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"You miss having someone to show off at company parties," I snap.

His smile falters. "That's not fair."

"Neither was pressuring me to be someone I'm not for three years." I grab a glass and start wiping it, needing something to do with my hands. "And neither was cheating on me with anything that moved. Tell my mother I'm fine. Tell her the bar is doing well. Tell her whatever you want, but I'm not coming back."

Rhett's expression hardens. "You're throwing away everything for a rundown bar in a dangerous neighborhood? This place isn't even worth?—"

"That's enough." Roman's voice cuts through the tension.

Rhett finally seems to notice him, eyes narrowing. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Someone who thinks you should leave." Roman doesn't raise his voice, but there's steel behind his words. I haven't had the chance to see him in protective mode, since most of the time he's been here, we've been laughing and bantering like siblings. But now his chest is puffed out and his face is a clear warning.

"I'm having a conversation with my fiancée."

"Ex-fiancée," I correct immediately. "Very ex."

"Look, Liv, just come have dinner with me tonight. For old times' sake." Rhett's tone softens, the charm back in place. "We can talk about your options."

"I don't need options. I need you to leave."

The bell above the door chimes again, and I look up, hoping it's just another customer.

But it's not just another customer…

It's Sam.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Sam

Roman

Olivia’s ex is at the bar.

I'm down the street from Gino’s when my phone dings with a text from Roman. My blood boils for reasons I'm not quite sure of. Or maybe I just don't want to inspect why it bothers me to know that Olivia's ex is at her bar.

I didn't even know she had an ex.

The bell above the door chimes as I enter. I find Olivia standing behind the bar, Roman on the other side, and right in front of her is the man I assume to be her ex. Her blue eyes flash to mine when she hears me enter. Something akin to relief flickers across her features, and then it’s quickly replaced with worry.

"You need to leave," she says to her ex.

I study the man she's talking to. He's only a few inches taller than her, with blond hair styled atop his head. He's dressed for business, wearing pressed slacks and a button-up, but it's not my kind of business. He looks like he's ready to sit in a very boringmeeting, or within the walls of a gray cubicle while he taps away on an ergonomic keyboard.

What did she ever see in a guy like him?

"I'm not leaving until you agree to dinner," he says, leaning on the bar in front of her. Olivia takes a step back, putting distance between them, the bar acting like a barrier.

The way he leans into her space makes my jaw clench. Roman catches my eye with a subtle nod, confirming this is the situation he texted about.

"Is there a problem here?" I ask, striding up to the bar. My eyes flash to Olivia, watching her throat as she swallows. She seems nervous, and I wonder if it's because of him or me. "Are you okay?" I ask her.

She nods. "I'm fine."

"Listen." The ex, whose name I have no idea, turns to me with one hand lifted in a defensiveback offposture. "I don't know who you two are, but this is a private conversation. So if you could…" He waves his hand, telling us to move away.

The nerve on this guy.