Page 138 of The Temporary Fiancée
We lie on our sides, facing each other, our hands finding each other on the mattress between us. I hook my leg over his. He’s warm and steady against me, and the weight of his arm draped over my waist makes me feel safer than I have in a long time.
His eyes hold mine, and there’s something in his expression I haven’t seen before. Something that makes my heart kick against my ribs and my throat go tight all over again. There are a million words I want to say to him, but they all get caught somewhere behind my ribs.
If I can’t tell him how much I care about him, I’ll just show him. I draw myself closer, my hand sliding up to his jaw as my mouth finds his. His tongue parts my lips, his arm tightens around my waist, and our bodies press together until there’s no space left between us at all.
Chapter 30
Reed
It’smy first day back after spending four blissful, incredible days on the island, and I’m having trouble adjusting. It was hard enough to focus on workbeforeI took that vacation with Olivia. Now, in its aftermath, I feel as though my brain is full of static.
I’ve been in the office for two hours, but it feels like it’s been at least six. Or maybe it’s been five minutes, based on the amount of work I’ve actually managed to get done.
No matter what I do, I can’t drag myself out of the memories of my time with Olivia at the villa. The entire getaway keeps replaying on a loop in my mind. The sex, obviously, is a major distraction, but I can’t stop thinking about the conversations either. The way she smiled, her face lit by the light from the pool.
The way she looked at me, when I told her the truth about my married ex.
I was worried that she would judge me, but instead, she just reassured me. She, unlike the rest of the world, seems entirely willing to consider my past just that: the past.
Since that moment, I’ve felt like I was walking on air. Like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
A text from my assistant startles me out of my reverie, a reminder for my ten o’clock meeting. Of course. This one’simportant too. I can’t afford to miss it. It’s with a few shareholders from another hotel chain who are interested in a potential merger.
This sort of meeting is usually the purview of a CEO, but I promised the board that I would handle it myself, so I really can’t afford to fuck this up.
I gather my things, tucking a laptop under one arm to take notes during the meeting, and leave my office. The meeting is taking place a few floors down. As I cross the floor to the elevator, I look over at my father’s office and catch his eye through the glass window beside his door.
When I arrive at the conference room, the shareholders are already there, sipping from Styrofoam cups of coffee. They look up as I enter and take my place at the head of the table.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, folding my hands together and leaning forward. “How are we doing today?”
There’s a chorus of greetings from the group.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” I offer them all a winning smile, which a few of them return. These types of people don’t care to beat around the bush. They’re here for one reason, and one reason only.
“Sounds great,” says one of the shareholders, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. “We were looking at the numbers from your California locations, and we noticed that?—”
Before he can finish his sentence, the door to the conference room swings open. I swivel in my chair, surprised and more than a little annoyed. Everyone at this company knows better than to interrupt a meeting once it’s underway.
Especiallymy assistant, who stands in the doorway nervously, her hands wrung together. She’s not the type to barge into a conference room—she knows that this particular meeting is of utmost importance, too.
“Marjorie,” I say, doing my best to keep my annoyance at the interruption out of my voice. I’ve been distracted lately, and I feel the need to work extra hard to make up for it, but I still don’t want to inadvertently snap at my staff. “Do you need something? We have a meeting in progress, here, so?—”
“Yes, sir,” Marjorie says nervously. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just received a phone call for you, and figured you wouldn’t want this news delayed.”
Something in her tone gives me pause. She seems distressed. I glance at the shareholders, some of whom are fidgeting restlessly in their seats, then back to Marjorie. “What is it?”
“It’s Olivia, sir,” she says. “She’s been in a car accident.”
Immediately, my blood runs cold, as if ice water has been injected into my veins. I stand up abruptly, bracing my hands on the table.
My only coherent thought isI need to get to her.
“Where is she?”
“She’s at the hospital. I thought you might want to?—”
“Call a car for me,” I demand, pacing to the door. “I’m going there.”
