Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

When I wake up, I find Jace’s arm slung around my waist, his face buried in my neck. Leon rolled onto his back in the night, and my legs are tangled up with one of his. Quickly disengaging myself from them, I check the clock on my phone to make sure I haven’t overslept.

Oops. I’ll have just enough time to shower before work. Thank god it’s Friday. Things should be quiet around the office, and with how groggy I am, I’ll need it.

Leon wakes up first and rolls over to face me. He kisses the tip of my nose.

“We’d better go,” he says, despite the fact his cock is already at half-mast and making itself known against my belly.

I hear a yawn behind me, and Jace’s chin hooks over my shoulder.

“Damn.” His voice is sleepy but pleased. “That was incredible, Tiff. I could spend all day inside that sweet pussy of yours.”

Just the words electrify me, and I can already feel myself getting wet. But I have to get going, and so do they.

On their way out the door, Leon kisses me first, and it’s a gentle one. Then Jace pulls me into his arms.

“Thank you,” he says into my ear. “I hope I get to see you again soon.”

When they’re both gone, I drag myself into the shower and stand shakily under the hot water. That knot of Jace’s felt great last night, but today I ache between the legs.

What a bizarre phenomenon. I’ve seen quite a few dicks in my life, but nothing like that. I can’t deny how erotic and utterly heavenly it was, though. Weird and yet delicious.

By the time I get into work, I’m still more or less a zombie, though I manage to grab Mr. Bosley’s coffee and slide into my desk chair at exactly nine. Tonight, all I want is to curl up on the couch with some popcorn to watch a mindless movie—and let my body recover from last night’s marathon.

I order lunch in so I can keep working through my break, and I’ve only just finished the first project by two in the afternoon. But on the second one, the numbers aren’t adding up right, and I don’t like passing anything off to accounting until I’ve done at least the barest of due diligence.

I’m scratching my head when Mr. Bosley stomps into the office, soaking wet. I glance out the window and find it’s pouring rain. Great. His gaze zeroes in on me, and I cringe, knowing he’s about to unleash hell.

“Are you done with Dunmar yet?” He towers over my desk. “That should have been finished this morning.”

“I know,” I squeak out. “But some of these payments aren’t, um...” The last thing I want to do is question Mr. Bosley’s work.

“Aren’t what?” he prompts.

“They aren’t reconciling. That’s all.”

“Well, reconcile them.” He pins me down with his gaze, narrowing his eyes to make his meaning clear. “Do whatever you need to do to get it done.”

Then the door slams.

Do whatever you need to do? I gape at my computer screen, where the erroneous spreadsheet taunts me. I would have to invent quite a bit of product to justify how much money was spent last month.

Mr. Bosley can’t be serious. What he’s asking—without exactly asking—is a federal offense, I know that much.

I chew my fingernails, though I know I shouldn’t. What’s the right way out of this? If I don’t do what Mr. Bosley asks, he’ll only get worse. Next week, he’ll find some new way to grind me down into dust, and I’ll spend my day fighting off tears. Maybe he’ll tell HR that I’m not doing my job and then they’ll can me.

But if I do what he’s suggesting, there’s a chance someone will find out down the line... and it will be my name on the files. He didn’t tell me in so many words what to do, either, so I couldn’t really say I did it on his orders.

The last thing I need is to be here all night figuring this out, so against my better judgment, I decide to do what Mr. Bosley asked. My throat closes up as I start fixing the files, my heart beating faster and faster the more fake cells I add to the spreadsheet.

A text interrupts me.

Hey Tiff, it’s Quinn!

I stare at the message for a moment, then I remember giving him my number last night. I’d almost forgotten after what transpired with Jace and Leon.

Hey

It’s the only thing I can think of to say with my brain feeling like vanilla pudding.

Do you want to hang out tonight?

Just the idea of it makes me tired. Quinn is a sweet ball of energy, and I don’t think I could handle that today on top of Mr. Bosley. So I decide to be perfectly honest.

I’m exhausted, and I have to stay late at work. I don’t know if I have it in me, to be honest

The answer comes soon after.

That’s okay. I hope you feel better

He follows it up with a heart. Before I can type anything else, though, he sends another message.

I could just come to your place and baby you a little. Make you dinner?

I think of my bedroom and how it still smelled like sex when I left for work. What would happen with yet another one of the brothers in my apartment? It seems like a bad idea to me. Though Quinn assured me that all he wanted was friendship, I know he likes me after trying to ask me out—twice.

I type out a hesitant reply.

I don’t know...

The last thing I want is for Quinn to want something more, and then I’d be forced to reject him.

I won’t put the moves on you, I promise. Just let me cook for you and take care of you?

That sounds surprisingly pleasant. Nobody has “taken care” of me in who knows how long. I take care of myself, which means ordering takeout on days when I come home too tired to cook. Even when I lived at home with Mom, she was usually too busy going out with her friends to make home-cooked food.

Now I have someone who wants to make me dinner so I don’t have to lift a finger. Sounds like a dream come true—which means it probably comes with a catch.

But then again, Quinn doesn’t seem like the type to demand anything that isn’t freely given, unless I’ve misunderstood his brothers immensely.

