Chapter 9 #2
Everyone lingers in Reed’s living room for another hour or so, enjoying drinks and chatting amiably.
The shock of our revelation seems to have worn off, and while Riley, Sophie and I were in the bedroom, Cole and Declan seem to have gotten some of their questions answered, too; they look a lot calmer than they did earlier.
It’s almost one in the morning by the time Cole looks at his watch and glances over at Riley. “We should probably go,” he says apologetically. “Have you seen the time?”
Riley checks her phone, then yelps when she sees the hour. “Oh, no—we’re an hour late. Poor Kerry.”
“Sorry, guys,” Cole says, clapping Reed on the shoulder. “We have to go relieve the babysitter. She’s been a good enough sport as it is—we told her we’d be home by midnight.”
Noah leaves with them, taking them up on a ride home, since he lives right next door to the Sullivan household. Declan, Sophie, and Shane only linger for a little while longer, and depart within ten minutes.
After the penthouse was so full earlier, it now feels starkly empty by comparison. I realize, with a sudden jolt of anxiety, that I’m alone with Reed.
We sit awkwardly in the living room, on two different couches. For at least five minutes, we’re both completely silent, each of us trying to think of what to say to the other.
I catch Reed looking at me a few times, and he catches me looking at him. None of that makes this any easier. There’s a palpable tension in the room.
This is going to be harder to adjust to than I thought. Maybe the first night will be the hardest, I think desperately. I mean, you just hooked up last night, and now you’re suddenly living together. There’s gotta be a learning curve for a situation like that.
Abruptly, Reed gets to his feet and downs the remainder of his brandy. “I’m pretty tired after all that,” he says, with an exaggerated yawn. “I don’t know about you, but—”
“Me, too,” I say quickly, gratefully latching onto his exit. “I should probably get some sleep.”
Reed collects our glasses and brings them into his kitchen, and I start down the hall, pausing in the doorway.
“Good night,” I say. As soon as I say it, I feel even more awkward, heat rising in my face. Is this ever going to feel normal?
Reed’s frozen behind the kitchen counter, staring at me for a long moment. Then he nods. “Yeah. Good night.”
My heart pounding in my temples, I hurry back down the long hallway and close myself into the guest room—my one refuge in this penthouse. The bedroom walls are soundproof, and I finally feel alone, despite the city skyline right outside my window.
Still… there was something invigorating about being alone with Reed, and even though I can’t see or hear him anymore, I almost wish I could.
Was that the cause of the tension? Not the normal awkwardness of sharing a space for the first time—not our proximity, but the distance between us. A shiver goes down my spine as I realize what the real problem was.
I don’t feel awkward around Reed, I feel awkward walking away from him. Some part of both of us wanted to do the same thing we did last night.
But we can’t. That’s not the arrangement. If this is going to work, we need to get used to things this way.
I get undressed, hanging the beautiful gown in the closet, and stare at it for a few moments. He really outdid himself with this. It’s gorgeous—the most beautiful dress I’ve ever owned, by far.
I find myself wondering how much it must have cost him. It’s a ridiculous thing to wonder. All I have to do is look around myself, at the minimalist design of the room, the art on the walls, the plush sheets and stunning view. Of course, it was jaw-droppingly expensive.
The thought makes me feel like my insides are churning. I try to tell myself that this was less a gift for me than it was part of the deal Reed and I made.
I put on an old T-shirt and shorts, then climb into the bed. Even though it’s late, I sit up knitting for around half an hour. It’s part of my nightly routine, and I want things to feel as normal as possible. If I knit in this new room, that makes it feel like my own. Not everything has to change.
Right?
I don’t make much progress on my scarf, but I set it aside after a while in the interest of getting some rest. I lie back, sinking into the down pillows. This bed is a far cry from the cheap sheets and mattress I ordered off the internet. I’ve never been so comfortable in my life.
Still, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about how I’m not alone—how Reed is just down the hall. How he was in my bed last night, the cheap one from the internet. How he seemed more comfortable there than he did in his own living room just now.
I drift off a couple of times, but I keep jolting awake despite my best efforts. I tell myself each time that the lights from outside are too bright, or it’s too cold in Reed’s penthouse, or the bed is too soft… but I know the truth. None of those things are the problem.
At around three in the morning, my mouth feels parched. There’s no way I’m falling asleep without a glass of water. With a sigh, I slip out of the bed and trudge into the hall.
