Chapter 7
Olivia
Even though we’ve been discussing it the entire time, it’s Reed’s toast that really sets my nerves on edge.
Oh, god. We’re really doing this.
“You got any more rules you want to add?” Reed asks. I can’t think of any, so I shake my head. He gestures to the food. “Great. Then let’s eat.”
I was hungry when I first woke up, but now, my stomach is fluttering with nerves. I can’t eat as much as I would’ve liked to. I do manage to drink the entire mocha, though; I’m grateful for the sugar and caffeine.
After breakfast, I assume that we’ll go our separate ways, but Reed follows me back to my apartment.
When I give him a quizzical look, he says, “You have to pack a bag.” He winks at me flirtatiously, teasing.
“Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you get cold feet. Don’t back out on me, Olivia.”
“I’m not backing out,” I scoff. “Do we have to do this right now?”
“I’d rather,” he says. “Unless you have somewhere else you need to be.”
I don’t. Plus, I have to admit that he’s not entirely off-base. Part of why I wanted to be alone was a little lingering hesitation. It’s best if we do this now, before I can second-guess myself.
Reed waits while I pack a bag, which takes me about an hour. I don’t have much to throw together, and since I’m keeping the apartment, I can always swing by to grab more if I need it. Then Reed ushers me to his car.
“You’re taking me to your place right now?”
“Yeah. No time like the present.”
He drives us across the city, all the way to downtown, and pulls up outside of a modern-looking building. Atop the front awning, there’s a glowing sign, big white letters that read: The Luxe.
A valet takes Reed’s car, and I wheel my bag into the lobby of his building, following in his wake.
Reed approaches the front desk, where an older man peruses a computer screen, rectangular spectacles resting halfway down his flat nose. He looks up as Reed approaches, smiling.
“Hey, Henry,” Reed says with a nod. “This is my fiancé, Olivia. Olivia, this is Henry Peters, the doorman here. Olivia’s going to be moving in, and she needs access keys for the penthouse and my personal elevator.”
Henry’s eyes widen, and his gaze slides to me. He regards me in amazement for a moment, the way someone might look at a unicorn, then shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “Well, I’ll be. You’ve finally got someone to keep you on your toes, eh?”
“I guess I do.” Reed shrugs, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
Henry smiles down at me. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looks back up at Reed and adds, “About time you settled down.”
“Thanks, Henry,” Reed says. He’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell whether the expression is genuine or not. I guess it doesn’t matter. There are going to be a lot of disingenuous interactions from now on; I’d better get used to them.
Reed takes me to a hallway off to the side, swiping a key card to his personal elevator. The elevator’s interior, like the lobby, is impressive. The walls are mirrored, and the light fixture on the ceiling is adorned with crystal. I stare at it, wondering if it’s real or made of glass.
The doors open on Reed’s penthouse, and immediately, all thoughts of the lobby or the elevator are blown straight out of my mind.
The foyer is wide and spacious, the walls white and floors made from broad panels of pale wood.
It’s elegant and sophisticated. There’s a long table against the wall, upon which an abstract sculpture sits; there are tasteful paintings on the walls.
The crisp minimalism extends into the rest of Reed’s bright penthouse.
The view over Manhattan is unbelievable. The windows are huge, taking up the entirety of two walls. There’s a fireplace. A grand piano. I stand in the entryway, my mouth open.
I don’t know what I was expecting. A castle? A palace? Reed’s childhood home, copied over? Whatever I’d built up in my mind, it’s nothing compared to the real deal.
So this is how a modern Eastwood lives. It’s leagues away from my shitty little apartment. In fact, I’m even more embarrassed about my place now that I’ve seen the penthouse.
“Holy shit,” I say in a low, reverent voice. “You live here?”
“Well, for the next six months, so do you.”
I exhale. “That’s gonna take an adjustment period, huh?” I glance in Reed’s direction, but I’m too ashamed to look him in the eye. “I mean, you saw the dump I live in.”
Reed hums, walking over to me casually. “Sure, but I didn’t care where we were last night. Only that we were together.”
