Chapter 24
Olivia
Reed’s plan starts with an interview. I’ve suspected that something like this was coming for a while, and dreading it the whole time. I didn’t think it would happen so soon, though.
When he gets off the phone and leaves his home office, he tells me that he’s scheduled the interview for later in the same day.
“We need to move fast on this,” he explains. “Quickly, before people lose interest in the story. PR wants us on top of this, and we need to take control of it.”
I nod in silent agreement, but I’m beyond nervous. There’s an unpleasant feeling in my stomach as the two of us get in the elevator. Riley stays behind in the penthouse. She’s on the phone with Cole, explaining to him what happened.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I mutter as the elevator doors open. I’ve changed into a dress for the interview, and I nervously tug at the fabric. Outside of the glass front doors of The Luxe, I can see one of Reed’s cars idling at the curb—the coupe. He must be driving me himself.
“You can do this.” He reaches out and gives my shoulder a squeeze. After the past few days, it’s hard to admit how comforting that is. “And I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
“But I’m so upset. They’re all going to be able to see that.”
“Of course you’re upset,” he says. “Your ex-boss lied about you to the entire world. You want to set the record straight.”
He seems agitated, tense. His jaw is tight with what seems like anger, but at least he’s not angry at me—and his anger on my behalf is actually reassuring.
“Who is this interview with?” I ask.
“Maisy O’Conner,” Reed replies. He pulls a slight grimace, then sighs. “She’s a seasoned reporter who wrote an article on me a few years ago. The article, actually.”
Despite the situation, a reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Wait. You don’t mean ‘We Need To Talk About Reed Eastwood,’ do you?”
He groans, rubbing his forehead. “The one and only. Don’t tell me you’ve read it.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I think everyone’s read it.”
“I can’t stand that article,” he mutters. For a moment, it’s funny to me, but the laughter dies in my throat when I remember what’s happening to me. If we don’t get this situation under control, this could be my version of that nightmare. Only everything Keller said about me is a lie.
And now I’m back to feeling sick to my stomach.
Reed opens the passenger door of the car for me, then goes to take the wheel. As he starts the car, he explains, “My father had Maisy on deck for an interview. It was supposed to be in a few weeks, but… PR had it moved up.”
I nod, fidgeting restlessly, as he puts the car into drive and takes off down the street. For a few minutes of the drive, he’s silent, but as we roll to a stop at a red light, I can feel his eyes on me.
“Riley said there were texts from your old boss. Evidence. What kinds of things would he say?”
I let out a breath. “Oh, you know.” I try to wave it off, but there’s a little tremor in my voice. “The typical stuff. Coming on to me. Asking me to dinner. Telling me he liked the way my ass looked in a skirt.”
At that, his lip curls in disgust. “He said that?”
“Once.”
“When did that start?”
“He only started to get sexually inappropriate toward the end of my time there,” I admit. “I didn’t stick around long after those types of messages started coming in. I didn’t feel safe in that workplace anymore.”
“So he didn’t always do it?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head even though his eyes are fixed on the road. “But he was always an asshole, right from the beginning. He was cruel, always too hard on everyone, and he never listened to a single word I said.”
The way that Keller ignored me was all too familiar; the man was a classic misogynist, right from the start. I would have quit soon after getting the job, but I needed the work too badly. With my mother sick and my father struggling, I didn’t feel I could afford to be picky.
If I’d known what a mess it would cause, I would’ve walked straight out of those doors without a second thought.
“What do you mean, cruel?”
“He was just… mean to people. He was a nasty piece of work, you know? If he had a bad day, he made it everyone’s problem. He came down too hard on all of his employees, but the women most of all. I saw him make one of his secretaries cry once.”
Reed’s grip tightens on the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. When I turn to look at him, I can see the building anger in his eyes, like a storm ready to break. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”
I shrug. “It’s nothing that others haven’t dealt with.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I know. It’s just… I needed the money. I couldn’t leave.”
“That makes it worse,” he says through gritted teeth. “The fact that you felt trapped there. He probably knew it, too.”
“He did,” I sigh. “He knew my mother was sick. He held it over my head all the time, to be honest. Threatened to fire me constantly, even though he never actually would. He needed me too badly.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Tense. His eyes are narrowed.
