Page 175 of The Temporary Fiancée
Eventually, I let out a sigh, my breath clouding in front of me, and approach the door.
I can hear noise from inside—the TV set playing the New Year’s Eve broadcast from Times Square. When I ring the doorbell, the television volume lowers.
A moment later, the door opens, and Robert Quinn stands there, giving me a quizzical look that quickly turns stern.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Is Olivia there?” I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. “I really need to talk to her.”
He scowls, his eyes narrowing, and folds his arms. “Do you, now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatever it is you want to say to her, you should’ve said itbeforeyou broke her heart, boy.”
I do my best to make level eye contact with him. He’s a protective father; of course he doesn’t want to see me, of all people, on his doorstep. But Ineedto talk to Olivia, and I’m not above begging.
“Sir,” I say, as respectfully as I can, “please. I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes to prove myself. I just… I need to speak to her. I need to.”
Robert sniffs, his mustache twitching. “Listen here. You don’t?—”
“Dad, wait.”
My heart freezes at the sound of Olivia’s voice, then soars.She’s in there. She’ll talk to me.
Thank god.
“If you want me to chase him away,” Robert says, “just say the word, and he’s gone.”
“No, it’s okay. We can talk. Can you give us a minute?”
For a moment, he seems like he’s about to argue. Then he heaves a breath through his nose, shoots me a baleful glare, and steps back from the door.
And Olivia, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, comes into view.
Chapter 41
Olivia
As the doorbell rings,my mother, father and I all exchange a confused look. Who in the world would be outside our door this close to midnight on New Year’s Eve? It’s past eleven.
Then, when my father answers the door, I hear his voice.
My heart lurches, and I spring to my feet. Ever the protective father, my dad is already trying to turn him away. The gesture fills me with gratitude, but the desperation in Reed’s tone is infectious.
I know I have to see him. If I don’t see him tonight, I’ll regret it for months or years to come.
So I run past the couch, nearly tripping on the blanket around my shoulders as it trails on the floor.
“Dad, wait,” I say.
My father turns to me, misgivings in his eyes. “If you want me to chase him away, just say the word, and he’s gone.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. We can talk.” I pause, then add, “Can you give us a minute?” I want this conversation to be private. I have no idea what to expect, and I definitely don’t want my parents to be listening.
My father steps aside with a last glare at Reed, and I take his place.
Reed is simultaneously the last person I want to see, and a sight for sore eyes. He’s dressed in a suit, but the tie is loosened, like he gave up on looking proper. His eyes light up when he sees me, which makes my heart ache.
