Page 1 of Oliver
One
OLIVER
Zahra Nazarian.
The name stood out like a neon sign. My coffee mug was frozen halfway to my lips as I stared at the booking request that had just pinged my inbox.
Zahra Nazarian.
The world narrowed to those two words—stark black against white. I blinked once. Twice. Certain I was seeing things. But the name remained.
Zahra Nazarian.
Two-months, premium Rent-A-Date rate, and the kind of money that could cover Emmet’s next tuition payment and maybe even a month’s worth of transition costs.
The burn registered a second too late—coffee slushing over the rim of my mug, the pain sharp and scalding. I hissed through my teeth and slammed it down hard enough to splash onto my desk, staining some of the freshman essays I was grading.
"Fuck." I grabbed a handful of tissues to dab at the spill while my eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Zahra-fucking-Nazarian.
Ten years. It had been ten years since I'd confronted that name outside of my own thoughts. Ten years spent building barriers and routines to keep her out of my life, and out of my mind.
With two sharp clicks, I declined the booking and closed my laptop.
My phone rang less than three minutes later.
Shit.
I considered not answering.
“Shit.” This time I said it out loud.
With another groan, I reached for the device and clicked the green button.
Exhale.
"Oliver Beck speaking."
"Why the hell did you just refuse a two-month booking?" Foxy, my boss at Foxy's Rent-A-Date, snapped through the receiver, her voice clipped.
I kept my voice even, controlled. "Because I didn't want it."
"That's cute. Try again."
The hum of the radiator was the only sound in the room besides Foxy's impatient breathing on the other end of the line. I ran a hand through my already disheveled hair, tugging slightly at the ends. A nervous habit I’d never managed to break.
"It's Zahra Nazarian."
Silence. Then, a huff of exasperation. "Is that code for something?"
"What? No. It's a person. A specific person I can't work with."
"Can't or won't?"
I gritted my teeth. "Both."
"Oliver." Her tone shifted, that dangerous sweetness creeping in that meant I was testing her patience. "You've been with RAD for what, six years now?"
