7. CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

Quinlan

By lunchtime, I’ve put Liam and the man from yesterday in the back of my mind.

I’m done updating a website for one of my clients after working on it all through the morning. It’s a cute hair salon that’s located in Florida, owned by the sweetest lady, Paulina. She added a mani-pedi section that’s absolutely beautiful and made sure it would be eye-catching and hopefully, draw in new clients to the salon.

A smile teases my lips as I look over it one last time. I lean my elbow on the black wood desk I have resting against my expansive window, propping my cheek on my palm.

The view of the building across from me isn’t much. Blue skies hanging over the closest brick building. It’s enough for me. Blue is the color of hope. It’s the color of someone’s eyes.

Shut up.

I snap out of it, returning to work, emailing Paulina.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Your website is updated!

Dear Paulina,

Your website has been updated to your specifications. You can now look over the unpublished version and get back to me with your input.

On another note, and I do apologize for sounding like a parrot, but the new section is truly stunning. I love how it’s an extension of the hair salon yet it still has its own flare. The thin gold light fixtures are a brilliant touch.

Congratulations!

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Quinlan Palmer

Quinlan’s Designs

I always make sure to hype my clients. Sprinkle that extra personal touch to my emails. Find a positive angle—anything at all—to add to my emails or over our online conferences.

It’s not a hardship to be nice to them, not at all. They’re great people and thanks to my clients, I get to put food on my table. Help support my parents.

I don’t just appreciate them. I love my clients. I truly do.

As soon as I finish that thought, an email pops up on my screen.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Your website is updated!

Quinlan,

You’ve outdone yourself with this one! It’s exactly how I imagined it would be.

Once again, you’ve brought my vision to life.

Since you like what I’ve done with the place, consider yourself invited. Maybe now you’ll finally agree to visit me and get that hair—and now nails—appointment on the house.

Say yes!

Paulina Keller

Paulina’s Salon

A week ago, I might’ve taken her up on her offer. Would’ve packed my laptop and dared to work on the beach. Maybe I would’ve gotten blonde highlights for the first time in my life. It’s been a long winter. I could’ve spared a little cash for the trip. I could.

Then again, a week ago, I didn’t have a life-altering job waiting for me. A job I’m excited to start.

Also, I didn’t have two hot, mysterious men lurking around my apartment. A tiny part—fine, a big part—wishes I could see them again. That can’t happen when I’m down in Florida.

My heart beats a little faster as memories of last night and this morning flash before my eyes. An unfamiliar yet not unwanted heat spreads through me. Starts in my neck and goes lower, lower, lower.

My thighs clench.

Abort. Abort. No rubbing one out in the middle of a workday. No matter how painful the pressure is becoming, I won’t do it.

Instead, I shoot a quick email back to Paulina, thanking her for the offer and telling her I’ll take a rain check. I’m about to shut down laptop, when another email comes through.

BLF Capital.

Shit. I celebrated way too early. They’re going to pull the offer, aren’t they?

My stomach plummets.

Deep breath. Stressing over the unknown is useless. Every second I’m wasting on fearing the worst is another second I’m wasting on not fixing it. Whatever it is.

Here goes.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Changes regarding your meeting at BLF Capital

Dear Quinlan,

I hope this email finds you well.

Our VPs have a couple of requests regarding your meeting next week.

No electronics are allowed in our offices. Any leak can be fatal to a company like ours. A notebook and pen will be supplied to you upon arrival.

The meeting hour has changed from ten in the morning to nine in the evening.

Please see attached the NDA contract attached to this email. I request that you sign this electronic copy and send it back to me by the end of the day.

Kind regards,

Jefferson Bell

Head of HR, BLF Capital

Relief washes through me for a short second before dread wins over. Secrecy is one thing. Leaving my phone and laptop at home? Why not deposit them at the front desk?

I shake my head. This paranoia thing is getting old.

I’ve been through two strange encounters. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. Freaking men. If I ever see either of them again, I’ll punch them for real for making me feel this way.

This rattled. This unbalanced.

Food. I have to get food inside me.

First, the NDA. The contract is a basic one. Looks like a lot of legal jargon, but I get it. I’ve had a couple of clients that sent one of those to me over the years. BLF Capital is reasonable.

Whatever my eyes see or hear is to be locked down inside my brain, never to leave.

Here, I’ve signed it and sent it back to him.

Food next. I order from the nearest sushi place, another client of mine that gives me discount prices.

While I wait for the delivery guy, I call my parents. Maybe the good news will bring a smile to their faces. My new job did that to Rex. It could do that to Mom and Dad.

I try not to get my hopes up. Except I want to hope. Dammit, I need to. I know I fucked up all those years ago. It’s my fault my parents are devastated. But—and it’s so wrong to admit it even to myself—I’m desperate for them to treat me like their kid.

I wish that every once in a while they’d sound like they’re happy I’m still here.

My fingers go to the heart-shaped tattoo beneath my eye. Blake. I remember him just as well as they do. Could never forget that horrible night even though it happened when I was five.

My baby brother.

Tears threaten to break free. I rub my eyes, forcing them back. Wallowing in these awful memories is something I promised myself I’d never do.

Rex made me stay strong for Mom and Dad. I’ve got this.

New job. Money to provide for them.

Good things are coming.

I repeat it like a mantra, then place the call to my parents.

The phone rings. It rings and rings and rings. I get up and start pacing the wood floors of my apartment. Walk by the white kitchen island and the black wrought iron stools. Trail my fingers on the exposed brick wall next to the floor-to-ceiling window. Slump down on my old brown leather couch.

By the tenth ring, I pull the device away from my ear, ready to hang up.

“Quinny?” my mother says, her voice hushed. Gravelly.

She’s been sleeping.

“Mom.” It’s pathetic, how excited I sound that she picked up the phone. “How are you? How’s Dad?”

“Good, honey. You?” Every word, even just these three, sounds like an effort.

I’ll keep this short. “I have a new job. It’s kind of a big deal.”

I don’t tell her where. Don’t mention my uncalled-for paranoia.

The men I met and confused the hell out of me? I’m definitely keeping this information to myself.

I’ve learned over the years that my parents have lost the ability to carry a long, elaborate conversation. That’s why I mince my words.

“That’s great.” A sigh. “Really great, honey.”

She’s doing her best for me. I should be happy about that. I am.

With more money rolling in, I could find a better psychiatrist for both her and Dad. They might have better meds to offer.

“I’m starting next week.” I bite my bottom lip, pacing my small kitchen. “I’m excited.”

Please be excited for me too. For us.

“You work hard. You’re a smart girl.” I don’t want to imagine happiness. I’ve been disappointed one too many times. But maybe, please? “If anyone could make it big, it’s you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Stupid tears leak out, no matter what I do to blink them away. “Is Dad there? I’d love to tell him the good news.”

“Your father’s sleeping.” Yawn. “Which reminds me. I think I should nap.”

“Of course.” Arguing that she probably just woke up will get me nowhere. Compassion will. I sure as fuck hope so. “Go. We’ll talk soon.”

“Right. Bye, Quinlan.”

“Bye, Mom.” I wipe my wet cheek with the back of my palm. Look up and blink.

I stay there, still as a statue, until the delivery guy comes with the food.

Then it’s back to business as usual.