Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 33: Second Chance

I arrived home to find the kitchen ceiling was fixed. The once gaping hole was properly repaired, plastered, and coated with a fresh layer of paint. The shade of white didn't quite match the original, but beggars couldn't be choosers. At least something else was looking up.

"That was fast," I said to Rory, who reclined across the couch while watching television.

"You literally just missed Jacob," he blurted out, popping up to a seated position.

I dropped my bag in the corner. "He was here?"

Rory threw his hands up, gesturing towards the door. "Yeah, like three minutes ago!"

I bolted out the door, rushing back down the steps and scraped my hand on the chipped paint of the railing. I ignored the scratches and brushed it off on my already dirty work pants. Outside, I frantically searched for Jacob, or his car, but saw no sign of either. His usual parking spot was occupied by someone else. I yanked my phone from my pocket but there were no new messages or missed calls.

"Chloe!" the familiar voice called from somewhere close behind me. I spun around and saw Jacob scurrying in my direction. "Your roommate said you'd be home any minute, so I waited."

I sprinted towards him and locked my arms around his body, nearing tackling him like a linebacker. His warmth engulfed me and I melted as he wrapped his arms around me. His cologne was still intoxicating—my favorite high.

"Where have you been?" I asked, pulling back a little. He kept his arms locked around my shoulders tenderly.

He gazed into my eyes before lowering his. "I had things I had to take care of."

"What happened? Please, you have to tell me."

He sighed and we parted slightly, but he kept one arm around mine. "We can talk about it, but I'd rather do so at my apartment."

"Sure."

"Would it be okay if you stayed the night?" he asked. "It might be a long story."

I searched his eyes for any inkling of positivity or negativity. He seemed to be in his general, decent mood like usual, and I sensed nothing was off about him. Of course I wanted to stay the night.

He waited in his car while I bolted back upstairs to grab a few overnight things and a change of clothes. Rory eyed me up and down, leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.

"Didn't you guys just have a long vacation together? I feel slightly neglected, if I'm being honest," he said.

I glared at him with a side smirk and he shrugged dramatically. "For real though, don't you dare leave me if you get married and run away. I won't be of any trouble, I promise."

I jammed what I could fit into my overnight bag and tugged the zipper shut, which barely closed even as I pulled it together. I made a mental note to get myself a new one on the next payday. "I would never do such a thing, Rory. We'll go anywhere together, I promise."

He rolled his eyes playfully, not the type for a gooey friendship moment. We said our goodnights, including leaving one for Morgan who was still tucked away in the bedroom.

Jacob pulled his Bentley to the sidewalk and quickly exited to hold the door for me as I climbed in. During the drive to his place in the lower end of Manhattan, Jacob's demeanor was largely reserved yet cordial. He didn't leak any information regarding his truancy and I didn't ask. It was obvious that he was adamant on saving his explanation for his place.

My mind wandered back to crazy ideas, concocted mainly by Tony's initial findings, about what the breaking news could have possibly been.

What did he really do to Angela? Not as if she didn't deserve it...

I ushered them out just as fast as they entered because I still did not care what he did—I was elated to be with him again.

~ ~ ~

His apartment was located in a skyscraper that looked better suited to be a high-end office building. The parking garage was attached to the entrance via an underground walkway. He held my hand and guided me along at his side through the maze in silence.

The maze ended at a few sets of elevators. It felt as if we were entering a topnotch, secure government building as Jacob punched in an electronic passcode to gain access to the lifts.

I assumed he lived in the penthouse, but he pushed the button for the nineteenth floor, several short of the top. The hallway resembled a grand hotel, or what my ideas presumed one looked like. The carpet and walls were of obscenely light, neutral beiges, and golden lamp fixtures emitted a warm, creamy glow. One could feel the solidness of sound proofing, just like the Bentley.

His door involved another passcode and two deadbolts. It was locked tighter and more secure than a bank vault, just without the three-foot-thick steel door.

With the press of a remote button, his apartment radiated just the right amount of moody light from the pot lights in the sky-high ceilings and a few other small table lamps. The entire wall facing out was made of glass, giving a breathtaking view of the city and all of it's twinkling lights. It was futuristic and luxurious compared to his quaint and cozy Connecticut abode.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you. What do you have?"

He smirked and revealed a hidden bar within a midcentury modern wooden cabinet. "Let's make martinis, shall we?"

I chuckled, casual in agreement, and stood next to him as he taught me to prepare the classic drink with vodka. "I prefer to stir them vigorously instead of shaking, because you don't want to over-agitate the liquor," he said. "And olives are a must—they go in first."

He tapped the metal stirrer on the rim of the crystal shaker and set it aside. I scrunched my nose and Jacob laughed, "What? You don't like olives?"

"Not particularly."

He ventured the few steps to his kitchen to retrieve a jar of olives and came back. Once he was finished pricking the last olive with a toothpick, I mentioned in a murmur, "Why did you bring me here to talk?"

He screwed the lid back on the jar, and gestured for me to pour the finalized drink into each glass.

We retired to the living area—a wide open space surrounded by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The outside world felt like it closed in around us, as if we were perched up on a skyscraper like gargoyles staring straight at the rest of the skyline, but instead we were cushioned safely on black velvet couches with a plush rug underneath our feet.

"Aren't you scared of other people seeing in?" I asked, feeling unpleasantly exposed to the neighbors.

He savored his martini and replied, "The windows have some kind of special coating so no one can see in."

I sipped my martini and let it warmly burn my throat as it went down—it turned out to be the smoothest drink I'd ever had.

"There was a great deal of business I had to take care of," he said, but paused for a moment after acknowledging the main reason we were there. He seemed to change pace, wanting to now avoid the topic.

"Jacob, just tell me, please."

He laughed a little, and it was not a reaction I anticipated. I inadvertently scowled, confused as to why he was dancing around his explanation.

"Nothing bad happened, although I understand how it looks in your eyes," he paused again to take another sip of the martini. "You were probably wondering—Angela is not returning to the restaurant, and yes, I had everything to do with that."

My eyes focused on the condensation from the iciness sweating down the outside of my glass. I ran my finger along the wetness, but it soon reformed. "So, did you finally get another chance to do what was right?" I slowly raised my gaze to meet his, nervous of his response.

His smile faded but slowly grew back as the gears in his mind turned. "Yes. I did."