Chapter 19 #4
I can’t help but bristle at that. He can insinuate all he wants, I know he’s calling me a gold digger.
I take a moment to try and let my hackles down, but to my surprise, Reed speaks before I do—and he makes no effort to hide the hostility in his voice. “What’s wrong with you?” he demands sharply.
Lionel blinks, sitting taller. “Is there a problem?”
“Hell yes, there’s a problem,” Reed snarls. “Why are you talking to her like that?”
Lionel regards Reed coldly for a moment, then picks up his fork, nonchalant, and takes a bite of fish. He swallows, then says, “Think of this like a capital venture investment. If you’re going to enter into a contract, you need to trust the situation, and trust who you’re conducting business with.”
“I’d rather not think of it that way,” Reed says, his voice every bit as frosty as his father’s. “This is personal.”
“I hope you don’t treat your work with Eastwood so carelessly.”
“Olivia is a friend,” Reed shoots back. “I trust her, and that should be enough for you.”
“You’re young.” Lionel shrugs, reaching for his wine glass. “You’re naive.”
“This woman is doing me a huge favor, and you can’t stop accusing her of being a gold digger. What’s the matter with you? Have you forgotten how to be a fucking person?”
“Language,” Cecily snaps.
Reed sets down his silverware; his fork hits the plate with a clatter, drawing attention from the tables next to ours. Cecily shuffles in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny on the family, but Reed doesn’t seem to care. He’s too angry.
Lionel doesn’t match Reed’s explosive fury, but I can see the rage simmering in his eyes. The two of them are no strangers to being at odds.
“Careful,” Lionel warns. “Remember—I’ve been around the block more than a few times. You’re new to this, Reed. I have experience with—”
“Oh, stop,” Reed interrupts, exasperated.
“You don’t know Olivia like I do. We agreed that I got to decide who to enter this arrangement with, and I chose her.
You’re just pissed that I made the decision.
You were going to be pissed no matter what I did—but I’m not going to let you treat her like shit. ”
I’m shocked by how direct he is, but Lionel doesn’t seem surprised—only annoyed. He narrows his eyes. “Don’t forget which side your bread is buttered on,” he mutters, just loud enough to be heard across the table. “This was my idea.”
Reed stands abruptly, his hands curled into fists. “That’s enough.”
“Um, Reed?” Tentatively, I tug at his sleeve.
“Come on.” He turns away from the table. “We’re leaving. If they want to talk shit, they can do it behind our backs like everyone else.”
None of the Eastwoods make any move to stop us as I follow Reed through the restaurant, doing my best to avoid the stares from the surrounding tables.
I glance back over my shoulder and catch Shane’s eye for a moment; he doesn’t look surprised, just disappointed, though I can’t tell whether that disappointment is directed at Reed or at their parents.
Reed storms past the host’s stand, and I follow in his wake, flustered. As we leave the restaurant, he takes a few deep breaths of the cool evening air.
“Are you okay?” I ask timidly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.
He nods, but I can tell he’s furious. His lips are pursed, his eyes blazing with anger. Some small part of me is overwhelmed that he can feel such anger on my behalf.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he glances back at the line next to the restaurant—there are still at least a dozen people waiting to get tables.
“Come on,” I suggest, taking his hand. “Let’s go for a walk. Get some distance away from this crowd.”
We head down the sidewalk, away from the restaurant’s awning and the warm string lights that hang from it.
As we move into the darker part of the street, I start to notice how cold the evening has become now that the sun is down; I shiver involuntarily, my hands rising to my bare upper arms.
This doesn’t get past Reed. He shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over my shoulders. I’m suddenly surrounded by warmth and the scent of his cologne. I look up at him in surprise.
“Won’t you get cold?”
He shakes his head, wrapping an arm around me. “Nah. I’m too heated.”
I let out a breath that’s only half laughter. “I’ll say.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. There are a few moments of silence before he says, “I’m sorry about all that. What a mess.”
“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “I didn’t expect it to go great. I just hoped we could get through the night.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “Then I’m sorry I stormed out.”
