From the Jump(80)

“So,” Zoe turns her attention toward me. “I’ve seen your wine label and flyer, but what else can you show me? Have you done any work on a beauty brand?”

I show her my portfolio, standing beside her and talking through some of the choices I’ve made. She nods and murmurs like she’s listening, but her gaze keeps drifting toward Deiss’s office. I glance at Mia, but she’s pretending we’re no longer here. Between the two of them, I feel like I’ve disappeared.

“This one’s my favorite,” I say, pointing Zoe toward a label I created years ago. I always return to it when I find myself doubting my talent.

Zoe pretends to study it, but her fingers tap restlessly against the counter, offbeat of the song playing through the speakers. The room seems to grow chilly, despite the fact that Booker hasn’t yet arrived to mess with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry,” Zoe says finally. “This isn’t going to work.”

I blink through the hit, staying frozen until I feel able to speak normally. “Are you sure? I really think I have a lot to offer.”

“I’m sure you do,” she says serenely.

I nod, trying not to ask the question. “Is it because I’m with Deiss?”

She rolls her eyes, but I spot the yes in them anyway. It’s just the tiniest tic, but it’s clear as day. She might as well have said it aloud.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says instead. “Do I look like the kind of girl who gets jealous over a man?”

I shake my head because that’s what she wants me to do. “Of course not.”

“We just have different ideas,” she says, snapping her laptop closed as she slides off the stool.

“Of what?” We haven’t even talked strategy. She hasn’t given me any of her thoughts on the account she wanted help with, much less asked for mine.

She backs away, looking at me pityingly. “Of what constitutes talent.”

Spinning on her heel, she turns, sauntering toward the door. She flicks her hair as the bell dings above her, and then she’s gone, leaving me stunned and staring.

“Good riddance,” Mia mutters.

“No,” I say, “it’s really not. I needed her. I needed the work.”

“You need work,” Mia says, “not her work. She’s basic, and so were her designs. You’ll do better without her.”

My eyes widen, and Mia holds out her hand like a five-fingered stop sign.

“I respect your art,” she says curtly. “That doesn’t mean I like you.”

But later, when the food arrives, she passes her precious burrata to me before she’s even had any. Deiss’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I have to pinch myself to keep from giggling with elation at the gesture.

“You were right about the eggplant roll-ups,” I say, exchanging them for the burrata.

“Of course I was,” she says, stabbing one of them with her fork.

This time I do laugh out loud, as does Deiss. The store seems to brighten, the music from the speakers swells, and I wonder how I ever could’ve believed the drive here was too long to be worth making.

I’ve always been willing to drive hours to get home, and that’s exactly what this place has turned out to be.





CHAPTER 24


The rest of the week flies by like some kind of beautiful dream. I spend lots of time working on projects at the shop, one that earns the kind of paycheck that makes me blink in disbelief. Deiss takes me on our first proper date to celebrate. I feel strangely nervous when he knocks on the guest room door to “pick me up,” but he looks as unruffled as ever. He also looks like a proper sex panther, as Phoebe would say.

The restaurant on the water where he’s made a reservation is perfect. It’s not until after dinner that we hit a snag.

The club he takes me to is large, with high ceilings and an upper deck that lines the walls, but it feels small. There are too many people, too much movement. The music is obnoxiously loud, and all I can smell is smoky cologne mingling with sweet perfume. The whole scene is uninhibitedness personified.

“What is this?” I gaze around the pulsing dance floor, feeling sweaty just from the proximity of the writhing bodies.

“Salsa night.” Deiss loops an arm around my waist and steers me toward the mass of people.

“I can’t dance.” I have to lean toward his ear so he can hear me.

“I find it hard to believe there’s anything in the world Olivia Bakersfield can’t do.” Deiss pulls me into his chest, pressing one thigh against mine so his step forward prompts my leg to go backward.

His body moves with mine, smoothly guiding me deeper into the fray. Our eyes lock, and the rest of the room disappears. It’s hard to imagine this man has been an enigma to me for so many years. There are so many clues I’ve missed: The glint in his eyes at his pleasure of our dance. The way his gaze slips down, tracing my neck and the curve of my breasts, following the line of my arm to where my hand folds into his. The curl of his lip at what he sees.

Emboldened by his approval, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and relax into his lead, allowing my shoulders to loosen and my hips to sway. The moves aren’t difficult to pick up, and I slide into them, feeling the beat pulse its way into my blood. And then Deiss spins me, and I remember what it’s like to feel loose and carefree.