Then he says, “I want to make sure that you never have to work a job like that again. Even after our arrangement is over.”
The reminder of our short term agreement stings a little, but that sting is eased by the obvious protectiveness in his voice. His anger is fueled directly by warmth, and some of the ice that was between us melts away.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I’m serious,” he replies. His gaze slides away from the road for a moment to meet mine. “That man is a total fucking asshole for treating you like that.”
The fury in his voice takes me aback. I’ve seen him angry before, of course—when he snapped at his father at dinner, or when he pulled me away from the dance floor at the party. But never like this. This… this is something else entirely.
“Yeah, I… I know,” I say, staring at my hands.
“He needs to go down for this.”
I’m trying to formulate a reply when the car pulls up in front of a building’s glass facade. “This is the place,” he says, opening his door.
The Post’s offices are bustling as we step inside the building, but Reed ignores the chaos. He cuts a clean path through the lobby, straight to the front desk, where he gets a receptionist’s attention.
“Excuse me,” he says, polite despite the urgency in his tone. “We’re here to see Maisy O’Conner for an interview.”
“Reed Eastwood?”
When he nods, the receptionist stands, gesturing for us to follow her as she skirts around the desk.
“Right this way. Ms. O’Conner is waiting for you upstairs.”
Maisy O’Conner’s office is in the corner of her floor, which must have been a reward for good journalism. The walls are lined with framed certificates and plaques—various industry awards for her work.
She sits behind the desk, looking every bit as seasoned as the honors on her wall would suggest. She’s older, probably in her fifties, with streaks of gray through her red, wavy bob. She wears rectangular-framed, purple glasses that make me think of a librarian’s.
When she looks up at us, she smiles. It’s a warm expression, though there’s something in her keen gaze that makes me think of a shark.
She gestures to the two plush chairs in front of her desk. “Please, come sit.”
Reed holds out a hand to take mine, and we both cross the room to sit down in front of Maisy.
“It’s nice to see you in here, Mr. Eastwood,” she says, flashing another toothy grin. “I have to say, I was a little surprised to get that call from your father. I’d have thought I was the last reporter you’d want anywhere near you.”
“The past is in the past,” he replies evenly. “Besides, you’re clearly not my biggest fan. Maybe this will be a good chance to turn over a new leaf.”
“A new leaf,” she echoes, amused. “Indeed. And this must be your lovely fiancé, then.” She turns her gaze on me, and I force myself not to shrink back. She seems to notice how nervous I am, and her smile softens, becoming more sympathetic. “It’s alright, dear. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Just… are we on the record now? I don’t know how this works.”
“No, you’re not on the record yet,” she replies. “I don’t even have my recorder on. I wanted to greet both of you before we got started. Of course, it’s common courtesy to ask if there are any subjects that are off-limits during this sort of interview.”
“None that I can think of,” I say, glancing uncertainly at Reed. He shakes his head.
“Are you sure?” Maisy’s probing eyes dart between the two of us. “Even after that article that came out in the Gazette this morning?”
“That’s definitely on the table,” Reed mutters. “Please bring that up.”
“We were hoping to talk about it,” I explain. “I need to set the record straight, if I can.”
“Of course.” Maisy stands from behind her desk, collecting a notepad and a small, handheld recorder. She gestures over at a table in the corner of her office. “Let’s head over here for the interview. I’ll have an intern bring us some tea. Make yourselves comfortable, please.”
We get settled around the table. Our fingers remain laced together all the while, even though Maisy can’t see our hands below the table. An intern brings in a teapot with steam piping from the spout, and Maisy pours us each a cup of lemon-scented tea.
“Okay,” she says, starting her tape recorder. “Testing, one-two, one-two. Maisy O’Conner, with Reed Eastwood and Olivia Quinn.” She sets the device on the table, then looks up at us with a charming grin. “Please, pretend it’s not even there. Talk to me, not the recorder.”
“Sounds good,” Reed says. I wonder how he can be so calm about this. My heart is in my throat.
“Okay. So, to get things started, we should probably address the elephant in the room, shouldn’t we?”
“We’d like that,” Reed says, smiling. The shift in his demeanor is sudden. Now that the tape recorder is rolling, he seems to have stowed away his anger—all business. Dealing with the situation at hand in his usual, charming way.