Page 13 of The Temporary Fiancée
I pour her some tequila, squeezing the lime over the glass with a flourish, and hand it to her. She lifts her drink in a toast. I clink my glass against hers and say, “To Riley and Cole.”
“To Riley and Cole,” she echoes.
We both take a sip, and she wrinkles her nose.
“Ugh, that’s strong.”
“That’s what the lime is for,” I say. “To cut the flavor.”
She takes one of the lime wedges and squeezes it copiously over the glass, then pops the entire thing into her mouth for a few seconds.
“Well, that’s one way to do it.”
She spits out the lime and smiles at me. “That’stheway to do it. Come on, did nobody ever show you how to do a tequila shot?”
“I prefer to sip my liquor,” I reply, with a lofty lilt in my voice. “Especially at a classy event like this.”
“Right,” she laughs. “Classy. You think it’s classy to steal an entire handle of tequila from the bar?”
“I didn’t steal it,” I say indignantly. “Hegaveit to me. Of his own free will.”
“Either way, you’re out here on the patio with fifty ounces’ worth of bad decisions at your best friend’s engagement party. That doesn’t scream class to me.”
“Did you know that I’m a blight on the Eastwood family name?” I say it brightly, as if it’s funny, despite the anger simmering in my chest at the reminder of my conversation with my father.
To my surprise, she smiles at that, pouring a little more tequila into both of our glasses. “Hey,” she says. “I’ll toast to that.”
As we talk and drink, the conversation flows, and to my relief, Olivia starts to loosen up. She even laughs several times, despite the fact that she still seems stressed. I love the sound of her laugh. It’s infectious. I can’t help but echo it.
She’s good company—fun and easy to talk to. She’s funny, never missing a beat. After a few drinks, I work up the guts to ask her what’s up with her tonight.
“You seem kinda tense,” I say. “I came over because you looked like you weren’t exactly enjoying the party. Is there something on your mind?”
She sighs, her gaze dropping to the tilework on the table. Her fingertip traces the mosaic patterns as she says, “Yeah. It’s been a rough few months, and today was… particularly rough.”
“If you don’t mind my asking—why?”
“It’s complicated,” she says. “You don’t want to hear all my?—”
“Sure, I do,” I tell her. “We’re hanging out, we’re only part way through this bottle—” I shake the tequila; it’s about half full. “I’ve got time.”
She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “Okay, fine. I quit my job a few months ago,” she admits heavily. “It was a long time coming. My boss was a dick, and he finally crossed a line, so I walked out—and then I instantly regretted it.”
“You shouldn’t regret walking away from a bad situation.”
“Oh, I don’t regretthat.It’s just… I would’ve quit a lot sooner if it was actually a good idea. But I’ve worked for that man for years now, and I have no other references on my resume. No one else to call on to line up my next job.”
“I see,” I say slowly.
“Basically, my asshole boss has been badmouthing me during all of my reference checks,” she says bitterly. “All because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”
She takes a sip of her tequila, and I stare at her, frowning.
“You wouldn’t get this,” she continues, teasing me a little, “but I’ve been kinda having some money troubles lately. I don’t save much. I support my parents, see, and a lot of what I make goes to them. And since I couldn’t get the kind of job I had before?—”
“You had to take whatever you could find?”
“Exactly.” She nods. “So I’m working two minimum wage jobs just to survive, and the bills won’t stop piling up.” She takes another long drink, and a shudder goes through her at the acrid taste. “I keep applying for jobs that pay better, but they all require references, and my old boss is gatekeeping me from everything I find. I just got rejected from another one this morning.”
