Page 107 of The Temporary Fiancée
But of course, no associate of Eastwood’s would come with a clean history. The New York Gazette has secured an exclusive, tell-all interview with Olivia Quinn’s former boss, Martin Keller, who has a less-than-positive story to tell about the hotel heir’s new paramour.
“I told her over and over again that I was happily married,” Keller told us. “But she wouldn’t listen. She was constantly making comments to me, coming on to me… suggesting things that are, quite frankly, inappropriate for the workplace.”
It’s at this point that I begin to see red. Unable to finish the article, I throw the paper down on my desk and look up at my father, fury making my hands tremble.
“I thought you vetted this girl,” he snaps before I can say anything. “I thought you’d madesureshe was clean as a whistle.”
“Idid,“ I protest. “Sheis.This is?—”
“Did you see how many times your last name was dragged into the picture? Do you have any idea what that will do to the company’s image?”
“This is all lies,” I insist. Even as I say it, though, my anger only grows. No one can fact check it, can they? It’s all conjecture—he said, she said. Everything Martin Keller said, he said to inflict harm on Olivia’s reputation. But that won’t matter to the press, nor to the public.
“Are you sure?” my father asks, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe that girl isn’t as goody-goody as you thought she?—”
“Of course I’m sure!” I’m even more pissed at the insinuation that this could be true.
The hardest part, though, is knowing that there’s not much I can do. I can stick by Olivia, of course, and I can stand up for her, but I can’t force the Gazette to retract this article.
I pull out my phone, my mind racing, and open Twitter. When I type my name into the search bar—yeah. The article’s already hit the internet, and people are discussing it online. There’s no going back now. There’s no erasing this.
“This is bullshit,” I growl.
“Whether or notyouthink—” Lionel pauses mid-sentence, noticing the mess of yarn on my lap. “What the hell is that? What are youdoing?”
Impatiently, I stash the yarn and needles in the top drawer of my desk, closing it before my father can get a closer look at my ill-fated knitting project. “Nothing.”
He shakes himself a little, his eyes narrowed, and says, “Listen to me. I don’t care if this is true or not. I don’t care what it takes to deal with it—youdealwith it. Do you understand me?”
Before I can answer—and I’m not even sure what my answer would be, anyway—Lionel has turned on his heel and stormed out of my office. He slams my door with unnecessary force on his way out.
For a few moments, I sit at my desk, staring at the Gazette article. I can hardly believe it exists—that Martin Keller was enough of a scumbag to pull something like this.
And I can’t reverse it. I can’t getridof it, no matter how much I desperately want to.
That clause from my contract with Olivia flashes through my mind again, as it does every so often.Protect her reputation.
I couldn’t even do that. One of the most important things I promised her… I couldn’t make sure it happened.
My fingers shake as I lift my cell phone again, dialing my assistant’s number.
“Marjorie,” I say when she answers. “I need you to cancel my day.”
“Your… day?”
“Yes. The whole day.”
“Are you sure? You’ve got a meeting at four with some?—”
“Cancel it,” I say, getting to my feet. “I need to deal with something that’s come up.”
As I head out of the office, I notice more than a few stares directed my way. I do my best not to meet anyone’s gaze as I head to the front entrance, where there’s a car waiting for me.
By now, I’m sure everyone has heard. But there’s only one person I want to discuss this with. There’s only one person whoneedsto hear about this.
During the drive through the city back toward The Luxe, there’s only one thing on my mind. In a weird, twisted way, my father was right. I need to deal with this as soon as possible. For Olivia’s sake.
When I arrive at the penthouse, Olivia is in the living room, sitting with Riley. As the elevator door rolls open, I hear snatches of their conversation drifting through the front hallway.
