Free Olivia by Donna Sturgeon Page B

found themselves back on the Missouri river.
    Mitch had another commission check burning a hole in his pocket and sprang for a luxury suite, and then took Olivia shopping and picked her out a dress to wear to dinner. It was black, tight, and lifted her breasts to almost gravity-defying heights. When she dressed, she skipped the underwear, slipped on a brand-new pair of fuck-me heels, and dabbed her most-expensive Jean Nate cologne in strategic locations. After she finished spooning on her make-up, she checked herself out in the mirror one last time and decided she looked pretty damn fine. If this outfit didn’t make Mr. Happy smile, nothing would.
    They went downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant. Olivia was impressed to the point of being intimidated by the atmosphere. Everything was expensive-looking and gorgeous. The food was extraordinary and, according to the description on the menu, the wine was “World Class,” whatever the hell that meant. All Olivia knew was it tasted yummy and went down like water.
    A live band played quietly in the corner. They were good, but it wasn’t anything life-changing, so she paid them no mind. It wasn’t until she and Mitch were sharing a slice of cake for dessert that she even bothered to look at the stage. Once she did, she couldn’t take her eyes off the singer. He was ruggedly-handsome, in GQ kind of way, and looked so familiar she couldn’t help but gawk.
    “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Mitch grumbled around a forkful of devil’s food cake.
    “I know that guy.” Olivia combed through her memory, searching for how she knew him. “I know I know him. How do I know him?”
    “How the hell should I know how you know him? Maybe you slept with him.”
    Olivia rolled her eyes and sighed. He had been in a fairly good mood all night, but he was getting restless. And when he got restless, he got grumpy. And when he got grumpy, he picked fights. And when he picked fights, Olivia fought back. She couldn’t stop herself.
    “You seriously think if I’d slept with the guy I wouldn’t remember him?”
    “Maybe.”
    “How many people do you think I’ve slept with that I would forget a face?”
    Mitch said nothing.
    “Great. My boyfriend thinks I’m a slut.” As Olivia rolled her eyes, they drifted back to the singer on stage. Who the hell was he?
    Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “How many guys have you slept with?”
    “I don’t know… Eight or nine, maybe,” she said with a dismissive wave.
    He choked on his cake. “ Nine? ”
    “Is that a lot?” Olivia worried.
    “Who were they?” Mitch demanded as soon as he could speak, which took awhile. Apparently nine was a lot. Huh. Who knew?
    “I’m not telling you that!”
    “Why not?”
    “Because,” Olivia said. “End of discussion.”
    “Like hell it is! Tell me.”
    “No.”
    “Do I know any of them?” he asked. His face started to take on that particular shade of red that Olivia hated and made her angry.
    “How should I know if you know any of them? You’ve never introduced me to any of your friends,” she accused.
    “I have too.”
    “You have not.”
    “Have too.”
    “Have not.”
    “Would you like another cup of coffee, sir?” the waitress asked with a smile.
    “ No! ” they shouted in unison.
    The waitress flinched and slipped their check onto the table, then made a hasty retreat.
    Mitch stared Olivia down. She stared back.
    It was about to get ugly.
    “Tell me who you’ve slept with,” Mitch ordered in a low growl.
    “Kiss my ass,” Olivia said with a growl of her own.
    “Fuck you.” Mitch shoved away from the table so hard he knocked over Olivia’s glass of wine, spilling it into her lap.
    Anger flared, sanity slipped, and she picked up the last of the chocolate cake, hurling it at him as he strode away. It hit him square in the middle of his back in a chocolate glob. He froze mid-stride. His shoulders came up and his hands balled into fists. His neck turned fire-red, but he