Page 57 of Mended Hearts

Saturday passed in a fatigued blur—I became one with my couch and read a full Madison Bellevue novel in a single sitting.

And today? Today was the big day. Game day. And—lucky bitch that I was—I would be sitting in the owner’s suite, beside a certain bloom-bestowing billionaire.

Naturally, I’d exfoliated, scrubbed, polished, and painted every square inch of applicable skin. My curls had been creamed, plopped, scrunched, and diffused until they poured over my shoulders like a lion’s mane. I felt…hot. Beautiful, even.

All forappearances, obviously. The Harts had a reputation to uphold.

I repeated that lie the entire drive to the stadium, through security, up the elevator, and down the hall to the Hart family suite.

I was still repeating it when I walked through the door—until I sawthatsmile.

It aimed right at me from across the room where Ollie was mid-conversation with some guy in a suit, and I swear to God, I forgot how to breathe.

He turned fully, said something to the man, then crossed the suite with that lazy, cocksure stride andthosefucking hands buried in his pockets.

“Hey, Trouble. You look beautiful.”

I shrugged, like I hadn’t spent four hours getting ready to hear those three little words. “Thanks. Not so bad yourself.”

“How was your Saturday?”

“Mellow. Full hermit. You?”

“A hermit day sounds fucking perfect. I can’t wait to get through the holidays. The kids are good. We hit the tree lighting last night. Beau loved it.”

“But Tillie didn’t,” I deduced.

“She likes the lights, but the crowd is…”

“A lot,” we finished in unison.

He smiled wider. I didn’t stand a fucking chance.

“So. We need to talk.”

He deadpanned. “If you quit right now, I might fling myself off the balcony.”

“Jesus Christ,” I laughed. “About the comic book, Oliver.”

“Oh.” That grin of his tightened, smug and satisfied. “Pretty cool, right?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s a first printing, in mint condition. Do you have any idea how rare those are? How the hell did you even find it?”

His grin broadened. “So you liked it.”

“Liked it?” I scoffed. “It’s amazing. It’s also way too much.”

“My first pick wasTales of Suspense #52.”

“Oliver!” I smacked his shoulder, eyes wide. Two servers actually startled. “That’s a 1964. You can buy a car for less!”

He laughed. “You can thank Alice for vetoing.”

I tongued a molar, trying to collect myself. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, that slow, creeping smile returning—and taking my self-control with it. “You, uh… you look beautiful today.”

I rolled my lower lip between my teeth and replied, “You said that already.”

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