Page 42 of The Temporary Fiancée
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m… I’m fine.”
He sits down beside me again, glaring back at the legal team. “Let’s take this from the top. And this time, you’re not going to accuse my fiancé of any improprieties.”
There are more than a few raised eyebrows at that, but none of the legal team comments. Instead, they all flip through their files, discarding their copies of the contract that Reed tore up.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to him in an undertone. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re my wife,” he answers. “I’m not going to let anyone disrespect you.”
I frown at him, surprised at the way he’s talking. I’m not his wife yet, for one thing, but even when I am, it’s all going to be fake.
Nonetheless, his protectiveness means something to me. I feel stronger, knowing that he has my back.
Reed turns back to the legal team, his posture upright and intimidating. “So. If you would all please turn your attention back to our original contract…”
The meeting lasts for hours,and by the time we step outside, the sun is already low in the sky. The rest of the conference with legal was just as stressful as the start, but at least I had Reed beside me for it.
He fended off most of the audacious requests from the lawyers, and ignored at least three work calls to do it. As we wait in the lobby for the valet to return Reed’s car, I can feel his eyes on me.
“You seem tired,” he ventures as the car rolls up outside of the glass doors. “Are you alright?”
“Of course,” I say, getting to my feet. I’m exhausted enough that I’m a little wobbly on my heels, but I manage to keep my balance—I have years of practice to thank for that.
“Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow, walking beside me. “That meeting was… a real pain in the ass.” He hesitates, then adds, “I know we’re supposed to head to your parents’ place for dinner, but if you aren’t feeling up to it, we can always reschedule.”
I shake my head adamantly. The PR team has scheduled the announcement for tomorrow night, which means it’s my last chance to make sure that my parents get the news from me.
“Olivia, it’s okay if?—”
“I need to tell my parents,” I say. Reed holds the passenger door for me, and I slide into the car. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, I turn to him and add, “I’ve always been close with them. It’s bad enough that I’m lying to them about the real reason for this engagement. I can’t keep them in the dark about this any more than I have to.”
To my relief, Reed doesn’t argue. He just nods. “Okay. I get it. Do you need anything before we go, though? A cup of coffee, maybe? There’s a cappuccino machine in the lobby.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say. “The drive will keep me awake.”
“You sure about that?” Reed says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “What if you find the drive relaxing?”
“In this city?” I snort. “Inthiscar? I don’t think so. It’s not exactly a smooth ride.”
“It has a sport suspension,” Reed says indignantly, rubbing a hand over the sleek dashboard. “It’ssupposedto be a little bumpy.”
“So you admit that it’s a little bumpy.”
Reed makes a big show of huffing, and I laugh, already feeling a little enlivened now that we’re away from the Eastwood lawyers.
“Well,” Reed says, once he’s done pantomiming his distress, “I know a good way to keep you awake.”
With that, he turns on the radio, and the car fills with the sound of static. He fiddles with the dials until he reaches a station that’s blaring classic rock.
“Loud music… windows down… that ought to keep you alert,” he says with a smile. “Any objections to the station?”
I shake my head. “Nope. This is fine by me.”
With that, Reed pulls away from the Eastwood building, joining the flow of post-rush hour traffic; the streets are full of vehicles, but moving at a steady pace instead of the gridlock it would’ve been a couple hours ago. Maybe late-running meetings are good for something, after all.
Reed takes us to Queens via the Williamsburg Bridge. Halfway over the bridge, as I’m staring at the sunset over the East River, the song changes on the radio to a tune I recognize. I can’t remember who the song is by, but I know the words, and I sing quietly under my breath as it plays.
Reed glances at me out of the corner of his eye, smiling, and I falter a little, self-conscious. I know I’m a terrible singer. But there’s no judgment in his amber-flecked eyes, only warmth.