“No—don’t apologize. It was nice to have someone stick up for me.”
He kicks a loose chunk of concrete on the sidewalk, sending it rolling away. “I just wish I didn’t have to.” He swears under his breath, almost too quietly for me to hear. “He’s an asshole. They both are.”
I can’t disagree with him, even though it’s my knee-jerk reaction.
“I have to fight to make even one decision, and he can’t respect it,” Reed says. “And, worst of all, he can’t respect you. He’s too full of himself.”
“I can’t say I came into this expecting respect, “ I say wryly. “I remembered enough about your parents from when I was a kid.”
Reed nods. “I know. I just thought they might be able to clear the bare minimum.”
I smile, trying to meet his gaze. “It’s not your fault.”
“No, but I feel like I should’ve warned you better,” he admits. “Or gotten them to behave, or something.”
“Shane was fine,” I offer.
He rolls his eyes. “Shane is always fine. Shane is the most well-adjusted member of the family, by far.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely the most normal Eastwood,” I say, earning me a playful, half-hearted nudge from Reed.
“I always liked your family more,” he tells me, a wistful look on his face. “I remembered them, too. I watched your parents, back when your mother worked for my father.”
“And?”
“They were just… good to each other. So much less dysfunctional. Even when they had disagreements, they still had each other’s backs.
They talked about things that mattered instead of empty, useless shit.
Real stuff, you know?” He shrugs one shoulder.
“Nobody in my family cares about anything real.”
I nod silently, thinking about Cecily, and how she only seemed to care about her social standing. Even when meeting her son’s alleged fiancé, talking about the plans for his wedding, she couldn’t bring herself to look beyond her own status.
“I’ve always wanted that,” Reed says. “Someone who cared about things that mattered. But it just doesn’t exist in my family.”
“Well, you’ve got Shane,” I point out. “He tried to stick up for us.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You have each other. You could have each other’s backs.”
He glances down at me, smiling crookedly. He pulls me a little closer to his side, and I revel in his warmth.
“You’re right,” he says. His voice is less tight now; some of the anger has faded from it. There’s less tension in his body, too.
We keep walking, comfortable together even though we have no particular destination in mind.
I’m starting to recognize the area, though; it’s part of midtown that I’ve walked often, one of my favorite parts of the city.
When I head out for the night, I often get off the metro a few stops early just to walk through here.
We pass by a familiar cross street, and I pause at the corner of the intersection, staring down at my favorite block in all of Manhattan.
The buildings here are all older than the fresh, modern-looking high-rises that have started to crop up around the city. The storefronts have brick facades, and there’s beautiful molding around all of the windows. Trees line the sidewalks. I’ve seen them flower in the springtime.
Reed slows down beside me, giving me a curious look. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, tearing my gaze away from the street.
“No, seriously. What’s up?”
I sigh, looking down at the sidewalk beneath our feet. “I always used to walk past this street. The buildings are so fancy… I always used to daydream about having a shop, right there.”
I lift my hand to point at the building that always caught my eye the most—one with an ivy trellis and a door painted white. A smile creeps across Reed’s face as he looks at it.
“A little boutique,” I say, “where I could sell the stuff I knit. I know everyone sells online these days, but… I liked to fantasize about having a brick-and-mortar store, too. I’d… I’d put flower boxes in the windows, and…”
I trail off as I realize that he’s staring at me, and heat rushes through my face. I drop my gaze quickly. For some reason, the confession is deeply embarrassing.
“What?” I say, defensive.
“Nothing,” he replies with a gentle laugh. “Tell me more.”
He seems sincere, so I hesitantly say, “I… I always liked the kinds of places with chalkboard art on their open signs. I’d keep the door and windows open on nice days, and… I’d have some products available in-store, but I’d take customs, too.”
Cautiously, I look back up to meet his gaze and realize that his eyes are bright with warmth.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For turning this from a nightmare into something great.”
He puts his hand on my waist and leans down to kiss me. I stand on my toes to meet him, and delight in the softness of his lips, the touch of his fingers as they brush my face.