They’d always called her a bitch.
But she didn’t think that was a bad thing.
Bitches were strong, tough AF, spoke their minds, and definitely didn’t take any crap from anyone. So when anyone called Olivia a bitch, she took it as the best type of compliment. She was strong and tough, never hesitated to speak her mind, and was about as far away from a pushover as one could get.
Great for her job—she’d become a VP at Prestige Media Group, managing some of the best athletes in the world and she was excellent at her career of choice.
Great for her bank account—it was flush, and she could live well on her salary, even in expensive San Francisco.
Not so great for her love life.
Turned out that most guys weren’t super into women who could take care of themselves, women who didn’t need rescuing. Either that, or they wanted her to take care of them, including every night out and sometimes even rent. Now, she didn’t mind paying her fair share, but that’s where she drew the line. Her fair share. As in, she was looking for a partner, not an owner or, worse, to be someone’s mother.
She wanted an equal. But she’d all but given up on finding that.
Cole was about as far away from Olivia’s city girl polish as one could get. A retired hockey player, he wore jeans to her suits, cowboy boots to her heels, ate simple food to her gourmet. Hell, he lived on a ranch half the year.
And yet . . . he also challenged her mind. Never gave her an inch. Not to mention, he was gorgeous, kind, incredibly insightful and always, always, called her on her B.S.
He’d done it when she’d been his agent, and continued to do it every time they talked.
The only difference now was that she was no longer his agent and so Olivia was faced with the age-old question . . .
Did she play it safe or take a leap of faith?