Page 167 of The Temporary Fiancée
No.No.How could he say that? How could he…
The walls and floor of the hallway spin around me, and suddenly, all I can think is that I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here before I break down, and that breakdown is imminent.
Everything he told me about our future—everything he promised me—was fragile, weak, ready to collapse at the slightest pressure.
I head straight for the elevators, my gaze locked on the floor. I don’t look up at Reed’s secretary as I pass her desk; I don’t want her to see the tears gathering in my eyes.
As I break free from the Eastwood Corp building, out onto the sidewalk, I take a huge gulp of air. The tears begin to fall, slowly. Once they start, they’re impossible to stop.
God,I was so stupid. I was stupid, and idealistic, and short-sighted. I thought he loved me. I thought we had afuturetogether.
Idly, in the back of my mind, I wonder how much of our relationship was real. Out of all the times he complimented me, or told me he loved me, how many times was the sentiment genuine?
Maybe it was none.
Perhaps I’m just uniquely gullible, thinking that something this nice could ever happen to someone like me.
Chapter 39
Reed
I foldmy arms across my chest, glaring at Lionel as he paces back and forth in front of my desk. With every word out of his mouth, I’m getting more and more irritated. That’s the dance we do, me and my father; he talks, I listen, I seethe.
“I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he says. “She’s going to have you right where she wants you.”
“And is that such a bad thing?” I mutter. I’m tired of his constant insinuations about Olivia. That she’s a gold digger. That she’s using me. It needles at me, like a constant attack on my self-esteem.
Does he really think that low ofme?That a woman would only want to be with me for my money? That there’s no other possible appeal?
Lionel, if he even heard me speak at all, ignores me. “This isn’t going to be as easy to clean up as your other mistakes.”
“This isn’t a mistake.”
“There’s still time to stop it from becoming one. You need to call it off. You need a clean break, and you need to find a more suitable woman, if you’re suddenly so interested in long-term partnerships.”
“There is no ‘more suitable woman,’” I say through gritted teeth. “There’sOlivia.End of. I don’t know how many times we have to have this conversation.”
“The two of you don’t make sense on paper, I’ll tell you that much.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re my son,” Lionel says, as if the answer is obvious. “You’re the heir to Eastwood Hotels.Sheis the help’s daughter.”
There’s a derisiveness in his tone as he saysthe helpthat makes my skin crawl, and suddenly, I have to restrain myself from leaping out of my chair and lunging at him.
Instead, I clear my throat. When I speak, my voice is calm, but cold. “You should watch what you say about Olivia. That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”
My father scoffs, shaking his head, like I just made an unfunny joke. “Oh, please.”
“I’m serious.”
He purses his lips, his tone frosty when he speaks again. “She’s not the right woman for you. She could never havebeenthe right woman for you, and it’s time for you to face that fact, son.”
I sit quietly, glaring at him. I don’t know what to say, but I can tell he has more of this nonsense in him. Better to let him spew all of it, rather than letting him interrupt me when I try to argue.
“It’s for the good of the entire family, and your image. 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.”
At that—the insinuation that my father cares a single iota aboutme,about protectingme—I can’t help but retort, “Protecting me? Is that what this is about?”
