Chapter 10
Reed
The gym at The Luxe is exclusive, private to me and my guests only.
Since it has more equipment than either Declan or Cole’s home setups, I told them that they could come by whenever—and working out with other people is the best way to do it, I’ve found.
It keeps me focused, and stops me from getting bored in the middle of my workout.
Today, though, my thoughts keep wandering. I’m not keeping track of my reps as well as I should be. All I can think about is Olivia.
She’s been keeping a low profile so far—since we haven’t broken the announcement yet, we don’t want the press to start speculating before we get the chance to set the narrative. That means that Olivia has been spending a lot of time in the penthouse, hanging out.
And over the past few days, I’ve realized how much I love having her in my space. Especially now that she’s wearing my shirts to sleep, and not her stupid ex’s.
I’ve been learning her habits, picking up on her subtle, little idiosyncrasies. She leaves sticky notes everywhere, for one thing. I’ve had to replenish the pack I keep on the fridge already; she went through the remainder of them.
Some of the notes are for her, reminders to do certain things. Others are for me. Simple things, mostly. Telling me that someone called from the dry cleaner’s while I was out. Letting me know that we’re out of eggs.
I also found a horde of highlighters on my coffee table, next to a book she was reading.
There were at least four different colors, all bound together with a rubber band.
The pages of the book were marked up, certain lines traced in yellow, or pink, depending on…
something. I haven’t figured out what her system is yet.
But I’m sure, given time, that I will.
It makes my sterile apartment feel more homey. Less depressing—like someone actually lives there, for once.
“Hey, man, are you good?” Declan’s voice jolts me out of my distracted thoughts. “You’ve done at least thirty curls.”
“It’s biceps and triceps today,” I respond automatically, blinking at him. “I just thought I would really go for it.”
“Whatever you say,” he says. He shoots a glance across the room, to where Cole is on a treadmill, cooling down from a sprint.
Cole shuts down the machine, hopping off the end and approaching us. He stops a few feet away to stretch. “How have things been going with Olivia?” he asks. “Haven’t heard anything over the past few days.”
“It’s been good,” I say. After a few seconds’ loaded silence, I admit, “You know, it’s nice having someone else around. And she’s pretty good company.”
“Right,” Declan says slowly. He and Cole exchange another glance, which concerns me a little.
“What?”
“Just don’t forget that it’s temporary,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t want to hurt her, remember?”
“Of course I won’t. All I said was that it’s nice to have her around. The situation’s still simple, guys.”
“It is for now,” Cole comments.
I sigh through my nose, switching the weight to my left arm. I start to repeat the reps on the opposite side; thirty is more than I was planning for, but I don’t mind. “It’ll be easy to keep things easy. We’re both chill people. None of this has to get complicated—relax.”
“See, that’s exactly how I thought it would be with Riley,” Cole says. “And it wasn’t. I fucked up, and I hurt her.”
“And that turned out fine,” I point out.
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “In a way that you’re specifically trying to avoid. And did you miss the part where I said, I hurt her?”
“Olivia and I both know what’s going on here,” I say, letting the weight fall to my side. “We established ground rules. It’s all taken care of.”
At that, Cole and Declan exchange a glance, and the latter shakes his head. “Right,” he says drily. “Ground rules. That’ll help.”
“Listen.” Cole’s voice is firm, and it catches my attention. He’s not doling out advice anymore; there’s a warning in his tone. “Olivia’s happiness is important to Riley, which means it’s important to me, too. Got it?”
“Of course. I’m not going to hurt Olivia.” As serious as Cole sounds, I can’t help but roll my eyes. The guys seem way more concerned than they need to be. We have a literal contract in the works. There’s not very much room for things to go haywire.
There’s a flicker of doubt in the back of my mind, though. If there’s no room in our arrangement for any kind of mess, then it has all the more potential to blow up in our faces.
I shake my head, clearing those thoughts. We’re both more than capable of handling this. We’ll be okay.
In the mirrors that cover one wall of the private gym, I can see my reflection. My expression looks much less confident than I want it to.
“We both agreed to no feelings, no sex,” I add quickly, trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to convince Cole and Declan. “It’s a clear-cut situation. No sex, guys.” I don’t mention that we’ve already hooked up, though privately, I wonder if that makes things more complicated.
