olivia looked at Jake. “You told her that?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“After she stopped coming over?”
Megan reached for her coat. “Don’t blame me because he was too weak to leave.”
Olivia’s voice went quiet. “You knew he had a girlfriend.”
“I knew he had a relationship that was already dead.”
“You sat across from me in meetings.”
“And you still got promoted.” Megan’s smile sharpened. “So congratulations. At least one of us is having a good night.”
Jake flinched. “Stop it.”
Olivia set the champagne on the nearest shelf with care. She did not want to give either of them the satisfaction of watching her break. “You’re both right about one thing.”
Jake swallowed. “What?”
“This is over.”
She walked out before he could say her name.
The rain swallowed Seattle whole. Olivia kept moving, passing restaurants glowing gold behind steamed windows, couples huddled under awnings, buses sighing at the curb. Her phone buzzed seven times. Jake. Then Megan. Then Jake again.
She turned the phone off.
She had no destination until she saw Halston Tower rising through the rain like a black blade. At the top was Aurelia, a private lounge she had once read about in a magazine. Membership was rumored to cost more than her car. The entrance stood beneath a narrow canopy, guarded by a man in a charcoal suit.
Olivia walked toward him.
“Members only,” he said.
“I know.”
“Do you have a reservation?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”
She looked up at the tower. “I only need a drink.”
“There are many excellent bars in Seattle.”
“None of them are high enough.”
The guard almost smiled. Before he could answer, a man’s voice came from behind her.
“She’s with me.”
Olivia turned.
He stood beneath the lobby lights, tall and composed, wearing a dark coat that looked untouched by the weather. His face was striking without being soft, his eyes a cool gray that seemed to notice everything. She recognized him from business magazines: Adrian Vale, founder of Vale Meridian, the billionaire who had rebuilt half of Seattle’s waterfront and refused nearly every interview.
The guard straightened. “Mr. Vale.”
Adrian’s gaze moved from Olivia’s wet hair to the champagne bottle in her hand. “You’re late.”
She frowned. “For what?”
“For the evening you were supposed to have.”
The guard looked between them. “She’s your guest, sir?”
May you like
Adrian did not look away from Olivia.
“She is now.”
