Page 62 of The Temporary Fiancée
Her grin widens, and she nods. “I’ve had plenty of time for this over the past couple of weeks, that’s for sure.”
She continues knitting, the needles clicking together gently. For a few moments, I stand there, watching her. Her happiness is infectious, and it feels good to know that she has time for her passions again now that she’s not working for that fuckhead anymore.
After a little while, I speak up again. “Sorry to interrupt you, but do you think you can take a little time away from it today? I’ve got somewhere to take you, if you don’t mind.”
She looks up, her gaze sparking with curiosity. “Sure.”
I smile. It’s nice that she’s so willing to trust me, even after yesterday’s debacle.
Olivia sets her knitting project on the back of the couch, then hurries off to her room to get dressed.
While she does, I mill around in the kitchen, preparing a quick breakfast for the two of us. Nothing fancy—we don’t have time. Just some toast and hazelnut spread, served with some fresh fruit and black coffee. We practically eat on the go, pouring the coffee into some thermoses to get out of the apartment faster.
The whole time, Olivia peppers me with questions about where we’re headed, but I keep resolutely silent.
“It’s a surprise,” I tell her each time she asks. She doesn’t seem put out about it, and after our conversation last night, she’s not wary as we head out to step into my personal sports car. In the coupe, we’ll attract a little less attention on our way out.
We drive to Mt. Sinai, past the hospital complex, and past the front of an outpatient rehab center. Olivia catches her breath as I pull into its parking garage. She rounds on me.
“What are we doing here?”
“You’ll see,” I say, unable to keep the smile off my face.
In the lobby of the building, I approach the receptionist’s desk. Olivia lingers behind me uncertainly, looking around in awe at the atrium, which features arched skylights and plenty of sculptures—the sort of fixtures that decorate the most expensive medical facilities.
“I’m here for a meeting with Dr. Greene,” I tell the receptionist, an older woman with pencil-thin curls. “My name is Reed Eastwood.”
Her eyes widen at that for an instant—clearly, she recognizes my name. But she doesn’t make a fuss, which I appreciate. Instead, she just taps at her keyboard for a few seconds, then nods.
“You’re in his calendar. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
As she picks up the phone, Olivia tugs on my sleeve. “Who’s Dr. Greene? What are we doing here?”
I gesture around at the lobby. “This place is the best center in Manhattan for neurodegenerative diseases,” I say. “I went ahead and scheduled a consultation with Dr. Greene, the director. He’s going to give us a tour of the facility and show us some treatment plans.”
Olivia gapes up at me. “Wait—what?”
“For your mom,” I say, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Oh, my god—Reed! You didn’t have to?—”
Olivia is interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Greene, a short, smiling man in his early fifties. He approaches the two of us, a hand extended, and gives us each a firm handshake.
“Welcome, welcome,” he says. “You must be Mr. Eastwood—and Ms. Quinn. Let me show you around.”
The two of us follow him away from the lobby, down a side corridor.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Greene,” Olivia says. She seems to be recovering from her surprise.
“It’s nice to meet you, as well,” he says graciously. “Mr. Eastwood told me about your situation over the phone. Our clinic specializes in the treatment of individuals just like your mother. Multiple sclerosis is one of the most common conditions we see in our patients.”
Dr. Greene takes us around the facility, pointing out the in-patient hospital rooms, which are luxury suites compared to the ones at a regular hospital. He shows us the clinic’s physical therapy center, which includes a heated, in-ground pool.
“Our clinic is a licensed provider of mesenchymal stem cell therapy,” Dr. Greene tells us. “It’s a cutting-edge new treatment for MS that has been proven to help reduce disability in patients—without the need for invasive procedures. Our approach is holistic. We try to approach rehab from every possible angle.”
Olivia is wide-eyed, taking everything in as we move through the clinic. Eventually, Dr. Greene leads us to his office and sits us down in the comfortable chairs in front of his desk.
“So—first things first,” he says, turning to Olivia. “Do you have any questions for me?”
