35 NOAH“Can you pass me the orange juice?”
Those are the first words Olivia’s spoken to me in days. Ever since she found out about the heir clause—and accused me of keeping it from her. That was never my intention.
“Here you go.” I hand her the carton across the counter. She’s seated at the breakfast bar with her laptop and bagel while I’m at the stove frying an egg.
“The gala’s tonight,” I comment, sliding the lone egg onto a plate. Weeks ago when we RSVP’d, it was assumed that we were attending the charity banquet together—with Olivia as my plus one, my partner in crime. Sure, it was a work event, but there’d be dinner, champagne, and dancing. It was a date, for all intents and purposes.
“Yup,” is all she says, her eyes still on her laptop screen.
“Okay. I have a car coming at seven
