"Right, well, I think we're done with this one," she said, unceremoniously shoving the shower screen in his face and almost sending him to his ass on the pink porcelain. "Shall we move on?" she said, already heading out.

"Yup." Isabella nodded, smirking right at him.

He screwed his face up in a childish gesture. Whatever.

"If you both go on down," Olivia said, expertly ignoring their little exchange-thank fuck! The pair of them were doing his ego and renowned charm no favours at all.

"I'll join you shortly," she continued. "I just have to take care of an errand for the owner."

"Great," Isabella said, moving for the front door. "I have a quick call to make so I'll meet you downstairs."

"I'll catch you up," he called after her, pushing the glass door back into place and wondering why the hell he hadn't thought of that.

Perhaps because you haven't been thinking straight since you saw her? He shook his head, brushing the entire incident off as he followed in Olivia's direction.

"Can I have a quick word?" he asked, entering the kitchenette hot on her tail. His intention had been to talk budget with Isabella out of earshot but as Olivia turned in the small space, hemmed in as they were by the cupboards and the breakfast bar, all thoughts of conversation evaporated.

"Yes," she said, her eyes wary as they lifted to his, her hands coming to rest on the countertop either side of her as she backed up against it. "But first you need to stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

He knew the answer well enough, but how would she describe it, what she saw in him? She was good with words-she'd demonstrated it repeatedly throughout the day, when eloquently describing the features of each potential abode. And in truth, he could listen to her talk and talk and talk. Perhaps that was why he was so keen to criticise: he wasn't ready for her job to come to an end; he wasn't ready for her to complete a sale for his sister and vacate his life.

He watched her eyelids flutter, her tongue flicking out to moisten that bottom lip he was so fascinated with. Was she nervous? Was it because of him?

"You know what." Her eyes dropped to his mouth, their depths revealing in their helpless nature, and his lips curled upwards. So she wasn't as unaffected by him as she'd have him believe. Good to know.

Power surged, his ego with it. "What if I said I can't help it?"

Her eyes snapped back to his. "Then make yourself help it because this -" she wagged a finger between them "-isn't happening."

"No?" He stepped forward and her eyes widened, her lips parting on a ragged breath.

"No." She gave a small shake of her head, the move sending a lock across her forehead and he itched to push it back. "I don't date clients."

"Technically," he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears, "I'm not a client."

"You're as good as."

"I disagree."

"Whether you disagree or not, I don't care," she rushed out. "I'm not falling into this trap."

His brow knitted together; she'd flummoxed him now. "Trap?" he repeated.

She paled, her words seeming to surprise even her, and then she visibly recovered, her chin rising, to say, "The kind of trap where I let this get in the way of my business."

He studied her face, her sincerity. "You sound like you're speaking from experience." He didn't like the idea one bit. Oh, the irony. "I take it you've not always been so averse to dating clients?"

She hesitated, her teeth worrying over her lower lip and teasing at his concentration. Was she going to evade giving him an answer? Or should he just kiss her and be done with the whole conversation? He was veering towards the latter when she spoke.

"Not my clients, no, my ex-business partner...we...we were together." She dragged in a breath and straightened, her focus coming back,

"It was a long time ago... And hence why this just isn't happening."

He faltered, his brain telling him to agree, to move past the pull that was driving him to distraction. She's so not your type. She seems like a bag of emotion. She's not safe in your hands.

Instead he found himself saying, "You're overthinking it. As much as Izzy loves me, she clearly loves you too. She's your friend and already bought into your skills as an estate agent, as have I, for that matter. Nothing between us will sway her to go elsewhere."

You idiot, why pursue her? She doesn't fit with your no-strings rule. This woman goes in for attachment. Worse still, she's been burned by it already and probably still suffering.

But then, if that's the case, maybe she's ready for the no-strings alternative. Maybe she's ready to become your type.

"You have my word," he pressed gently.

You bastard.

___________

Olivia lifted her eyes at his soft declaration and immediately regretted it.

