Hello Everyone! I want to express my gratitude to all of you who has taken the time to leave encouraging reviews for the story. Your support has truly inspired me to continue with the story. I am not entirely certain of the direction it's going in, but I'm excited to know your willing to come along on the ride. This next chapter is a little short, but I'll be posting chapters 4-6 today.

So, let's pick up with Olivia after leaving Fitz standing on the sidewalk.

Olivia's POV

The floodgates opened once I finally arrived home, and tears streamed down my cheeks. Why did a drunk stranger have the power to hurt me so much? Clearly, I need more time to be ready to navigate the minefield of New York men. I need to toughen up - and fast. This place is a world away from the warmth and kindness I've known for so long in North Carolina. It's like a different universe where southern charm has no place.

I fill my glass with wine, sink into the plush cushions of my new couch, and take in the sight of my modest apartment. Despite the comfort it brings me, a nagging pressure tugs at me. I need to make this art studio a success to prove I can make it on my own. The fear of failure hangs heavy over me, a constant reminder that I have no backup plan if things don't work out. The thought of returning home defeated is unbearable. I am determined to pursue my passion with success.

As I stare at the ocean painting on my wall, I can see Mr. Grant's piercing blue eyes in my mind, and the scent of his cologne lingers, a bittersweet reminder of him rushing to open my car door. But then reality hits - he only did it because of his earlier rudeness towards me. I refuse to let any man disrespect me again. As much as he tried to make amends, I won't make excuses for his behavior. You didn't deserve that, and it's his loss—end of discussion. We deserve better than that. I need to just go to bed, and start fresh tomorrow.

The crack of dawn comes through the curtains, and he is there, invading my thoughts again. Frustration runs through me, causing me to slap my hands down on the bed. "Get out of my head, Mr. Grant!" I shout.

Determined to purge every memory of him, I throw back the covers and walk toward the bathroom for a long, hot shower. The water washes over me, shocking me into the present moment. Today promises to be a whirlwind of activities – the new shipment is due this morning, and they need to be unpacked and put away, and I need to finish cleaning the storage room. On top of that, the daunting task of picking out paint colors for the wall hangs over me like a dark cloud. My mind becomes a chaotic mess of thoughts, bouncing back and forth like a game of ping pong.

With my steaming cup of coffee cradled in my hand, I decide I'm going to walk to the studio today since I don't live too far. The city is teaming with life this Saturday morning, the streets are pulsing with energy as people weave through the sidewalks and cars surge through traffic. As I make my way, my thoughts drift back to the handsome stranger I met last night. An instant wave of sadness comes over me. I am trying to figure out what I did wrong. I just wanted to be friendly, and I got my head bit off for it. Whatever, it doesn't matter, and he doesn't matter. I won't be seeing him again anyway. The whole experience makes me not want to go to the Skybar again.

I finally make my way to the front doors of my studio, and a rush of disbelief replaces the feeling of sadness I was just feeling. My name is on the door – it's all mine. The weight of this realization leaves me amazed by the leap of faith I took in myself.

After hours of scrubbing and organizing the cluttered storage room, I have a sense of overwhelming dread. This task is more challenging than I ever imagined. The pressure mounts as my grand opening approaches in just three short months. Not only do I need to transform this space, but I also have several paintings I need to finish to be ready for sale on opening night. Time is slipping away, and I can't afford to squander a single moment.

As I look around deciding what to tackle next, I get a call.

"Hello."

"Hey, hun. It's Jake."

"Hey, how are you and Lilly?" I take a seat on one of the bar stool chairs in the storage room. My feet are killing me.

"She's sick as hell, and I think I'm next."

"Aw, do you want me to bring you some soup or something?"

"That's sweet of you, but you better stay away from us. I was going to stop by the studio to see if you need help, but..."

"Don't you worry about me. I'm just fine. You and Lilly get some rest. You'll need the weekend to rest up for work. Don't you have an important case coming up?"

"Yeah, the doctor that was murdered in the parking garage, but I got time."

"Yeah, I've been hearing about that in the news. You got this, Jake. I hear you're one of the best around."

"I'm not one of the best around. I am the best."

"Okay, excuse me," I say in a sassy tone, and we both start to chuckle.

"What are you doing, lovely lady," I really should tell Jake to stop calling me all those cutesy names, but...fuck it...I could use a little flattery at this point in my life. He's harmless.

"Well, I'm cleaning and organizing the storage room right now."

"I wish I was there."

"No, you don't. Prissy Jake Ballard does not want to clean a dirty storage room."

"I am not prissy. I just enjoy looking neat and clean. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I know you do. I better get going. I have a lot of stuff to do. Tell Lilly I said hi, and I hope she feels better."

"I will. Take care, love."

After ending the call with Jake, I continue working. But my mind keeps wandering back to Mr. Grant. Maybe I should have given him a chance. I should have said yes to dinner. It frustrates me that someone so rude and arrogant can invade my thoughts like this. I hate how he makes me question myself. But despite it all, I can't deny or explain the strange attraction I have to that man.