I bite my lip. My heartbeat speeds up a little, despite my efforts to keep myself neutral. “Yeah?”
“Besides.” He comes up behind me, breathing his next words into my ear: “I was distracted by one of the most beautiful views I’d ever seen—that pretty little pussy.”
My legs close together as arousal rushes through me. I turn to face him, my breath bated; tension hangs between us at the reminder of last night.
Before anything can happen, I take two quick steps back, nearly colliding with the piano. My heart races as I remind him, “Don’t forget our no sex rule.”
He gives me a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Sorry. Thought that only went into effect after we sign the contract.”
For a few seconds, I’m sorely tempted. If he made a move, I’d let myself be caught up in him all over again.
Then he says, “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do anything that you don’t want to do.
” His joking tone fades. “I want to make sure you feel comfortable and safe in this arrangement. And it would be nice if we were friends, you know? We’re going to be around each other all the time.
We might as well enjoy each other’s company. ”
“For sure.” I let out a breath to cool my head. This doesn’t exactly soothe my worries, but at least Reed knows where to draw the line.
I’m almost impressed. I was worried he’d be a lot more immature about this whole situation.
“Anyway—” he gestures to the open space of his apartment—”feel free to snoop around. I’m gonna be in my office, writing up a draft of the contract, but you should make yourself at home. Go wherever you want. Do whatever you want.”
“You sure about that?”
“Mi casa es su casa, right? Literally.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Eat whatever you want. There’s some food in the fridge, I think.”
With a shrug, I deposit my bag next to the couch and take him up on his offer. He disappears into an office off of the hallway that runs down the center of the apartment, and I head in the opposite direction, poking my head into every open door.
The place is huge. It’s almost exciting to explore every room. Aside from the spacious living room, there’s also a cozier den. There are three bedrooms, a home theater, and a pool room. Everywhere, there are huge windows that face the street, letting light into the space.
Reed doesn’t reappear for a while—I guess the contract is taking him longer than I thought it would. Even when I’m done exploring the entire apartment, he’s still locked in his office.
I feel like I could use a refresh after not sleeping much last night—and, of course, all the sex. My shower this morning wasn’t quite enough. It’s been a hectic morning, and I need a second to relax.
So I drag my bag into one of the bedrooms, then fill the huge bathtub in the en suite bathroom. There are candles on the marble ledge next to it; I light them as I step into the tub, settling into the warm water. I sigh, letting my muscles relax, and breathe in the scent of pine.
A few seconds later, I realize my mistake when the door slides open.
Reed is standing there, his eyes wide with surprise at the sight of me. Then his expression changes. He takes a deep breath through his nose, looking at me with hunger in his eyes.
“Um—sorry,” I say, sitting bolt upright. I wrap my arms over my chest, trying to hide my body as best as I can.
“Don’t be sorry.” Reed shrugs, approaching the tub, and kneels next to it. He runs a hand along the edge of it, his eyes fixed upon my face. They don’t waver as he adds, “I said free rein, after all.”
I swallow, pressing my thighs together. “I guess I should’ve figured out which one was your bedroom before I…” I trail off, unsure what to say.
He’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I have to admit, I’m already regretting the no sex rule in that contract. You look beautiful.”
My heart rate quickens, and I bite my lip, trying to hide my arousal. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease him, letting my shoulders fall back into the water.
He stares at me like he’s going to eat me whole. For a moment, I think that he’s about to break the rules before we even begin; he wants to touch me, more than anything. I can tell.
But instead, with an air of great restraint, he steps back. His hands slip into his pockets, like he can’t trust them to behave themselves.
“The contract is ready to be reviewed and signed,” he says, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Whenever you’re done, come meet me in my office.”
He turns and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind himself.
I should feel relieved. We haven’t fallen off the wagon yet, despite the temptation. He’s being professional.
So why do I feel nothing but disappointment?
Maybe it’s just worry—worry at the amount of tension between us already, before I’ve even signed the paperwork. It’s going to be more difficult than I’d feared.
Whatever the case, I’m pretty sure I’m already regretting my choice to play fake fiancée.