Page 6 of The Temporary Fiancée
Riley inhales sharply and is quiet for a moment. Then she says, “Honestly? I’m proud of you.”
“Okay, okay, you’re proud of me, sure—I’m proud of myself! But I’m alsocompletely screwed.I’m gonna bebroke.How the hell am I going to support myself after this, let alone?—”
“You’re rambling. Take a deep breath,” Riley advises me. I swallow, then do my best to comply, sucking in a breath through my mouth. The air tastes stale and metallic down here.
“What am I gonnado?” I say.
“Listen, I’m home right now, if you need to talk. Come over, and we’ll figure this out, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”
I nod, even though I know she can’t see me—it’s mostly to calm myself down. I feel a little better already just talking to her.
“Okay,” I sniff. “Thank you. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“I’ll get ready for a budgeting session,” Riley says.
Riley livesin a brownstone on a quiet street on the Upper East Side. She’s been living with her fiancé, Cole, since before the two of them even got together: she was a nanny for his kid, Archie, who she is now in the process of formally adopting.
Cole and Archie are out at the moment, at his preschool’s field day. This information comes as a relief. It would be fine if they were around, but if it’s just Riley, I’ll be able to say whatever comes to mind without making sure it’s kid-friendly first.
The Sullivans’ house is, as always, impressive. The garden out front is well-kept, and when Riley invites me inside, the foyer is clean and bright, the wood gleaming.
Luckily, I’m at least somewhat used to the lifestyle of the wealthy, so I’m not too uncomfortable sitting down in Cole’s kitchen, letting Riley serve me a scoop of cherry-flavored gelato. My gaze does linger on a few of the fixtures of the house, though—mostly the artwork.
There’s no real art in my place, only some cheap prints and posters. But Riley is an art enthusiast, and Cole has the means to get his hands on original paintings.
“So,” Riley says, settling at the counter next to me with her own cup of gelato. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I explain everything that happened, the tight feeling in my chest growing with each new sentence. Riley looks at me sympathetically.
“He’s disgusting,” she says once I’m finished. “You did the right thing. You don’t have to stand for that.”
I brush a tear out of the corner of my eye.I can’t cry. I don’t have time to cry right now.“But that’s the thing. I think Idohave to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did the math on my way over here. The way things have been going, I think I have enough saved up to get me through three months—and that’sifthere are no drastic expenses. I don’t know if that’s long enough to get a new job.”
“I don’t see why not,” Riley says cautiously.
“Let me show you what I’m up against.” I grab one of Cole’s legal pads, lying on the counter—he won’t mind, he has over a dozen of them—and start to scribble down all of my expenses. Rent, groceries, bills. The amount that I send my parents monthly.
“Three months is plenty of time.”
I shake my head. “If I don’t figure this out, I’m totally broke.”
“I can’t take chances on something as important as this.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but I can’t seem to inhale slowly enough. I can’t believe it—I’m really going to cry. OverKeller.“I’m never going to be able to get a job that pays as much as Keller did?—”
“Why not?”
“I won’t have a good letter of recommendation. That’s the whole reason I’d never quit before; he wouldneverrecommend me for anything, especially not after what just happened.”
Riley’s brow furrows in worry. “It’s gonna be okay. Just—calm down. Let me get you a glass of water, or something.”
While Riley gets up and goes over to the fridge, I keep babbling. “I turned him down, and now he’ll never give me a letter of recommendation—and I wouldn’t be surprised if he ruins my chances of employment. I can’t put his number down or anything. My resume is totally screwed. What if someone calls him, and he says that I?—”
“Olivia,” Riley interrupts, “take it easy.” She sets a glass of water on the granite countertop, then wraps her arms around me, holding me tightly. The hug was exactly what I needed. I was about to fall to pieces.
“I’ve fucked myself over so bad,” I say, my voice muffled by her shoulder. “And I screwed my parents, too. My mom’s not getting any better. They need my help.”
