Page 36 of The Temporary Fiancée
Olivia shakes her head firmly. “Not going to happen.”
I watch as the members of the PR team exchange a series of annoyed glances. Since we first sat down in the conference room, this meeting has been a complete disaster—it’s pure chaos in here, and I think I know why.
The PR team was expecting me to bring in a shrinking violet who would agree to everything they demanded of her, but that’s not Olivia. She’s more than willing to stand up for herself, and so far, she’s shot down five of the last seven suggestions.
“How exactly do you think you’re going to help us mend his image with the media if youwon’t talk to the media?” It’s an older woman who speaks—one of Eastwood Hotels’ senior VPs.
Olivia scowls at her. “The media seems to get plenty of him as it is.”
The VP’s lip curls, and I can tell that tensions have run a little too high. Everyone’s getting frustrated, and we’re getting nowhere.
“Olivia,” I cut in, before anyone can respond, “can you talk to me outside for a moment?”
Olivia glares at the advertising execs for a few more seconds before turning to me with a curt nod. I take her by the hand—something that I’ve been practicing for the past few days; it’s been getting easier every time—and lead her out into the hallway. As soon as we’re through the door, I hear the muffled muttering of the PR team.
Olivia does, too. She lets out a shuddering sigh, glancing toward the door nervously. Now that we’re alone in the hallway, she’s lost the raised hackles.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “What’s going on in there?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve barely agreed to anything they’ve put in front of you. I don’t want to put pressure on you, but in order for this to work, you’re going to have to make at leastsomeappearances. And attendsomeevents.”
She bites her lip, her gaze falling to the patterned carpet beneath our feet. “Yeah. I know.”
“So what’s going on?” I ask. “A couple of interviews shouldn’t be too bad. It’s not like?—”
“I’m anxious about them, okay?”
I blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“You’re taking it for granted, but for me, this is all really intimidating,” she admits. “I’m worried about the events, and the interviews… all of that public-facing stuff. This isyourworld, not mine. I’m worried…” She trails off for a moment, then says in a rush, “I’m worried I’m going to make things worse for you.”
At once, I realize what’s going on. She’s not being stubborn to protectherself.It’s forme—she doesn’t want to mess this up.
Now that I understand, I can’t help but laugh.
She looks up at me, startled. “What’s so funny?” she demands, with a touch of defensiveness.
“Don’t worry,” I say, still chuckling. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. It’s just…believeme, nothing you could do could possibly make my image worse.”
“You don’t know that,” she protests.
“I would be confident enough to put money on it.”
“But Reed?—”
“Listen,” I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes meet mine, wide with concern. “I’m touched that you care enough to be worried about this. But you have to trust me, okay? I’m going to take care of you through all of this. I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.”
She fidgets, her gaze straying back to the conference room door. “What if we go to some corporate party, and everyone can tell that I don’t belong there? What if I do these interviews and everyone mocks me?”
“No one will make fun of you,” I promise. “You’re perfect. And you’re exactly what I need.”
A flush creeps over her cheeks, and despite the tension in her shoulders, she smiles begrudgingly. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I give her shoulder a squeeze.
She nods. “Yeah. I’m… I’m okay. Thank you.”