He hovered just above her, his wolf-like gaze burning into her own, the rush of warmth it inspired sending her toes curling inside her Louboutins. She held his eye; was he for real? "Your word?"

He made an affirmative noise deep in his throat, almost enticing a reciprocal one from her as it strummed at the heat swelling down low.

"I'm willing to bet you're just as caught up in this attraction as me," he said huskily. "And if that's the case, you'll realise this is about a bit of fun; no harm, no foul, no jeopardised business arrangement."

"You reckon?" She sounded breathless, out of control.

No, no, don't let this happen. He nodded and raised his hand, her breath catching as she anticipated his touch, wanting and dreading it all the same, knowing that it was wrong and when it came she would lose herself in it, in him. So why the hell wasn't she discouraging him more and moving away? What was happening to her?

"I'm not very good at...fun." She threw his description back at him, desperately clinging to what she knew to be true even as the heat of his hand brushed beneath her jaw, his touch so light it was barely there. And she wanted it there. Wanted every one of those fingers pressed into her skin as he kissed her.

Gosh... This was wrong. She shouldn't be feeling or thinking this way about another man touching her. She loved Jack, right? Then why did she feel this way... This excited about another man touching her? When was the last time she felt this excited about Jack's touch?

"Fun?" he questioned softly, interrupting her thoughts, his hand following the contours of her neck and her head almost lolled back into his palm of its own mutinous accord.

"Not this sort of fun." She trembled; fear, excitement, all manner of urges melting away the need to break free.

"You're going to have to clarify, because I'm talking about sex, nothing more, nothing less."

Sex. Even hearing him say it had her tummy contracting over the ferocity of her need as her confession burst from her lips. "And so am I."

His brow became a fierce V, his eyes sparking with something akin to surprise, disbelief, something more...but then it hooded over as he asked, "You're afraid of keeping it casual?"

She shook her head. If only that were her only problem. Why was she hesitating to tell him she had a boyfriend? "I'm not very good at it."

She stressed the 'it', praying it would be clear enough, even as her contracted tummy now squirmed in shame. Why admit that?

His expression softened, a strange sense of relief shining through. "I don't believe that."

"It's the truth," she breathed, her chin lifting defiantly.

She needed to convince him, to get him to back away. Derek wasn't getting the message though, his intent searing her as his head lowered. He was going to kiss her!

She almost leaned in, anticipating his kiss, but at the last moment, she lifted a hand, "I can't," she said.

He stayed where he was, and made no attempt to stop her as she moved immediately, backing away enough to escape the kitchen.

A few seconds later, he followed, "Look..." he began.

But his sister took that moment to return, "I'm taking it," Isabella said, a huge smile on her face.

Olivia managed to smile back at her friend, "Perfect," she replied, "Let's get started,"

_________

Olivia stood outside Jack's apartment door for a full thirty seconds before knocking.

She could hear movement inside - drawers opening, the faint buzz of a phone notification, the low murmur of a voice. He was home. Good. No more last-minute texts. No more "Something's come up."

She knocked. The door swung open a moment later.

Jack looked immaculate as always - pale blue shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, dark hair styled with surgical precision. He smelled faintly of cedarwood and something crisp and expensive. He looked like a man who had never missed a meeting in his life.

"Liv," he said, mildly surprised. "I thought we were doing dinner tomorrow?"

"We were doing dinner yesterday... Or was it two days ago?" she replied evenly, stepping past him into the apartment without waiting to be invited. His place was spotless as always. Everything aligned. Cushions perfectly placed. Surfaces gleaming. It was like walking into a showroom.

Jack closed the door slowly. "I texted you."

"At eight-thirty."

"I had a client."

"You always have a client."

He exhaled through his nose, already irritated. "Liv, please, you know how my job works."

"And you know how mine works," she shot back, turning to face him. "Except I still manage to show up for us. I'm the only one showing up for us."

That landed. His jaw ticked. "Is this really what you came over for?"

