Page 13 of Oliver

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"A half-caf oat milk cortado with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, one pump of hazelnut, a shake of cinnamon powder,notcinnamon syrup, and make it extra hot.”

"That's not coffee; that's a cry for help," Oliver muttered under his breath, his expression deadpan.

The unexpected commentary, delivered in such perfect, dry Oliver fashion, caught me completely off guard. A burst of laughter escaped me before I could stop it—genuine, unrestrained, and embarrassingly loud in the quiet café. Several patrons turned our way.

Oliver’s head snapped up from his book, his eyes wide as he stared at me with an unreadable expression.

I straightened in my seat and smoothed my blouse. "I'm sorry."

He frowned slightly. "Why would you apologize for laughing?"

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again, unsure what to say.Because Ryan always hated it when I laughed too loudly in public. Because I spent years unlearning the instinct of making myself smaller.If that didn’t cross every line in Oliver’s book, I didn’t know what would.

"Force of habit," I finally said, looking away.

Something flickered in Oliver's expression, a flash of... What? Concern? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it vanished quickly behind his carefully constructed wall of professional detachment.

"Well, it works for our scenario," he said, reverting to business mode. "Capturing a moment of genuine laughter on camera would make for convincing content. Let me try to say something amusing again, and this time I'll take the photo."

And just like that, we were back to military operation mode.

As the coffee date continued, following Oliver's guidelines proved increasingly challenging. Each interaction felt choreographed, each touch timed and measured. When I instinctively reached to fix his slightly askew collar, he tensed so hard I felt it through my fingertips. I withdrew my hand immediately, mumbling an apology that he dismissed with a curt nod.

"Zahra,” a familiar voice called out, and I looked up to see Maya, a barista who'd worked several of my smaller events, approaching our table with a bright smile. “I thought that was you!"

“Maya.” I shifted into my professional-friendly mode, the one I used for networking.

This was our first real test—an unplanned interaction requiring us to sell our budding relationship to an outsider.

Without missing a beat, Oliver transformed. His posture softened, his expression warmed, and he leaned slightly in my direction, creating an impression of intimacy without actually touching me. The shift was so subtle yet so complete that it caught me off guard.

I stood to greet Maya with a quick hug. “How are you?"

"Great! We just booked that venue you recommended for my sister's engagement party.” She was still smiling at me, but her eyes drifted to Oliver, and I didn’t miss how she scanned him head to toe in appreciation. “It was perfect."

I wanted to grab her chin and yank her gaze back to me, but I forced the rational part of my brain to take over. The part that knew Oliver wasn’t mine, and even if he were, the man was all sorts of eye candy, and I honestly couldn’t blame any woman for checking him out.

“Maya, this is Oliver," I introduced. "An old friend."

“Nice to meet you.” Oliver offered Maya his hand with an easy smile.

"Likewise," Maya replied, her smile widening. "So, old friend, huh?” Maya’s smile was sly, not so subtly scoping whether there was more than friendship going on. “You guys go way back?"

Oliver glanced at me, a barely perceptible cue that I should take the lead.

"All the way back to fourth grade," I said, the truth coming easier than any fabrication.

“Third,” Oliver corrected, his smirk a mix of mock admonition and joyful reminiscing. “You were going through your princess phase—went through pink crayons faster than most people go through a chocolate bar. I gave you mine and you declared me your knight in shining armor.”

“And you brought me a new crayon every week.” I laughed at the memory. We were so naïve back then, so sold on the idea of friendships that last forever.

"We lost touch after graduation." Oliver reached up, and his hand took mine with practiced ease. His touch was perfectly calibrated—not too intimate to be inappropriate, but familiar enough to suggest history. Our eyes met, and the warmth of his hand swirled up to my chest. My breath caught, heart rate increased, and I was all too aware of the point of contact between our skin. "Then, by some lucky star, we bumped into each other at a bar yesterday."

The warmth in his voice, the casual comfort of his demeanor—it was all so convincing that for a moment, I almost believed it myself. How many other clients had hired him for similar performances? How many other times had he transformed like this, making everyone around him believe exactly what he wanted them to?

"I couldn't believe it when I looked up and saw him after all these years." Despite knowing it was an act, affection crept into my voice, unable to stay buried with those deep eyes boring into mine.

"I love that." Maya beamed, her gaze back to fixing on me with adoration. It worked; she was sold on a budding romantic relationship. "I have to get to my sister’s dress fitting, but I’ll see you around?"