Page 174 of The Temporary Fiancée
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 checkIwrote 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. Alongsilence. 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.
