Page 166 of The Temporary Fiancée
Something shifts in my chest. This isn’t a social visit. I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts across me before I can speak.
“I’ll offer you ten million dollars to step out of my son’s life.”
I close my mouth, my teeth clicking together in shock. After a moment, I manage to stammer, “Y-you—what?”
“Fade away into the background. Let the family choose a better wife for him.”
I’m stunned—speechless. I have no idea how to react to this, even though I can tell he’s waiting for a response.
After a few seconds of silence, he folds his arms and says, “It would be better this way. You’ll be set for life, and you can leave my son alone.”
His condescending tone makes my hackles rise, but I don’t dare snap at him like I want to. Instead, I just stare at him, feeling sick to my stomach.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a slip of paper, which he sets on the coffee table.
“That’s a check for ten million,” he says. “I’ll leave this with you.”
He turns away, back toward the elevator, and I remain on the couch, motionless. Frozen in place.
I can’t see the elevator doors closing, but I can hear the chime and the low rumble. Lionel doesn’t say another word as he leaves, and even after he’s gone, I can’t bring myself to relax.
I stare at the check. I don’t want to touch it; I feel like it would burn my skin. I sit and watch it, though, feeling as if the entire world is tilting around me.
There’s only one thing for it. I need to talk to Reed. I won’t be able to move on from this until I’ve spoken to him about it. He needs to know what just happened.
I force myself to stand, scooping up the check and shoving it into my pocket. Then I grab my phone from the couch cushions and dial Reed’s number.
I wait anxiously to hear his voice, but he doesn’t answer. I get his voicemail, but don’t bother to leave a message.
Instead, I pace the apartment, doing my best to calm down. I try everything that I can think of.
I spend a few minutes knitting, but my hands are shaking, and I don’t want to mess up my project. I try drinking some tea, but it does nothing to soothe the worry in my gut.
I need to talk to him. I need him to know about this.
After around half an hour of anxious fretting, I give up. I grab my stuff and head for the elevator. I don’t want to let my panic spiral any further, and there’s one surefire way to address this: to bring it up with Reed directly.
When I arrive at Reed’s office, I take the elevator straight to his floor. Marjorie, at her desk, looks up and makes eye contact with me, smiling. She waves me back, and with a grateful nod, I head past her, toward the slightly-ajar door of Reed’s office.
As I near the door, I hear voices. Two, drifting out into the hallway.
“—time for you to face that fact, son.” It’s Lionel. He must have come straight back here after leaving the apartment. At the sound of his voice, I instinctively bristle.
Reed doesn’t respond. The silence lasts for almost a full second, and I slow down, lingering outside the door. Whatever this is, I don’t want to interrupt it. Not while Lionel is here.
“It’s for the good of the entire family, and your image,” Lionel adds. “You know that you made a rash choice, and the only reason I didn’t put my foot down to stop you was because I knew that it had anenddate. That there was documentation protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” Reed says, a note of bitterness in his voice. “Is that what this is about?”
My heart thuds in my chest as I realize that they’re talking about me. I lean in closer to the door, willing myself to breathe quietly—I don’t want them to know I’m here.
“Of course.” I hear some shifting sounds, as if Lionel is pacing up and down one side of the office. “At the end of the day, I think you and I both know that the Quinn girl isn’t wife material.”
I catch my breath, waiting for his response. There’s a long pause, and enough anxiety fills me that I start to feel dizzy.
Then Reed says, “No. Olivia isn’t… wife material.”
My chest clenches, and I stagger away from the door as if burned by it.