My feet are soundless on the gleaming hardwood floors. When I reach the kitchen, I fumble on the wall for the lights. I flick the switch, and almost jump out of my own skin.
Reed is standing there on the other side of the granite island with a glass of water in his hand. He fumbles with the glass for a second, almost dropping it in his surprise, then blinks at me.
“You’re still up?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I just needed to get some water.” I nod at the light switch. “I guess you know your way around well enough that you don’t have to turn these on.”
“Yeah. Sorry. I probably should’ve shown you where everything is, just in case you needed something.” He sighs and sets his glass on the counter, then opens up one of the drawers above the sink. “There are glasses in here.”
“Crazy that we both woke up at the same time,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“Right,” he says slowly. “Crazy.”
Immediately, I know that he has the same problem I do. He probably hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep, either.
“Where’d you get that shirt?” he asks as he pours me a glass of water from the filter in the fridge.
I glance down at the old T-shirt, trying to remember where it came from. There’s a logo on the front for a band I don’t listen to. “I think it belonged to one of my exes,” I admit.
As he slides the glass of water across the counter toward me, I notice that there’s a strange tightness in his jaw.
“By the way,” Reed says, “I might as well tell you, since I didn’t get the chance earlier—I have a meeting with the Eastwood PR team next week. We have to figure out how to plan the public announcement. I figured I’d let you know, in case you want to be there.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. I take a sip of the water, then add, “Of course, I want to be there.”
Reed nods, strangely subdued. It’s probably the awkwardness of the evening. It’s weirdly intimate to be living with someone I’m technically engaged to, and I can only imagine that he feels the same way. “That’s perfect. In fact, you can sign the contract paperwork at the same time.”
“Contract paperwork? I thought we already took care of that.”
“We have our own contract, but the lawyers at Eastwood Hotels have theirs, too.”
“Oh,” I say. I guess I should have expected that. “That’s fine by me.”
“Good.”
Before he can slink back off to his own room, I say quickly, “Actually—before the news goes public…”
He pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, looking back at me. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to go to dinner with my parents.” I look at the floor, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. “I want them to hear it from me first, before they see it on a magazine cover at the grocery store, or something.”
I’m half-expecting Reed to scoff, or to tell me that would be a breach of our agreement. To my surprise, he nods.
“That makes sense,” Reed says agreeably.
“Really? You mean it?”
“Of course. I told you—I want to make sure you feel comfortable with all of this. If it’s not going to jeopardize our plans, then I don’t have a problem with it.”
“Okay,” I say, with a feeble smile. “Great. I’ll give them a call.”
We stand there for a few seconds, ten feet apart, watching each other. There’s heat in his gaze that makes me feel weak in the knees; I lean against the counter, trying to hide that fact.
After a long, tense moment, he says softly, “Good night, Olivia.”
“Good night,” I echo in a whisper. Then he’s gone, back to his own room.
I take a moment to steady myself before going back to my bed. I gulp down the cold water, then pour myself another glass to leave on my nightstand.
I crawl back into my bed, but sleep still doesn’t come right away. I’m viscerally aware of Reed’s presence just down the hall. Seeing him was just another reminder of him, and it’s as if I can hear him breathing right beside me.
The sun wakes me up the next day. A quick glance at the clock tells me that it’s much later than I would ordinarily wake; on an average day working for Keller, my alarm went off at seven sharp, and it’s currently almost nine-thirty.
I tried to keep my schedule more-or-less the same after I quit working for Keller. I needed the structure in my life, or I felt like I would go crazy. Plus, the two jobs I’d taken on demanded a lot of my time; I needed as much daylight as possible.
But I don’t have work today. And the next time I do, I’ll be quitting, unceremoniously. I don’t need to worry about any of that anymore. For the first time in what feels like years, I have the freedom to enjoy the morning.
I slide out of bed, looking out at the fantastic view for a few minutes. The city is vibrant and glowing at night, but during the day, it’s almost more impressive, crawling with activity.
I head down the hallway, into the kitchen. There’s no sign of Reed, which I was expecting. I’m assuming that he’s already headed to work.
But to my surprise, there’s a pile of folded cotton shirts on the counter. On top of the stack, there’s a yellow sticky note. Frowning, I pick up the note, my gaze scanning Reed’s handwriting.
In the future, you should probably wear these instead of your ex’s.
My eyes go wide as I realize that these are Reed’s shirts. I pick up the topmost one and unfold it, holding it up to my face. It smells like fresh laundry detergent, and beneath that, it smells like the cologne he wears.