Chapter 20 #2
She smiles, though it’s a little uncertain. “If you say so. Do you wanna move to the living room? We should probably get these plates cleaned up.”
“Sure.” I get to my feet, but I’m moving like a zombie as we clear off the table.
What the hell is wrong with me? She would be easy to fall in love with? Am I losing it?
It’s such a strange thing for me to think. I’ve never been one to think about women that way. In the past, all of my flings have been just that—flings. Simple. No feelings, no issues.
Well, plenty of issues, I guess, but never because I had caught feelings.
I’m shocked by the thought, and unnerved, even as Olivia and I head to the living room and settle onto the couches. She keeps talking, but I can tell that she’s sensed the change in me. She seems hesitant now, and there’s a part of me that feels a pang at that.
I want to reassure her. I want to talk lightly with her, just like we were doing before.
But I can’t.
It occurs to me that Olivia may have been right from the beginning, when she insisted that we avoid sex while living together.
The sex is muddling things for me. Making me think things I shouldn’t. It’s never been an issue before, so I didn’t know to expect it, but now…
Cole and Declan were right, too. The thought makes me cringe, gritting my teeth. They were right, and I didn’t listen to them. Any of them.
I need to put some space between us, before it’s too late.
Olivia is still talking—about the wedding, now. “I was thinking about what your mom said last night. About the wedding planning. I’m a little nervous about it, to be honest. Like… I know it might make things easier to accept her help, but—”
“Trust me,” I say reflexively. She looks surprised that I’ve cut her off—I’ve been quiet for the past few minutes, I guess. “It won’t be so bad.”
She purses her lips, then sighs. “Yeah, I guess not. And I can see what your father means—it does have to be a bit of a spectacle, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Before I can change my mind, I decide to start establishing that distance now. “But don’t worry. We can count on our contract. We can both walk away from this after six months are up, no harm, no foul. Go back to our regular lives.”
I watch Olivia’s face carefully for any signs of disappointment, but her expression is suddenly mask-like. She nods in agreement. “Yeah. That’ll be a relief.”
I exhale quietly. “Yeah.”
It’s silent between us for a long moment—possibly even several minutes.
I feel a little bad for bringing up the contract, since it definitely took the wind out of our sails, but it was necessary.
It was a reminder of what we’re doing here, a reminder that this is temporary, and that no feelings are supposed to get involved.
After a while, Olivia speaks up again. “So what does our schedule look like for the rest of the week?”
With this topic of conversation, I can feel the distance start to settle. I feel a pang of guilt at pushing Olivia away, but at least she picked up what I was putting down. I tell myself that it will be easier this way. Much easier.
I clear my throat. “Well, I have a fairly busy week at work, but I know that PR is going to want at least a couple of public appearances from us. Probably a dinner out on Friday. And, of course, you have the wedding planner at the country club tomorrow.”
I’m expecting Olivia to pull a face at that—she’s going to attend that meeting with my mother, and I know she’s dreading it. But her expression remains neutral. Professional.
“Right,” Olivia says. “I have it down in my calendar, don’t worry.”
“A driver will come to pick you up for it.”
“Sounds good.”
We lapse into silence again. Eventually, Olivia stands.
“It’s getting late,” she says. “I’m off to bed.”
“Yeah, me too. Probably for the best.”
She starts down the hallway, toward her bedroom. I want nothing more than to follow her; for a moment, I’m sorely tempted to give up on the careful space I’d created, and rush after her. Scoop her up in my arms. Throw her down on the bed.
But instead, I turn to my room. Before I’m halfway down the hall, I hear her door close.
No sex tonight. Frustration prickles beneath my skin.
I almost regret it. But a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Declan reminds me: it’s for the best.
Olivia
The meeting with Cecily weighs heavily on my mind for the entire next morning. Reed’s reminder last night wasn’t necessary; I hadn’t fully been able to put it out of my mind, despite my best efforts.
I sit on the couch by myself, knitting and doing my best not to let the turmoil of my thoughts mess up this sweater. Cecily and the wedding planner are my foremost concern, but I also can’t stop thinking about how strange Reed was acting last night.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he seemed uncomfortable. He was colder than usual, and I can’t figure out why.
