Page 41 of The Temporary Fiancée
The General Counsel shrugs. “None of this is personal, Ms. Quinn.”
I shake my head, pushing the paper away. “I can’t sign this. I… I don’t even have my own lawyer present.”
There’s a wave of titters from the assembled lawyers, who all shake their heads, giving me annoyed looks.
“What?” I demand.
“You have to understand,” says the lawyer at the end of the table, her voice clipped, “we’re doing our best to make sure that Mr. Eastwood doesn’t get legally tied to a gold digger.”
I sit back in the chair, appalled. “Excuseme?”
“Mr. Eastwood is a very wealthy man,” she continues, and the other members of the legal team nod along with her. “For the protection of his estate and of this company?—”
“I’m not agold digger,“ I snap, interrupting her. I have to react with anger; it’s my only choice. The last thing I want is to let them see how hurt I am. It’ll only make me appear more vulnerable.
“Of course,” says the General Counsel, sounding unconvinced. “Then you’ll have no problem signing this contract.”
“This isn’t about money at all,” I retort. “This is about shutting me up for good.”
“You’ll find that it’s all about money, Ms. Quinn.”
I can feel tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, stinging as they threaten to fall. I do my best to hold them back. “You’re treating me like I’m just some pawn. You can’t just jerk me around like this.”
“No?” The General Counsel scowls at me. “If you’re not willing to be amenable to Eastwood’s terms, then I’m sure we can find someone else who?—”
The door opens, and he freezes mid-sentence as Reed enters the room. For a few seconds, everyone is still as Reed looks across the table, taking in the expression on my face. He’sobservant enough to see the unshed tears, and a shadow falls over his face as he paces back to his chair and sits down.
“What did I miss?” he says, his voice quiet, dangerous.
In answer, I pass the new contract over to him. The room is silent as he scans the document. His grip on the side of the page tightens as he reads. When he’s finished, he glares at the head lawyer.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
The man clears his throat. “Mr. Eastwood, this is a standard?—”
“Nothing about any of this is standard,” Reed interrupts, his voice rising in volume. “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He glances at me. “Tell me you didn’t sign this.”
“I didn’t,” I say quietly. “And I don’t want to, either.”
“Good. Because it’s complete garbage.”
“Mr. Eastwood,” one of the lawyers starts, but he cuts them off.
“The original contract is more than enough. You don’t need to make ridiculous demands of Olivia. It’s bad enough that we have to do this whole song and dance at all.”
“Mr. Eastwood,” the lawyer insists, “this is necessary to protect the company from?—”
“From what?” Reed gestures to me. He’s irate; his anger is calm, but deadly, his normally playful expression contorted in rage. “From this girl, who happens to be a good friend of mine?”
“We would suggest the same contract no matter who you’d brought to this meeting,” the General Counsel says archly. “Your father requested that we do our due diligence. Our job is to protect this company.”
Reed shakes his head, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to stand for any disrespect towards Olivia. Is that clear?”
For good measure, he snatches the offending contract off the table and tears it in half down the center. He crumples bothhalves into a ball and throws the paper into the wastebasket by the door.
“Yes,” the General Counsel says stiffly. “That’s clear.”
Reed glances down at me, and his gaze softens. “Are you okay?”
