Chapter 40 #2
“No, thanks,” I say icily. “And, please, if you don’t mind—keep me out of your infidelities in the future, thank you. I’m going to be married soon.”
I storm away from the table, leaving Eleanor speechless in my wake. It was a bad idea to come out tonight. I know that Shane will be looking for me, but I’ll text him from the car. I’ll let him know what’s going on.
I ring up my driver, and a few minutes later, my car is idling outside of the front doors.
“Where to, Mr. Eastwood?” my driver asks as I climb into the back seat.
“Home,” I respond.
“You sure?” He glances at me in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you want to go out tonight?”
“Definitely not,” I say with a sigh. “I’m not really feeling in a party mood. I’ll watch the fireworks from The Luxe.”
“If you say so.”
By the time the elevator doors open and I stumble out into my apartment, though, I’m not feeling up to even fireworks. All I want to do is be with Olivia, and that’s not an option.
Almost subconsciously, I wander down the hall toward Olivia’s room. She left most of her stuff here when she disappeared, and I haven’t been able to contact her to return it, so it remains where it was.
I sink down onto the corner of the bed, breathing in deeply. It feels good to be here, surrounded by Olivia’s things and Olivia’s scent. I can still smell faint traces of her shampoo and her perfume.
I flop down onto my back, resting my head against the pillows. As I turn to the side, I notice something.
There are two slips of paper lying on Olivia’s bedside table. Checks.
Immediately, I sit bolt upright, my heart pounding, and snatch up the checks. I scan the paper, eyes wide.
The first is a check for ten million dollars, written and signed by my father. It’s not endorsed. It hasn’t been cashed.
The second, tucked neatly underneath it, is a familiar sight. It’s the check I wrote for Olivia—the original million I offered her.
It’s not endorsed, either. She didn’t cash either one of these checks.
She didn’t take any of the money. Not a single cent.
I sit there, staring at the checks as if they’re somehow magical, for a long time. Slowly, then faster, something lights inside me. Something I haven’t felt in days.
Hope.
She didn’t take the money. And if she didn’t take the money… then that means…
There must have been some other reason she left. Something I don’t know about.
Frantically, I stuff the checks into my pocket and pull out my phone, dialing Riley’s number.
When she answers, her tone is flat and unforgiving. “Hello? What do you want?”
I realize, in that moment, that I haven’t spoken to Riley since Olivia left. I should have called earlier, should have tried to figure out what happened. Better late than never, though.
“Riley, it’s Reed,” I say quickly. “I need to speak to Olivia. It’s important.”
“Oh, you need to speak to Olivia? There’s a shocker.”
“I’m serious,” I beg. “Please help me out here. I just need to know where Olivia went when she left The Luxe. I swear, I won’t do anything messed up. I just want to talk to her.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. A long silence. I can practically hear Riley deliberating.
Then, at last, she sighs. “Fine. She went to her parents’ house. Where else was she going to go?”
Her tone is definitely pointed, but information is information. “Thank you, thank you,” I say. “I owe you one.”
As I hang up the phone, I glance back over at the alarm clock on the side table. It’s late, but there’s still an hour until midnight. Olivia and her family will still be awake.
There’s still time.
I run for the elevator, barely pausing long enough to remember to grab my jacket.
My driver takes me through Manhattan, and I have to fight the urge to ask him to break the speed limit. I know there’s no point, that the few minutes’ difference it would make is a useless difference, but I feel restless waiting at each and every red light.
Finally, he pulls up outside of the Quinns’ quiet house in Queens. I climb out of the car, then tap on the window of the passenger’s side. Obligingly, the driver rolls it down.
“Take a lap,” I say. “Don’t wait for me. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll let you know if I need you.”
He nods, then drives off down the street, leaving me alone on the sidewalk.
I turn toward the house, sizing it up. The snow from Christmas still hasn’t melted. It sits on the eaves of the house, crystalline and glittering in the cold. I tuck my hands into my pockets as I hesitate.
Eventually, I let out a sigh, my breath clouding in front of me, and approach the door.
I can hear noise from inside—the TV set playing the New Year’s Eve broadcast from Times Square. When I ring the doorbell, the television volume lowers.
A moment later, the door opens, and Robert Quinn stands there, giving me a quizzical look that quickly turns stern.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Is Olivia there?” I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. “I really need to talk to her.”
He scowls, his eyes narrowing, and folds his arms. “Do you, now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatever it is you want to say to her, you should’ve said it before you broke her heart, boy.”
I do my best to make level eye contact with him. He’s a protective father; of course he doesn’t want to see me, of all people, on his doorstep. But I need to talk to Olivia, and I’m not above begging.
“Sir,” I say, as respectfully as I can, “please. I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes to prove myself. I just… I need to speak to her. I need to.”
Robert sniffs, his mustache twitching. “Listen here. You don’t—”
“Dad, wait.”
My heart freezes at the sound of Olivia’s voice, then soars. She’s in there. She’ll talk to me.
Thank god.
“If you want me to chase him away,” Robert says, “just say the word, and he’s gone.”
“No, it’s okay. We can talk. Can you give us a minute?”
For a moment, he seems like he’s about to argue. Then he heaves a breath through his nose, shoots me a baleful glare, and steps back from the door.
And Olivia, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, comes into view.