Fine. After the day I’ve had, and will still have for the next two hours, being pampered sounds lovely. So I type out a quick reply as Mr. Bosley comes out of his office to leave for the night.

All right, see you tonight

Quinn replies instantly.

I’ll bring everything. You just put on your favorite pajamas and wait for me, okay?

I can’t help grinning at this. Quinn may have youngest brother energy, but that’s part of what makes him cute. Maybe we can at least be friends, and I’ll spend some time getting to know someone who’s important to both Leon and Jace.

It’s seven thirty when I send off the last of the paperwork, even though the accountants won’t get to processing it until late next week.

I shoot Quinn a text to let him know I’m finally on my way home and lock up the office behind me.

Out in the parking lot, it’s pouring rain, and my car is one of only two left in the lot. I wonder who else stayed late on a Friday night? The windshield is tinted so dark it’s practically black, and it’s a pretty nice SUV. Must be an executive from another office.

When I pull out of the lot, though, the SUV also turns on. It follows me out onto the street, and I think it must just be a coincidence. But as I take another turn toward my apartment, and then another, the SUV continues following me.

Fuck. What’s going on? Who would be interested enough in me to follow me?

I decide to keep going and take another right turn, then a left. Finally, the SUV turns to the right, and the headlights vanish from my rearview mirror.

I let out a breath of relief as I stop at the light. It was nothing. The stress of work is just making me paranoid.

When I get home, I do what Quinn said and put on my most comfortable sweats. I really am tired, and I don’t know if I made a good decision by letting him come over tonight. Too late now.

Quinn arrives soon after with a gentle knock on the door. I’m on my couch, watching a dating show, and hurry to let him in.

Quinn stands there, soaking wet, carrying a grocery bag and a big frying pan. It’s huge . He grins a wide, toothy grin when he sees me.

“May I?” he asks, and I step aside to let him inside. He sets his things on the table, then gazes around my apartment. He studies my bookshelf, where I’ve perfectly placed my favorite knickknacks in front of my books. Then he takes in the few small pictures I’ve collected of family and friends, and a few ugly paintings from Goodwill. “Cute digs, Tiff.”

“It’s nothing.” I reach for the bag of groceries, but Quinn flaps his hands at me to shoo me away.

“No, no,” he says, urging me back to the couch. “Go lie down. Watch your show.”

I open my mouth to object, but he gives me a gentle push, so I obey and sit back down.

“Do you want something to drink?” Quinn asks, unloading his bag. “Club soda? Wine?”

He really is just an adorable puppy. And damn, he smells as good as Jace and Leon do. What is it about their body odor that turns me the fuck on?

“Start with club soda, then work up to wine?” I ask. I’m being too high-maintenance already, and he’ll probably get bored of spoiling me quick. But Quinn just nods, wearing that goofy smile, and retreats to the kitchen to fetch me a glass.

He’s surprisingly quiet while he cooks, only calling over from time to time to ask my preferences. He seems to have no trouble at all navigating the kitchen and finding what he needs. It’s not long before I’ve settled in under a blanket, letting the scent of cooking garlic and onions lull me into real relaxation. Whatever he’s making over there is going to be good. I’m a little embarrassed he caught me watching Blind Date , but he did say I should make myself comfortable, and I’m never more comfortable than sipping some wine while watching couples on television turning into total train wrecks.

Then an oven timer beeps, and in the kitchen, Quinn clinks plates together. After a few minutes he emerges, bringing me a tray I didn’t even know I had, laden with food.

“Shrimp paella and ceviche with roasted carrots on the side.” Looking rather pleased with himself, Quinn places the tray on my lap, then refills my wine glass. At last, he brings his own plate over and sits on the couch next to my feet, keeping a careful distance between us. It’s cute how much he’s trying to respect my boundaries.

“Wow.” I breathe in the scent of food and my stomach rumbles. “I can’t wait for this. How’d you learn to make paella?”

“Watched a video.” He spears one of his carrots with a fork. “Come on. Try it.”

The food tastes even better than it smells. Eating this dinner is almost an orgasmic experience in and of itself. My toes curl as I take another huge bite.

“Quinn,” I hum, “this is incredible.”

He has the same long canines as his brothers when he grins. “See, I can be an idiot, but I earn my keep.”

Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve inhaled the whole plate of food—and the wine, too. For a moment I imagine my mother sitting here, telling me to stop stuffing myself, and I quickly sit up and look for a napkin to wipe my face. Quinn’s staring at me, and I can’t believe I let him see me eat like that.

“Damn,” he says. “You absolutely wrecked that. Amazing.” He eats his own food faster. “Only Leon’s ever out-eaten me before.”

He devours his own meal, too, then snatches up both plates and the tray. I get to my feet to take them to the kitchen, but Quinn raises a hand to stop me.

“I’m going to clean up,” I say. “You just did all the cooking.”

“Nope.” His tone brooks no argument. “Sit back down. I’ll bring you more wine.”

So, I acquiesce and sink back down into the couch. A few seconds later, Quinn returns with a refilled glass for me. I settle in, feeling uneasy that he’s doing all this work—but he genuinely seems to enjoy it, and maybe it’s okay to let him.