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My hand flies to my neck. "There is not a hickey!"
"Got you." She smirks. "But thanks for confirming something happened thatcouldhave left marks."
I groan and let my head fall forward onto the table. "Why are we friends again?"
"Because I'm the only person who will help you navigate sleeping with your billionaire boss without judging you. Much."
She's right, damn her. I sit back up, surrender evident in my posture. "His penthouse takes up the entire top floor of that new building on the Upper East Side. The one that looks like a glass sword stabbing the sky."
"Of course it does," Olivia murmurs appreciatively.
"It's not what I expected. I mean, yes, it's ridiculously luxurious, but it's not cold or sterile. He has actual books—dog-eared paperbacks mixed with first editions. Philosophy. Poetry. Art books that look like they've been read more than once."
"Less about his literary taste, more about what happened when you got there," Olivia interrupts impatiently.
The waiter returns to take our order, and I'm grateful for the brief reprieve. Once he's gone, Olivia fixes me with her best "continue or die" look.
"We talked," I say, deliberately vague.
"About..."
"About when he figured out I was the one who texted him. Turns out he's known since my interview."
That catches her attention. "Wait, what? How?"
“He looked up my number."
"That's either incredibly romantic or disturbingly stalkerish," Olivia muses. "I can't decide which."
"It was... surprisingly honest. He admitted everything—when he knew, why he hired me anyway, why he kept texting me."
Olivia leans closer. "And why did he?"
"He said the text made him notice me, but my talent made him hire me." I trace the rim of my glass, remembering his exactwords, the intensity in his eyes when he said them. "He said he'd never had anyone speak to him with such unfiltered honesty before."
"Mm-hmm." Olivia looks unconvinced. "And after this heartfelt confession, you just... talked some more?"
The heat rising to my cheeks gives me away.
"There it is!" she crows triumphantly. "Now we're getting somewhere. On a scale from Camden to erotic fiction, how was it?"
"Olivia!" I glance around in panic, but the nearby tables seem absorbed in their own conversations.
"That good, huh?" She's enjoying this far too much.
"If you must know," I say, lowering my voice to a whisper, "it was spectacular. Earth-moving. Universe-altering. Are those enough adjectives for you?"
"Details, darling. I need details."
"I am not giving you a play-by-play of my sex life," I say firmly, though the memory of Roman's hands on my skin, his mouth following paths that made me forget my own name, sends a shiver down my spine that Olivia definitely notices.
"Fine, be stingy with the good parts." She pouts. "At least tell me if the reality lived up to those texts."
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. "Let's just say he delivers on his promises."
"And the wall thing?" she presses, because of course she remembers that detail from the original accidental text.
"The wall, the counter, the bed—" I cut myself off, mortified. "I'm not saying another word."