"Yes." She surprised herself with how steady her voice sounded. "I'm tired, Jack." She gestured vaguely between them. "Tired of getting dressed up just to sit in my apartment with takeaway because you 'can't get away.' Tired of rearranging my schedule for plans that don't happen."

Jack rubbed a hand down his face, already slipping into calm-and-rational mode. It was one of the things Olivia disliked about him. He was always so... composed. As if he lived in his own little bubble where nothing bothered him except he allowed it to. It drove her crazy.

Now, to someone else, it sounded selfish and perhaps bitter to want him to be bothered, but Jack had a way of hurting or pissing her off, and then reacting calmly when she exploded due to his behaviour.

"It's not personal." He told her. "I don't do it on purpose,"

"That's exactly the problem."

His brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't feel like I matter." The words escaped before she could soften them. "Gosh. Why do I have to explain this to you? I hate that I have to,"

Jack blinked, taken aback, then he shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "That's dramatic, don't you think?" he asked.

She laughed once - sharp, humourless. "Is it?"

"Olivia, I'm building something here. For us. Do you think this promotion is just about me? It's about security. Stability. A future."

"And when exactly does that future start?" she demanded. "Because right now, I feel like I'm pencilled in between conference calls."

"That's unfair."

"Is it?" she almost yelled, "You cancel all the time. We barely spend enough time together because you always have somewhere you need to run off to. I've told you so many times about how I feel...About the things I want. I want romance. I want to spend time with my boyfriend. I want to go out with him. I want unplanned and surprise dates... Why do I have to tell my man to do these things for me? Even when you do it, it doesn't feel right because I've had to ask you over and over again for it,"

Silence stretched between them, tight and humming before Jack straightened slightly, composure sliding firmly back into place. "You know I'm not the spontaneous type."

"No, you're not," she agreed sadly, her voice lower now. "You're predictable. Safe."

The word lingered longer than she meant it to and his eyes sharpened. "Safe?"

She hesitated, and for some reason, Derek's face as well as his voice echoed in her mind. Heat flushed her cheeks - anger at herself, not at Jack. Why the hell was she thinking about Derek at a time like this?

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did." He stepped closer. "Safe compared to what?"

"Compared to nothing!" she snapped, defensive now. "Why does everything have to turn into a courtroom cross-examination with you?"

"Because you're clearly not listening when I talk to you and tell you that it's not about you... you come in here, acting like-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Olivia turned away, pacing once across the immaculate living room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood. "Not about me? Seriously? All I want is for you to just show up," she said, spinning back toward him. "That's it. Not promises. Not five-year plans. Just... show up. Why is that so hard for you to do?"

"I do show up."

"When it suits you."

"That's not fair."

"Stop saying that!" Her voice rose, cracking slightly at the edges. "This is how I feel, Jack and I'm trying to communicate it to you. You don't get to decide what feels fair to me."

He stared at her like she was someone he didn't quite recognise.

"You know we've had a lot of talks, but you've never complained...Sounded like this before."

He was kinda right. In the past they'd had several talks, but she'd always tried to make it more of a conversation than a full blown argument like this one. She figured he'd listen if she talked slower, calmer, just like him, but putting all her emotions in check and trying to keep it all in was clearly getting her nowhere.

"Maybe I should have." she replied.

That silenced him. The air shifted. Something raw had surfaced. He spoke more carefully now. "Is this just about last night?"

Just? Was he fucking playing with her? "Yes. And the night before. And the week before that."

He shook his head slowly. "You're overreacting."

And there it was. Something inside her snapped. "Am I?" she demanded. "Because I'm starting to wonder if I'm the only one actually in this relationship."

His face hardened. "That's ridiculous. What has gotten into you?"

"Screw you for asking me that," Her voice wavered now, anger bleeding into hurt. "When was the last time you did something for me that I didn't ask for? When was the last time you cleared out time for me... No work or interference? Just me. Bet you can't remember."

