Page 6 of Oliver
“You don’t need to lie to protect yourself from me," I said quietly. "This is business. Nothing more."
She hesitated, then murmured, "I need Oliver for this."
"I’m right here, Zahra."
Something about my tone must have finally penetrated her walls, because she looked up at me with a slight crinkle in her forehead, and, for the first time since I approached her, the polite, professional glance she'd been giving me was gone, and she seemed to be truly seeing me.
Our eyes connected, and that’s when recognition bloomed across her features. Her lips parted slightly, eyes growing wide, and she whispered, "Oliver?"
Two
ZAHRA
“Oliver?”My voice trembled in the café’s warm hum as his name slipped out in a barely audible gasp.
Recognition crashed over me like a wave, and I clutched the edge of the table. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as past and present collided.
The Oliver Beck I remembered wore permanently smudged glasses that he constantly pushed up his nose, dressed in faded science-themed T-shirts, and had a laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep and genuine.
That boy's shoulders had hunched slightly, as if apologizing for taking up space.
That boy's eyes had been warm pools of rich brown that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
"Hello, Zahra," he said, his voice as flat and emotionless as his expression. "It's been a while."
The man before me sat with the kind of confidence that seemed etched into his bone structure. His jaw was sharper, a day's stubble highlighting the angles. His shoulders filled out hisjacket with an assurance that suggested he never apologized for anything anymore, least of all existing.
And those eyes…still the same rich brown, but now they were looking at me with a coolness that made my chest ache with a strange, hollow feeling.
This was Oliver.MyOliver. At least, he used to be mine before I ruined it all.
"I…" I struggled to find words, my brain trying to bridge the gap between the gangly spectacled kid from my memories to the chiseled, broad-shouldered man with piercing eyes. "I didn't recognize you."
"Clearly." The word was clipped, precise.
I'd studied the RAD profiles carefully, but they only showed most of the men from the neck down. Professional policy, I assumed. Finding Oliver on the roster was pure chance. It could have been anyone, but the name, the astrophysics-laden bio, it was all too coincidental. So, I took a leap of faith, hoping against hope it was the same Oliver I once knew, that the universe had sent me an answer to all my problems.
Heat crawled up my neck and into my cheeks as I realized how thoroughly I'd embarrassed myself. We’d held an entire conversation without me recognizing him, while he'd clearly known exactly who I was from the moment he approached the table. Had he been enjoying my ignorance?
My fingers twitched, so I busied them by folding and unfolding the napkin in my lap. The café seemed both too loud and too quiet, the chatter of other patrons forming a dissonant backdrop to my pulse thundering in my ears.
Oliver Beck.After all these years. The universe had a twisted sense of humor— the person least likely to want to help me is my best bet at a savior.
“So,” he started, the epitome of calm and composure. “Care to tell me why you insisted on me as your fake boyfriend?”
I cleared my throat and squared my shoulders. I hadn't come here to reminisce or apologize. I had a purpose, and the stakes were too high to let our shared past derail it.
“I need a date for my cousin’s wedding.” I pressed my hands flat against my lap, forcing them still, then cleared my throat, trying to steady myself. “It’s a big event, and I need someone there with me. I chose you because it’ll be believable that we reconnected and it quickly turned into something more. Familiarity sells the lie, you know? Due to our…history.”
Oliver’s eyebrow quirked at that last word. We had history, alright. A complicated one.
The waitress showed up just then to take our order, and I took the blessed interruption to compose myself. This was business, nothing else.
After ordering our coffee, Oliver turned back to me, fingers tapping steadily against the polished wood of our small table, waiting.
I forced a smile, hoping my eyes weren’t betraying my desperation. “I needed someone I could trust, someone who could pass as a serious boyfriend after a few weeks. Our past makes it plausible.”
He stayed silent, his unreadable expression unnerving. I’d been tense from the moment I sat down, rearranging the sugar packets into neat rows, and tucking my hair behind my ear every few seconds as I fought to keep my composure. And Oliver’s demeanor wasn’t helping.
