“Yeah. Got some stuff to do.”
“See ya,” Ollie told him.
Drew laughed and headed out.
“He leave because of me?” Ollie asked.
“Yeah.”
“He thought I was going to beat him up or something?” His tone was bored.
“I think he thinks you’re weird,” Piper said, sipping her coffee.
“I am weird,” Ollie said with a nod.
“I know.”
She’d missed him. And his weirdness. Drew was great. Nice. Polite. Reasonable. And not a bit weird. Weird drove her crazy but it was also interesting and fun. She’d always known that but this past week without it had been a bit boring.
That had not been a pleasant realization. The first couple of days had been great. Relaxing. No fires to put out. No strange research to do.
Then by day three she really wanted some weirdness. Some Ollie weirdness.
“Well, I don’t care what Drew Ryan thinks of me,” Ollie said, slouching in his chair and throwing an arm over the back. He was frowning.
Or, more accurately, he was pouting.
He looked ridiculous. He was huge in the tiny white chair with the wrought-iron back that swirled into a heart shape. And the pout on his face.
“I’ll break it to him gently that you don’t care about his opinion,” she said.
“Don’t talk about me with Drew Ryan at all,” Ollie said, his frown deepening. “Better yet, don’t talk to Drew Ryan about anything at all.”
She thought it was funny that he always referred to Drew as Drew Ryan. She didn’t bother to even comment on his ridiculous demand. She sipped her coffee again.
“Hi, did you want something, Ollie?” Josie asked, approaching the table in her Buttered Up apron.
Piper had to smile. She’d become closer to Whitney and Paige than to Josie, but she liked Grant’s wife a lot. Especially since Josie could come over and ask him what he was doing here under the guise of waiting on him.
“I haven’t had a muffin or good coffee in a week,” he said, mostly to Piper.
Sulkily.
“So I’d love three muffins and a large coffee.”
“Great.” Josie scribbled that on her pad. “What kind of muffins?”
“Uh…” Ollie looked at Piper.
She just looked back at him.
“Which ones do I like best?” he finally asked.
“Seriously?” She sighed. “How are you not dead after a week of no one feeding you?”
“I’ve eaten,” he said. “Just not any muffins. Or Parmesan chicken bake.”
So sulky.
She cooked for him a couple of times a week. Each of their suites had a full kitchen but Oliver couldn’t boil water, so when she cooked for herself, versus take-out or making do with salad or sandwiches, she took him half. His favorite was her meatballs, but he did love the chicken-and-pasta bake with the spinach and loads of Parmesan cheese.
“You don’t know what kind of muffins you like without me telling you?” she asked.
“I know what I like. I just don’t remember my favorites. They’re all good here.” He gave Josie a smile, then frowned at Piper again. “I’ve been without any for a week so thought I should have my favorites now.”
“You could have come down here and gotten your own. All week long.”
“Was hoping my new assistant would do that. But so far, no go.”
“You could ask her to do it,” Piper suggested. She was going to help train this new girl, but they’d only hired her a week ago and Whitney was getting her settled. Whit said she would be great. Young, perky, organized, eager to do a great job.
Piper supposed she should start making a list of all the dumb extra things the girl would have to do for Ollie. Muffins and coffee at the top of that list.
“Grant said I have to give her a few days to acclimate before I start asking her for things.”
Piper snorted. Grant had a point. The girl would be overwhelmed if Ollie went to her with his list of “needs.”
But as Piper watched him sulking across the table from her, it occurred to her that he was far too old, successful, and intelligent to not freaking know what kind of muffins to order when he walked into a bakery.
And it was her fault that he didn’t realize that.
“Cranberry orange, blueberry crumble, and caramel apple,” she said to Josie.
“Got it.” Josie turned away to get the muffins.
Piper pointed to the coffee station behind him. “You take a cup, fill it up, and put whatever you want in it.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then back to her.
She leaned in, resting on her forearms. “Medium blend, three vanilla creamers, and one caramel.”
He looked at her for three beats, then sighed, and got up to get his own coffee.
For the first time in five years.
She’d done that to him, Piper realized as she watched him get his coffee. She’d coddled him from day one. He was the genius of the group. He and Dax were both treated as if they had some kind of superpowers and needed special handling.
Dax milked that for all it was worth. He had gummy bears and bean bag chairs in his office, a Ping-Pong table in the break room, and just generally got away with goofing around almost constantly, chalking everything up to helping his “creative process."
She thought there was some truth to that probably, but over the five years she’d spent with these men, she’d observed them when they weren’t putting on a façade too. Moments of frustration and moments when they were unsure. Arguments, flat-out panic a couple of times when things looked bad, and moments of pure joy and pride when things were really good.
The guys let Ollie get away with all kinds of crazy crap. They didn’t always let him put his full plans into place because Ollie tended to think outside of the box, and the circle, and the triangle, and the octagon. He had wild and crazy notions and relied on the guys and Piper to keep him on track.
Maybe they did realize he was the softer of the personalities. But she wasn’t sure their coddling was good. The guys didn’t care if he blew off birthdays and meetings. They let him keep whatever schedule he wanted. They didn’t get upset if one morning he called in to tell them that he was in New York and would be back on Thursday. If he said he’d just suddenly had the urge to be on top of the Empire State Building, they’d all just nod and say, “that’s Ollie.”
He got away with so much. Because of all of them. Because of her.
He returned to the table and took his chair, this time leaning forward onto the table, his coffee cradled between his hands.
“You look nice,” he told her.
She looked down. She was wearing one of her usual office outfits. This was how she typically dressed. This dress was red with white polka dots. It had a halter top that tied behind her neck and a flared skirt that hit her knees. She had white wedge heels on and a big white bow sitting askew on her head.
“Thanks.”
“I like those dresses. The ones you wear to work.”
She smiled. So he had noticed. “Thank you.” Then again, she’d never had his attention in those dresses the way she had the other night. She leaned in. “Better than the robe?”
His eyes met hers. There was definitely a flicker of heat there. “Yeah, better than the robe.”