Page 93 of The Temporary Fiancée
When I get down into the lobby, Henry hands me the package with a broad grin. “A little engagement gift, is it?”
I frown, confused. “What do you mean?”
He gestures to the box. To my surprise, it’s addressed to me—and stamped with the name of a department store I recognize on Fifth Avenue.What in the world…?
I force a smile. “I guess so.”
The second I get back to Reed’s penthouse, I race for the kitchen to grab a pair of scissors. I tear the package open.
Inside, there’s a folded jacket. It’s beautiful—black wool, with a soft lining. It looks warm, too, perfect for the bitterly cold city winters. I lift it up, letting it fall to its full length. It’ll come almost to my knees.
I blink at it, a little surprised. This is such a lovely gift—one of the nicest things anyone’s ever gotten for me, in fact, excluding all of the other lavish presents I’ve gotten from Reed.
But this isn’t even likethosegifts. This is just… random. It wasn’t part of our contract, or related to the fake wedding we’re trying to piece together. It’s something he got for me because he was thinking about me, and he knew I didn’t have a good coat.
I’m touched by that realization, and taken aback. It’s such a sharp contrast to the way he was acting last night.
He distanced himself from me, and I know it was intentional. The way he brought up the contract… it was an obvious, purposeful reminder that our arrangement has an end date, and that he expects to walk away from me when this is all over.
I wasn’t surprised when he went straight to his room after we talked. But now… I don’t know what to think.
I glance at the windows, taking in the overcast, gray sky. It looks cold today, and it’s been cold for the past two days. I need to head out in a few minutes if I want to be on time to meet with Cecily and the wedding planner—and the last thing I want is to be late tothatmeeting. I’ll never hear the end of it.
I look back down at the coat in my hands. I definitely don’t have anything warm enough for today. If this was a gift, I’m sure it’s fine for me to wear it, right?
I don’t have time to second-guess myself, so I slip it on over my shoulders and head for my bedroom to grab my bag. The inner lining of the coat is so silky and comfortable. Mentally, I remind myself to thank Reed.
Reed’s second driver is waiting for me at the curb next to The Luxe, standing outside of the open door of a black Cadillac. I climb into the backseat, drawing the coat tightly around myself—yeah, it was a good choice to wear it. It’s cold enough that, at least for now, I have no regrets.
It’s a long drive to the club, which is outside of the city, on Long Island. I watch the skyline slide by out of the windows, trying to relax and enjoy the ride. It’s difficult, though. I don’t normally get carsick, but between the long drive and my nerves, I’m not exactly at one hundred percent by the time the Cadillac rolls toward the country club’s gate.
My heart is in my throat as I take in the rolling acres of golf courses. I can tell I’m about to stick out like a sore thumb here; it’s the kind of place where I could only imagine being an employee.
Reed’s driver drops me off in front of the club’s main building. I’m supposed to be meeting Cecily—and Cecily’s celebrity wedding planner—for lunch on the second floor.
There’s a reception desk in the lobby, flanked on either side by wide staircases with polished wood banisters. Part of the second floor hallway is visible from the entrance. Everything is outlined in reddish oak, and there are oil paintings on the walls, depicting various scenes of riders on horseback.
Yeah…thisis intimidating.
Nerves churn in my stomach at the thought of approaching the front desk. I’m not a member of this club; what if they turn me away immediately? But to my surprise, an attendant in a suit approaches me before I can work up the courage.
“You must be Miss Quinn,” she says warmly. “Right this way. Mrs. Eastwood is waiting for you.”
I nod, falling in step behind her. As we ascend the staircase, I frantically check my cell phone to make sure I’m not late. I still have five minutes; Cecily must be really early.
The attendant brings me into an airy, bright ballroom that’s bustling with activity. Waiters trot back and forth, bringing cocktails and salads to the round tables scattered throughout the open space.
I spot Cecily in the center of the room, sitting with her arms folded like she’s somehow already angry. Her lips are pressed into a thin line.
Beside her sits a man with a thick, dyed shock of blonde hair. He’s also sitting in total silence. This must be Cecily’s celebrity wedding planner.
I tap the attendant on the shoulder. “Thank you so much,” I say. “I see them over there.”
She smiles at me, nods, and retreats from the ballroom. Steeling myself, I pick my way between the tables until I reach Reed’s mother.
“Ah, there you are,” she says, her gaze raking me. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my new coat, and she sniffs, turning up her nose. “Looks like my son is already dressing you up.”
A prickle of shame shoots through me. I shrug off the coat, my cheeks burning. Cecily’s sneer was so evident in her voice that I can’t even look the wedding planner in the eye, even when he reaches his hand across the table to greet me.