When the intercom buzzes, it makes me jump. I’ve never been alone before when someone has come calling. Confused, I shuffle over to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Quinn,” Henry replies through the speaker, his voice cordial. “There was a package delivered to the two of you. Would you mind coming down to pick it up?”
“Not at all. I’ll be down in a minute.” I slide on my slippers, which are on the floor next to the elevator. I guess if I’m home by myself, the least I can do is pick up Reed’s mail.
When I get down into the lobby, Henry hands me the package with a broad grin. “A little engagement gift, is it?”
I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”
He gestures to the box. To my surprise, it’s addressed to me—and stamped with the name of a department store I recognize on Fifth Avenue. What in the world…?
I force a smile. “I guess so.”
The second I get back to Reed’s penthouse, I race for the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors. I tear the package open.
Inside, there’s a folded jacket. It’s beautiful—black wool, with a soft lining. It looks warm, too, perfect for the bitterly cold city winters. I lift it up, letting it fall to its full length. It’ll come almost to my knees.
I blink at it, a little surprised. This is such a lovely gift—one of the nicest things anyone’s ever gotten for me, in fact, excluding all of the other lavish presents I’ve gotten from Reed.
But this isn’t even like those gifts. This is just… random. It wasn’t part of our contract, or related to the fake wedding we’re trying to piece together. It’s something he got for me because he was thinking about me, and he knew I didn’t have a good coat.
I’m touched by that realization, and taken aback. It’s such a sharp contrast to the way he was acting last night.
He distanced himself from me, and I know it was intentional. The way he brought up the contract… it was an obvious, purposeful reminder that our arrangement has an end date, and that he expects to walk away from me when this is all over.
I wasn’t surprised when he went straight to his room after we talked. But now… I don’t know what to think.
I glance at the windows, taking in the overcast, gray sky.
It looks cold today, and it’s been cold for the past two days.
I need to head out in a few minutes if I want to be on time to meet with Cecily and the wedding planner—and the last thing I want is to be late to that meeting. I’ll never hear the end of it.
I look back down at the coat in my hands. I definitely don’t have anything warm enough for today. If this was a gift, I’m sure it’s fine for me to wear it, right?
I don’t have time to second-guess myself, so I slip it on over my shoulders and head for my bedroom to grab my bag. The inner lining of the coat is so silky and comfortable. Mentally, I remind myself to thank Reed.
Reed’s second driver is waiting for me at the curb next to The Luxe, standing outside of the open door of a black Cadillac. I climb into the backseat, drawing the coat tightly around myself—yeah, it was a good choice to wear it. It’s cold enough that, at least for now, I have no regrets.
It’s a long drive to the club, which is outside of the city, on Long Island.
I watch the skyline slide by out of the windows, trying to relax and enjoy the ride.
It’s difficult, though. I don’t normally get carsick, but between the long drive and my nerves, I’m not exactly at one hundred percent by the time the Cadillac rolls toward the country club’s gate.
My heart is in my throat as I take in the rolling acres of golf courses. I can tell I’m about to stick out like a sore thumb here; it’s the kind of place where I could only imagine being an employee.
Reed’s driver drops me off in front of the club’s main building. I’m supposed to be meeting Cecily—and Cecily’s celebrity wedding planner—for lunch on the second floor.
There’s a reception desk in the lobby, flanked on either side by wide staircases with polished wood banisters.
Part of the second floor hallway is visible from the entrance.
Everything is outlined in reddish oak, and there are oil paintings on the walls, depicting various scenes of riders on horseback.
Yeah… this is intimidating.
Nerves churn in my stomach at the thought of approaching the front desk. I’m not a member of this club; what if they turn me away immediately? But to my surprise, an attendant in a suit approaches me before I can work up the courage.
“You must be Miss Quinn,” she says warmly. “Right this way. Mrs. Eastwood is waiting for you.”
I nod, falling in step behind her. As we ascend the staircase, I frantically check my cell phone to make sure I’m not late. I still have five minutes; Cecily must be really early.
The attendant brings me into an airy, bright ballroom that’s bustling with activity. Waiters trot back and forth, bringing cocktails and salads to the round tables scattered throughout the open space.
I spot Cecily in the center of the room, sitting with her arms folded like she’s somehow already angry. Her lips are pressed into a thin line.