"That's not true."

"It is."

He didn't respond. Because it was. The silence thickened, and finally, he said quietly, "What do you want from me, Liv?"

The question shouldn't have sounded so exhausting, but it did and Olivia swallowed. "I want to feel wanted."

The admission hung fragile between them. Jack's expression flickered - guilt? frustration? - then settled back into composure. "You are wanted." He said.

"Then stop making me feel optional."

Another beat. He looked at his watch. He actually looked at his watch, and her stomach dropped.

"You have somewhere to be," she said flatly.

"I told you, I've got an early start tomorrow."

"Of course you do."

She grabbed her bag from the console table.

"Olivia-"

"No." She held up a hand. "Don't smooth this over with another promise. I don't need reassurance. I need action, and until you can do that, stay the hell away from me."

She moved toward the door.

"Liv, don't storm out."

"I'm not storming out. I'm leaving."

She opened the door.

"Wait?" he said, tension finally creeping into his voice. "Are we going to be okay?"

She paused. Were they? "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I can't keep feeling like this."

And then she stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her with a quiet, final click.

__________

Olivia didn't check her phone when she walked into her apartment the following day.

She dropped her handbag onto the narrow console table by the door, kicked off her heels with less grace than usual, and stood there for a moment in the dim quiet.

Silence greeted her. No missed calls. No apology text. No 'how was work today?' No 'are you home safe?'

Her chest tightened. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she'd walked out of Jack's apartment. Twenty-four hours since she'd said she couldn't keep feeling like this. And he hadn't called. Not once.

She swallowed against the thick ache rising in her throat and finally pulled her phone from her coat pocket. The screen lit up, hopeful and accusing all at once.

Nothing. Her stomach dipped.

Two years. Two years they'd spent together.... But It hadn't always felt like this. Once, in the beginning, he'd surprised her with flowers at the office. Once, he'd cancelled meetings to take her away for a spontaneous weekend. Once, he'd looked at her like she was the only thing in the room. But for the past year... she couldn't pinpoint when it shifted. Just that it had. Slowly. Quietly. Like something precious eroding without her noticing until it was too late.

She sank onto the edge of her sofa, rubbing a hand over her face. Maybe she'd overreacted. Maybe she should call him. Maybe-

No.

She'd done enough reaching out and understanding. The heaviness in her chest pressed harder. Thinking about it wasn't helping. If anything, it was making her feel small. Disposable... And she was tired.

The kind of tired that seeped into your bones after a long day of smiling at clients and pretending your personal life wasn't unraveling thread by thread. She needed noise. Laughter. Distraction. Before she could talk herself out of it, she scrolled to Isabella's name and pressed call.

It rang once. "Liv!" Isabella answered, bright and immediate. "I was literally just about to call you."

Olivia blinked, caught off guard. "Really?"

"Yes! I just hung up with Tess. I was dialing you next."

A smile tugged at Olivia's mouth. "That's slightly terrifying. Are you both psychic now?"

"Please. If I were psychic, I'd have bought Bitcoin in 2012," Isabella shot back. "Are you okay?"

Olivia hesitated. The simple question nearly undid her, "I'm... fine," she lied, staring at the blank television screen opposite her. "Just tired."

Isabella hummed thoughtfully - the kind of hum that said she didn't believe that for a second. "Good. Then this is perfect timing."

"For what?"

"For drinks. Obviously."

Olivia's lips twitched despite herself. "Obviously."

"There's this new place Tess found -" Isabella paused dramatically, "- don't react, I know, I know - but apparently it's actually decent. It's called The Velvet Hour. Low lighting, strong cocktails, questionable life choices encouraged."

That pulled a real laugh out of her. "Questionable life choices?" Olivia echoed.

"Exactly what we need. Tess is in. You in?"

Olivia leaned back into the cushions and stared at the ceiling. A bar. Music. Her girls. No thoughts. No Jack. No almost-kisses in pink bathrooms or kitchens. Just noise.