Page 35 of Love Off-Limits
She pursed her lips but not before a shadow of a smile flashed across her face. “Tyler Marino, you can’t flirt with me.”
I smirked. “Who said I was flirting?”
“I’m serious. This is my work. My brother’s office is directly across from mine, and he’s reporting to my father every single day.”
I crossed to where she stood, stepping close enough that I had to look down to meet her gaze. “Is that the reason behind your very serious outfit?” I touched the hem of her sleeve, my fingers grazing her wrist as I pulled my hand away.
She huffed. “There’s nothing wrong with my outfit.”
“I didn’t say there was.”
“But you...” She shook her head and took a giant step back, right into the side of her car. The unexpected contact knocked her off balance and she teetered on her heels. I shot my arms out and caught her elbows, holding her until she was steady on her feet.
She pressed her hands against my chest and closed her eyes.
I should have let her go. She’d just scolded me for flirting, but every cell of my body screamed for the opposite.
“Argghh,” she groaned as she finally pushed me away. “Why do you have to smell so good?”
I grinned. “Thank you? I think?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a good thing. It’s a terrible thing. Because this isn’t happening, remember?” She motioned from herself to me and then back again.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, tell me this. What if I didn’t take the job? What if I just happened to live close by and wanted to take you out to dinner some weekend? Or...every weekend. Would that change things?” I didn’t actually want to leave. As soon as I’d thought about shooting at Stonebrook, the idea had quickly started to flourish, and I was already excited about the potential. There werestories here. I felt that in my bones. And I wanted to find them.
But to date Olivia for real? I’d give up just about anything for the chance.
She immediately shook her head. “Nope,” she said with confidence, though the fire that was back in her eyes told a different story than her words. “This summer is about work. It’s about convincing my father I’m ready to run the place so Perry can go back to consulting. That means no distractions, andyouare the worst kind of distraction.”
“Or thebestkind of distraction, depending on who you’re asking.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Tyler Marino, I said no flirting.”
It was the second time she’d said my full name since our conversation had started. “You want my middle name too?” I said playfully. “It might make your scolding more effective.”
She rolled her eyes. “TylerGiovanniMarino, you aren’t making this easy on me.”
I narrowed my gaze. “How did you—”
“You told me,” she said softly, cutting me off. “That night. Remember? About your grandfather.”
My hand lifted to the small silver cross I wore around my neck—the very one my great-grandfather Giovanni Marino had worn when he’d immigrated to the United States in the early 1920s. He’d lived in New York until he’d fallen in love with my great-grandmother—she’d spent the summer in New York visiting a relative—and had followed her south to her hometown of Charleston where they’d married and settled. Giovanni had worked hard to earn his place in the city, combating discrimination and racism, even from within his wife’s family, and had built a custom furniture business that, by the time he’d died, was the busiest on the peninsula. My grandfather and father had taken the business and expanded it into antique furniture acquisition and resale. Eventually, that side of the business had become so profitable, they’d shut down the craftsmanship side altogether. Charleston was full of old houses that were full of old stuff; it had been a smart business decision.
Still, sometimes it made me sad to think that the business Giovanni had created no longer existed. He’d built things with his literal hands in order to provide for the people he loved. There was something to that.
Maybe I could channelhimwhile I was mucking out stalls and chasing chickens. I definitely couldn’t channel my own father; he’d been disappointed enough when I’d opted out of business school and a real estate license—both things he’d thought would aid the Marino empire—and stayed on with Isaac andRandom I.He’d probably choke on the expensive Italian cigars he liked to smoke after dinner if he knew where I was now. Marinos were not an “hourly wage” kind of family.
“Does your dad know you’re here?” Olivia asked, having clearly guessed the trajectory of my thoughts.
I shook my head. “Mom knows. She’ll probably tell him eventually, if Darcy doesn’t tell him first.” My parents hadn’t been close for years, not since their divorce, but they still talked a few times a month. About Darcy and me mostly.
“You won’t tell him?”
I scoffed. “Not until I have something to tell.”
She took a step closer. “Just because your dad doesn’t get it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be proud of what you’ve accomplished so far,” Olivia said. “I hope you know that.”
She held my gaze for a long moment, and I marveled, yet again, at how quickly she seemed to know me, to understand my thoughts. The time we’d spent together at the wedding—the way I’d felt with her next to me—crashed into my mind like hurricane waves smashing against Folly Beach Pier. There was something to this connection between us. There had to be.
