Page 24

I just need to make it to dinner, put on my best performance, and then tomorrow, I'll be back at the bar.

One step at a time.

I can do this.

FIFTEEN

Olivia

Sam is waiting, sitting at the head of the dining room table, when I arrive. He's too dressed up again. Wearing another pair of sleek dress pants with a button-down shirt that's rolled up at the sleeves. He's typing away on his phone, the muscles of his forearms on display. The top few buttons are undone, giving me a preview of his chest, and a sliver of dark ink peeks out where the fabric meets his skin. I wonder what tattoo is hiding beneath that shirt.

He looks up, pocketing the device just in time to catch me staring at him like some love-struck teenager. A sly, knowing smile rises on his full lips, and he stands in one fluid motion, pulling out the heavy wooden chair next to him and gesturing for me to sit with a gentlemanly flourish that makes my heart skip despite my best efforts to remain composed.

It feels like a silent dance between the two of us, a little game of power and restraint. He gives an order, and I can choose to listen or disobey, each option weighed with consequences I'm not sure I'm ready to face. I want to thrash and yell—still angry about my captivity, still burning with the indignity of being heldagainst my will. My fingers twitch with the urge to lash out, to show him I'm not some puppet he can control. But the promise of going back to the bar and seeing my grandpa sits heavy between us, a tangible thing that keeps my rebellion in check.

I can behave for just one more night. The thought tastes bitter, but I swallow it down like medicine, knowing it's necessary for now.

I can feel Sam's eyes on me as I slip into the seat he's pulled out, my skin tingling under his gaze. I'm waiting for him to say those two words again.Good girl.He recites them every time I follow one of his commands and they elicit a strange feeling inside me, one I'm not entirely comfortable acknowledging. Butterflies that whip around in my stomach, leaving me simultaneously unsettled and yearning. He doesn't say them this time, and for some reason I don't understand, that disappoints me. The realization that I'm craving his approval makes me shift uneasily in my seat.

Get a grip, Liv.

I've been taken against my will. This isn't a date. I'm not supposed to be attracted to the man who's forced me to be here and is dangling a visit home over my head like a shiny carrot. Making me dance in order to get it.

Sucking in a deep breath, I remind myself that I'm not a pet for this man.

"Olivia." Sam says my name as a greeting, that easy smile still tugging up the corners of his lips.

I'm thankful when someone enters the dining room, the double doors that lead to the kitchen swinging behind her. The young woman carrying the bottle of wine doesn't say anything, just nods to Sam as she sets it down in front of him, and then turns on her heel, leaving the room as quickly as she appeared.

Rising from his seat, Sam walks to the sideboard across the room to grab a corkscrew. My eyes follow him as he insertsthe metal spiral, his muscles flexing beneath his sleeve while he pulls out the cork with a practiced motion.

I haven't drunk much since I took over the bar. Mostly because I don't have time, but also because I've never been a get-drunk-on-my-own kind of girl. But right now, I'm thankful for the glass of red wine Sam places in front of me. I need something to calm my nerves or help me escape my head, and alcohol will do the trick.

Tilting the glass back, I chug the contents, feeling Sam's eyes heat my flesh.

"Easy there." He reaches for me like he's going to pull the glass away from my lips, but I twist, avoiding his grasp as I finish it off.

Sam clicks his tongue, as if he's disappointed in me. "Do you remember our agreement, Olivia?"

My core warms at the sound of my name on his lips. It's deep and husky and one eyebrow lifts with his question. He's watching me, waiting for me to answer him.

I swallow. "Yes."

"Remind me."

I know damn well that he remembers the agreement we made this morning. This is all some sort of power play to put me in my place with him, but I dutifully answer anyway.

"You'll take me home tomorrow."

"If?" That eyebrow feels condescending as it waits for me to admit my role in this.

It feels childish to say, and the words burn on my tongue, but still, that fire is sizzling low in my stomach—it's a confusing feeling. Hating him so much, but feeling deeply…turned on.

"If I'm agood girl."

Sam smiles. "That's right, Olivia."

My brain must be wired incorrectly. Because there's no way I like this. Reaching forward, his palm brushes against my cheekas he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. He leans in, moving his body closer to mine, so close I can smell the minty scent of his breath as he speaks again.