Page 111 of The Temporary Fiancée
“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 forcemyself 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.
“Of course,” says Maisy. She glances at me. “So. Olivia. This morning, an interview was released in theGazettethat featured your former employer, Mr. Martin Keller. In this interview, he claims that, during your tenure in his firm, you made inappropriate advances toward him. Can you please tell me what your reaction was to seeing this article?”
I collect myself, doing my best to keep my cool. Even though I know this interview will be in writing, I don’t want my voice to shake. Below the table, Reed squeezes my hand for support, and I flash him a grateful look.
“Mr. Keller’s claims have come as quite a shock to me,” I say carefully, “seeing as they have absolutely no basis in the truth.”
“You’re saying he’s lying?”
“Yes, I am. He painted a completely inaccurate picture of the situation. And I appreciate this opportunity to set the record straight, Ms. O’Conner. I don’t want to let this man tarnish my reputation—nor Reed’s.”
“Of course not,” Maisy says, jotting a few notes down. “How long did you work for Mr. Keller, and in what capacity?”
“A few years. I was his personal assistant—I worked directly under him.”
“I see. And can you give me some idea of the culture in that workplace?”
I take a deep breath to steel myself, then launch into an explanation of everything that happened in Keller’s office. I startout with the nasty, snide comments, his dismissive attitude, and the hostility with which he treated all of his employees.
