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“You’ve been working so hard. I thought we could have a little downtime before heading out tonight. What do you think?”

She turns to face Janie and Chris before leaning into me. “Do I get the big burly man?”

I practically growl into her ear. “The only burly man touching you is me. Unless you want Janie’s hands all overme?”

She frowns, assessing Janie for a second before shaking her head.

“I didn’t think so. Now, head into the bedroom and get your robe on, woman. For god's sake, don't let me see you undressing or the two best massage therapists in L.A. will have been hired for no goddamn reason.”

She giggles, skipping into the bedroom. She sticks her tongue out at me over her shoulder before clicking the door shut. A part of me is disappointed, but the other half is fucking grateful. We’re on a tight schedule as it is, and I want this to be perfect for her.

???

Fuck. Me.

Chris is kneading my muscles like I’m a lump of dough. My muscles are no match for his weapons of choice. His forearms slide over my skin. His thumbs find every lump and bump in my knotted muscles. I don't realize how tense I am until this man puts his hands on me.

I glance over at Olivia a few times, and Janie is giving her something much more in line with what I thought I’d get: therapeutic, relaxing, fucking calm. But no, Chris is taking the “let’s beat the soreness out of him” approach. It doesn’t help that Olivia’s soft moans are all I can hear until I cry out, and she starts to giggle.

“Too much, sir?”

“No, no, perfect Chris. Just what I need.”

Don’t want to anger him more.

Olivia opens up one eye. She’s obviously noticed my pained expression as she tries to hold in more giggles.

God, she’s cute. I’d let Chris blend me into a smoothie every day if it kept her laughing.

After they leave, I pop open a bottle of champagne.Olivia starts getting ready as I hand her a glass.

“You know I could get used to this,” she murmurs softly, expertly lining her eyes kohl black. Her lips part every time: the eye shadow, the eyeliner, the mascara. And I’m not talkingsoftlyparted; her mouth is gaping open.

“What the fuck is going on with your face right now?”

“Don’t make me laugh, you brute. You’ll ruin my makeup.” She chuckles, trying to keep her mouth closed at the end.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you be. But we need to leave soon.”

“No worries. I’m basically done.”

“Okay, I’ll call the car now. I’m guessing I need to be on my best behavior tonight?” I smirk.

She gives me a pointed look. “Yes, no mention of how we met.”

“We met in a juice bar,” I say, deadpan.

“Okay, no mention of the whole kidnapping thing.”

“Why would I want anyone to know you Ted Bundy’d me?”

“Ted Bundy’d you?”

“Yeah, you lured me to your car under false pretenses. I’m just glad you so politely asked me to chloroform myself and didn’t hit me around the head with a baseball bat. I’ve never seen you swing, but you’re strong as fuck; I wouldn’t rate my chances.”

She smiles, gazing up at the ceiling for a split second. And this. This is why I like her so fucking much. Because I’m telling her I have no doubt she could beat the shit out of me, and she looks so fucking pleased about it.

“No mention of Ted Bundy, please,” she eventually says, throwing her phone and lipstick into an obscenely tiny handbag.