Chapter 8 – The Echo Between Us
909 Words
Rick James hadn’t changed much.
He still wore that familiar crooked smile—half amusement, half rebellion—as if the world was something to outwit rather than survive. Olivia spotted him from across the room, leaning casually against the granite bar of the rooftop lounge, whiskey in hand, city lights casting shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
“Liv,” he greeted as she approached, that one syllable carrying years of memory. “You came.”
She slid onto the stool beside him, setting her clutch on the counter. “You asked.”
“I did.” He glanced at her, his gaze soft but searching. “But I wasn’t sure you’d actually say yes.”
“I wasn’t sure I would either.”
He chuckled and raised his glass. “To uncertainty then.”
Olivia smiled, but it was the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What are we doing here, Rick?”
He turned serious. “I wanted to talk. Really talk. Like we used to—before everything fell apart.”
“Everything didn’t fall apart,” she said quietly. “You left. That’s different.”
He looked away for a moment, guilt flickering across his face like lightning. “I know. And I’ve regretted it in a thousand small ways every day since.”
She traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “Then why now? After all this time?”
Rick looked at her then, really looked. “Because I heard what happened with Layla. Because I knew you'd be holding the weight of it all, quietly. Because when I saw you again, it hit me like a truck—I never stopped caring.”
Olivia's heart clenched. She hated how easily he could reach inside her and press where it still hurt.
“I’m not the same girl you left behind,” she said.
“I know,” Rick replied. “You’re stronger now. Sharper. But there’s still this light in you, Liv, even if you’ve buried it under board meetings and brutal hours.”
She blinked fast. “Don’t make me out to be some caged artist. I made choices. I live with them.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Because the woman I see in front of me looks like she’s still fighting herself every damn day.”
Her breath caught. She hated how close to home that landed.
Before she could answer, her phone vibrated.
Clinton.
The name on the screen felt like an interruption. A tether. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t—not while her past was staring at her like a mirror to everything she once wanted.
Rick noticed. “Still got a tight leash on you, huh?”
“It’s not like that,” she said too quickly.
He nodded slowly. “Sure.”
They sat in silence for a beat, surrounded by the low hum of the city and the muted clinking of glasses.
“Rick,” she said finally, her voice low. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Honesty,” he said. “And maybe a second chance, if there’s room left for one.”
The truth was—she didn’t know if there was.
She left before she could answer.
Back at Reign Capital
Clinton stood at his desk, staring at the unanswered message on his phone. It wasn’t like her to ignore him. She was always present—efficient, precise.
Until now.
He didn’t know what disturbed him more—the fact that she hadn’t responded, or the fact that it mattered so damn much.
There was a knock.
He didn’t look up. “Come in.”
Marcus stepped inside, his usual smirk replaced with something almost sympathetic. “Rough day, boss?”
Clinton’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “What do you want?”
Marcus held up his hands. “Easy. Just came to drop these numbers.”
He placed a file on the desk but didn’t leave.
“You know,” Marcus added, “you’re not exactly subtle when something—or someone—gets under your skin.”
Clinton said nothing.
Marcus smiled faintly. “She’s different, isn’t she?”
Clinton’s jaw ticked. “You don’t know anything.”
“No,” Marcus said, “but I can guess. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Like losing her would unmake you.”
Clinton remained stone-still.
“You should tell her,” Marcus said simply. “Before someone else gives her all the reasons you won’t.”
And then he was gone.
Clinton sank into his chair, the weight of Marcus’s words settling over him like dust.
Was he really ready to face what it meant—if Olivia walked away?
Was he ready to let her?
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Later That Night
Olivia stood on the balcony of her apartment, city air brushing against her cheeks. She held her phone in her hand, Clinton’s message still unopened. Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure.
Behind her, the wind whispered through the tulips Lily had brought by earlier.
And Olivia realized something terrifying.
Two men. Two pasts.
And a future she hadn’t figured out how to want yet.
She clicked open the message.
> “We need to talk. Come in early tomorrow.” – Clinton
The words felt
heavy.
Her heart felt heavier.
She didn’t know what she was walking into.
But she knew it was going to change everything.
- Writer
