Olivia took the bag of food from Ellie and pulled out a fry.

“I know when I get Olivia Grace’d I’d better do what you say.”

Olivia fell asleep about five minutes after she walked into her house. She woke up in a panic to the sound of a door opening and closing. Had someone just broken into her house?

Before she could react, Max appeared at the door of her bedroom, suit on, briefcase over his shoulder, hair in full Senator Shellac.

“Max?” She sat bolt upright. What was he doing here? It was still Wednesday, wasn’t it? She hadn’t somehow slept for two days straight?

He smiled and dropped his briefcase on the floor.

“There you are. I didn’t expect you to be home this early, but then I saw your car outside.”

She rubbed her eyes.

“I . . . what are you doing here? Aren’t you in DC? I mean . . . you know what I mean.”

He sat at the foot of her bed.

“I fly back tonight on a red-eye. I had to see you. These past few days, those stories . . . I’m so sorry, Olivia. I didn’t realize how bad this would be. I couldn’t wait until Friday. I hope you meant it when you said you wished I was here.”

She stared at him. Was this a dream? Had he really flown across the country just to see her for a few hours, because of an idle wish on her part? Her lingering anger at Max faded away.

“I’m so glad you came.” She blinked away the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “It’s really good to see you.”

He pulled her into his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see someone,” he said in her ear. “I’m so sorry. I should have done something to prevent this.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours, just holding each other.

Finally, she kissed his cheek and pulled back, but kept her hand in his.

“Thank you,” she said. “I needed that.”

He kissed her softly.

“I did, too. Badly. How did the pitch go?”

She laughed.

“At first really well. I was worried they’d say something shitty to me, especially after those stories over the past few days, but . . . well, they sort of did, but they also offered us the job. In part, it seems, because of you.” She held up her hand at the look on Max’s face. “I know, I know, I was pissed, too, and so was Ellie. We’re still figuring out whether we’re going to take it.”

“I’m not sure whether to congratulate you or commiserate with you,” Max said.

Olivia leaned her head against his chest.

“Both sound great right now.”

Max kissed her again, then pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Speaking of those stories. Kara didn’t want me to read them, but I did, and on the plane I drafted this press release telling them all to stop being so racist and also to fuck off.” He shrugged. “Not quite in those terms, but close. I sent it to Kara on my way here so it could go out first thing in the morning, but she suggested I show it to you first.”

Olivia’s eyes widened as she scanned the draft on his phone. She quietly sent up a thank-you for the existence of Kara.

“Max, this is one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me, so thank you, and also, I’ll murder you if you send this.” She paused, and then raised her voice. “Wait, I won’t actually murder you, sorry about that; this is not a threat to a member of Congress, if you’re listening, FBI, that was a figure of speech. What I meant by that was, I’m thrilled by your vigorous defense of me, your ability to recognize racism, loud and subtle, and especially your recognition of your own privilege, but no, absolutely don’t send out this press release. We want these headlines about us to die down, not flame back up, remember? This is like pouring oil on the embers; it’ll start another round of articles and summaries and phone calls to my parents and sister, and I want all of that to stop.”

He sat back.

“You didn’t tell me they’d called your parents and your sister.”

Damn it. She hadn’t told him that on purpose; she knew he’d lose it.

“Of course they have; come on, you knew they would. But what I’m saying is, they’ll stop after a while, once we get boring to them. Please let us get boring to them, okay?”

He slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Okay. Even though I really want to tell those assholes off, okay.”

She stood up, and pulled him with her.

“Good, now that’s settled. Hopefully, in a few months, this will be nothing more than a lovely story someone tells a kid in trouble about rising from adversity. ‘If Olivia Monroe could get arrested as a teenager and later be the founding partner at one of the top law firms in Los Angeles, you can, too!’ they’ll say.”

Max followed her into the kitchen.

“One of the top law firms in Los Angeles, huh?” he said.

She took leftover pizza out of the refrigerator.

“People always told me to dream big, you know.”

Chapter Eighteen

Max was home for the weekend a week later—the last weekend before August recess—and he had to admit Olivia had been right. Maybe because they’d been boring, or maybe because much bigger news had knocked them out of the headlines, but the stories about them had almost completely died down. Random pictures of Olivia still popped up from time to time—once heading into the community center, another time walking into the gym—but even the paparazzi didn’t care about them anymore after those first few awful days.