Cole nods, his lips pursed, and glances over at Declan. Declan’s brow furrows, but he says, “I suppose that would make things simpler.”
“It’s just business,” I continue. “We’re two friends doing each other a favor. That’s it.”
“If you say so, Reed,” says Cole, shrugging. He continues his stretches, bending over to touch the floor. For a minute or so, it’s quiet between the three of us. The silence is tense and uncertain, but at least they aren’t grilling me anymore.
“Sophie was on the phone with Riley yesterday,” Declan mentions offhand, changing the subject—at least somewhat. “They were talking about going out with Olivia. Something about the ring.”
“Oh, fuck.” I set the weight down on one of the benches. “I’m gonna have to get a ring, aren’t I?”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Declan says with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure the girls have a plan. Sophie and Riley were going to take Olivia window shopping. They’ll send you pictures of the rings she likes.”
“Oh. That’s good.” For some reason, I’m glad about that—it’s a load off my mind. I really want to get Olivia a ring she’ll like, even though this is fake.
I take a deep breath, picturing a ring on her finger. A dozen cut gemstones flash through my thoughts, and as I close my eyes, I can visualize them perfectly.
Then I shake myself. I glance over at Declan. “Shoulders,” I say, and he nods.
“Yeah. Shoulders.”
As we move across the gym toward one of the machines, I still can’t fully tear my thoughts away from Olivia’s window shopping trip, or any of the hypothetical rings I’m imagining.
It’s not something I ever expected to imagine.
This is really happening.
“Absolutely not.” Olivia folds her arms, her posture stiff, making her look taller than she really is as she stares down the exasperated marketer across the table. “No way.”
“This is a crucial part of the agreement,” the man insists. “And it’s not even a huge issue. We need you to agree to at least three publicized interviews—”
Olivia shakes her head firmly. “Not going to happen.”
I watch as the members of the PR team exchange a series of annoyed glances. Since we first sat down in the conference room, this meeting has been a complete disaster—it’s pure chaos in here, and I think I know why.
The PR team was expecting me to bring in a shrinking violet who would agree to everything they demanded of her, but that’s not Olivia. She’s more than willing to stand up for herself, and so far, she’s shot down five of the last seven suggestions.
“How exactly do you think you’re going to help us mend his image with the media if you won’t talk to the media?” It’s an older woman who speaks—one of Eastwood Hotels’ senior VPs.
Olivia scowls at her. “The media seems to get plenty of him as it is.”
The VP’s lip curls, and I can tell that tensions have run a little too high. Everyone’s getting frustrated, and we’re getting nowhere.
“Olivia,” I cut in, before anyone can respond, “can you talk to me outside for a moment?”
Olivia glares at the advertising execs for a few more seconds before turning to me with a curt nod.
I take her by the hand—something that I’ve been practicing for the past few days; it’s been getting easier every time—and lead her out into the hallway.
As soon as we’re through the door, I hear the muffled muttering of the PR team.
Olivia does, too. She lets out a shuddering sigh, glancing toward the door nervously. Now that we’re alone in the hallway, she’s lost the raised hackles.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “What’s going on in there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve barely agreed to anything they’ve put in front of you. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but in order for this to work, you’re going to have to make at least some appearances. And attend some events.”
She bites her lip, her gaze falling to the patterned carpet beneath our feet. “Yeah. I know.”
“So what’s going on?” I ask. “A couple of interviews shouldn’t be too bad. It’s not like—”
“I’m anxious about them, okay?”
I blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“You’re taking it for granted, but for me, this is all really intimidating,” she admits.
“I’m worried about the events, and the interviews…
all of that public-facing stuff. This is your world, not mine.
I’m worried…” She trails off for a moment, then says in a rush, “I’m worried I’m going to make things worse for you. ”
At once, I realize what’s going on. She’s not being stubborn to protect herself. It’s for me—she doesn’t want to mess this up.
Now that I understand, I can’t help but laugh.
She looks up at me, startled. “What’s so funny?” she demands, with a touch of defensiveness.
“Don’t worry,” I say, still chuckling. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just… believe me, nothing you could do could possibly make my image worse.”
“You don’t know that,” she protests.
“I would be confident enough to put money on it.”
“But Reed—”