Once Upon a Dare (Risky Business) by Jennifer Bonds
For my husband, Matt, whose unwavering support and endless patience has allowed me to make my dreams a reality.
Chapter One
Olivia Masterson surveyed the Friday night clientele of Olive or Twist and came to the disturbing conclusion that she might be the only single twenty-something in the city of New York who wasn’t ruled by her libido. Was she doing something wrong? It appeared she was the only one in the sleek bar not looking to get flat-out drunk tonight. Or laid. The proof was sitting right across the table from her in the form of her best friend Chloe, who was too busy checking out the competition to actually listen to a word she said.
Despite the swell of raging hormones, the atmosphere of the bar was relaxed, with its dim lights, high top tables, and soft jazz music. That was one of the reasons she had chosen it. The other had to do with its proximity to the office, which was just down the block.
Truth be told, she’d rather be at home, curled up with a carton of chicken lo mein and her Kindle, but Chloe had insisted they stop for a drink to celebrate Olivia’s imminent promotion to partner at Pritchard and Associates, the advertising agency where they both worked. So there she was, spending her Friday night in a bar where the martinis were flowing and so were the pickup lines, and all she could think about was Chinese takeout.
Whatever that said about her, she wasn’t going to dwell on it.
“Come on, Liv!” Chloe pouted, signaling the waitress for another round of drinks. “Loosen up already.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me all liquored up and take advantage of the situation,” Olivia teased, popping a blue cheese stuffed olive in her mouth. Another perk of the martini bar—they had divine olives and weren’t shy about dishing them out.
“You should be so lucky,” Chloe countered, polishing off her drink with a rather unladylike gulp. “Considering the lack of actual sex in your sex life, I’d probably be the best you ever had.”
“Hey…” Olivia’s protest trailed off in a halfhearted sigh. How could she argue with that logic? She hadn’t had a man in her bed in, well, years. It was a wonder she and Chloe had become such good friends. Chloe was a hopeless romantic desperately seeking Mr. Right, and Olivia spent most of her free time holed up in the office working on pitches. Not exactly glamorous, but in her experience, the road to success rarely was.
Determined to make partner before her thirtieth birthday, she had made a lot of sacrifices in order to prove her father, and everyone else who doubted her abilities, wrong. She’d had plenty of motivation along the way. Her first year on the job, one of her coworkers had stabbed her in the back, telling everyone at the office she was shaking her ass up the corporate ladder. That little rumor had forced her to work twice as hard as everyone else. And even then it had taken months for people to stop whispering behind her back.
“I’m serious, Liv. There’s more to life than work, you know. And you can bet your Jimmy Choo’s the job won’t keep you warm at night, so I’m going to let you in on one of life’s little secrets, okay? When you die, no one’s going to care if it says partner, or president, or fry cook on your epitaph.”
Chloe shifted on her stool and tossed a handful of dark curls over her shoulder. She scanned the bar subtly. Always trolling for a man, Olivia thought as she watched her friend. Chloe had the curves of a bygone era and had yet to find a man who could handle them. Then again, maybe it wasn’t her curves that were the problem. Chloe had a larger than life personality and when her heart-shaped lips parted, there was no telling what might come pouring out.
“When Pritchard promotes you on Monday—”
“Don’t you mean if Pritchard promotes me?” Olivia corrected. “There’s no guarantee.”
“Whatever.” As usual, Chloe was quick to wave off the voice of reason. “Pritchard practically promised you that partnership if you landed the Bianchi account, which you did. Besides, what else could he want to see you about?”
“Who knows?”
Olivia rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had taken up permanent residence. Under normal circumstances, she thrived under pressure. Too bad these weren’t normal circumstances. Ever since Pritchard had sent her the cryptic meeting request, she’d been wound tighter than a Manhattan facelift. She deserved this promotion. She wanted this partnership so bad she could taste it. It tasted a hell of a lot like humble pie, which she’d be too happy to serve up to her family on a silver platter from Tiffany.