His (20 page)

“That’s great. Son or daughter?”

“Daughter. Jaqueline. I have two boys too, but they’re younger.”

“She’s graduating at this time of year?”

Turner smiles. “A semester early. Starting at NYU next semester.”

“Wow. You must be so proud of her.”

“I sure am.”

“So . . . need some help with that? I’m pretty good with a knife.”

Not that I’ve used the kind she’s using much, but still. I’m eager to spend time with her. Turner is warm and happy. She’s the kind of mom I wish I had.

She passes me a cutting board, a knife, and some carrots, and I get to work. I can hear Steve talking to the guy in the other room about some sort of installation work.

“What’s he doing?” I ask Turner in a low tone.

She shrugs. “Some sort of wire installation, I think.”

We’re making vegetable beef stew, and it’s starting to smell really good by the time we finish cleaning up and Turner puts on her coat and gets her purse.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, giving me a wink as she heads for the front door.

“Hey,” the installation guy says to me with a wave. He looks like he’s in his twenties. He’s blond and fit, with tattoos on his arms.

“Hey.”

“Do you by chance know where the server room is in this place?” he asks.

“Server? I have no idea.”

“That’s okay. I can wait ’til Andrew gets home.” His gaze flicks to mine. “I’m Greg, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smile but don’t tell him my name. Old habits die hard.

I hear footsteps behind me, and when I turn, I see Andrew. He’s loosening his tie and giving me a look that’s definitely not happy. He walks past me without saying a word.

“How’s it going, Greg?” he asks with an edge.

“I’m about done for the day. I need to get into your server room tomorrow.”

“It’s not accessible. If you give me instructions, I can handle the work in there.”

Greg furrows his brow. “Not accessible? How will you reach it, then?”

“I mean it’s not accessible to
you
. No one but me goes in there.”

“Uh . . . okay. I can try to write down some instructions.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t be a problem. I’ve got a computer engineering degree.”

Greg nods and packs up his tools. “All right, man. Be back tomorrow.”

“Check in with security again.”

“Got it.”

Greg leaves, and Andrew walks back into the kitchen.

“You’re feeling pretty fucking friendly tonight,” he says, meeting my eyes.

I shrug. “Just being nice.”

“You’re not that nice to
me
.”

I can’t help giving him a pointed look. “I deep throat you on command. What’s nicer than that, Andrew?”

Within seconds, he’s in front of me, his big, imposing presence making me want to take a step back. He holds on to my shoulders, his gaze burning me with its intensity. On the streets, this is when I’d push him away and pull out my knife.

“Did he spend thousands on new clothes for you?” Andrew demands. “Would he give you anything you ask for? “

I cut in. “I don’t ask you for
anything
.”

“That’s your fucking loss, Quinn, because I’d make it happen. I can’t believe you have the
audacity
to smile at another man like that.”

His massive hands on me make me feel put off and turned on at the same time. I hold his gaze, because I’m not backing down.

“I
smiled
. Stop being such an asshole about it.”

He leans in, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t smile at me like that. Why the fuck not? Is it his looks? Do blond guys make you wet?”

I narrow my eyes in return. “No. It’s because he looked at me like a
person
instead of a
thing
.”

Silence hangs between us for a few seconds. He lets go of me, hurt pooling in his eyes.

“That’s what you think? You think you’re a
thing
to me?”

“Sometimes. I don’t know, Andrew. I am on your payroll.”

He narrows his eyes. “And that means I don’t care about you?”

“I don’t know what it means. I don’t understand you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

This is the Andrew I have no control over. When he’s like this, he’s the boss. I want to make him smile, even now. I want to make him groan with pleasure. I want his naked, warm body wrapped protectively around mine as he kisses my shoulder. It’s those times that
I’m
the one in charge.

He looks away and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. It’s sticking up a little when he’s done, reminding me of the way he looks when we wake up in the morning.

“You want some dinner?” he asks.

“Okay.”

We eat in strained silence, and he doesn’t even bitch when I do the dishes. Then he disappears into his home office for the night, and once again, I’m alone.

Andrew

Dawson’s brow is furrowed as he stops in the open doorway of my home office on Thanksgiving morning.

“My door code doesn’t work anymore,” he says shortly.

“Yeah,” I say absently. “The security guys reset everything after Quinn was attacked.”

“I’ll need a new code.”

I look up from my desk. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He’s seemed off lately, but I can’t put my finger on why.

“No one’s getting codes for now. My security team has someone out front around the clock, so they’ll let you in.”

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I’m locked out now?”

“Everyone is.”

“Even Quinn?”

“For now. It’s for her safety. She always has a security guard with her when she leaves anyway, so they make sure she gets back inside safely.”

Dawson walks in, closing the door behind him and sitting down in the leather club chair in front of my desk.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asks.

“It’s not about trust.” I fold the letter I was writing and put it in an envelope. “It’s about security. If Quinn’s here, I need to know no one can get inside without going through security.”

“She must’ve honed some serious skills on the streets,” Dawson mutters.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never seen you this way over a woman. I don’t get it. It’s gotta be about the way she sucks your rod.”

I sit forward in my chair, trying to rein in the anger that wants to propel me across the desk right now.

“I don’t pay you to speculate on any aspect of my life,” I say in a measured tone. “You are my assistant. Do your fucking work and keep your mouth shut. Are we clear?”

“Of course,” he says sheepishly. “I apologize.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t be an asshole to Quinn, Dawson. I’ll fire your ass so fast you won’t know what hit you. Treat her like a queen. Same goes for the dog.”

“The dog?”

“It’s at an animal hospital now, but she’s keeping it. She was trying to help the dog when she was attacked, and she says he ended up saving her.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Okay. I can go pick up some dog supplies now.”

I open one of my desk drawers and reach into an envelope of cash, taking out five one hundred dollar bills and adding them into the envelope with the letter.

“Not today,” I say. “It’s a holiday. Take tomorrow and the weekend off, too. There is just one thing I’d like you to do this morning, though.”

“Sure.”

I slide the envelope with the letter and money across my desk and then pass him a business card. “My security guy Steve got this card from the guy who helped Quinn the other day. I need you to call him and deliver this to him.”

Dawson takes the envelope and nods. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.”

He leaves without another word. I glance at my watch and sigh deeply. Time to go to my mom’s. Things are already tense between Quinn and me, and this won’t help. But it’s a holiday, so I have to suck it up.

Quinn is reading something on her phone and smiling when I walk into the kitchen. She looks so pretty with her hair loose around her shoulders. Something inside me shifts, and I realize I need things to be good between us again. I don’t just want to see her smiling; I want to
make
her smile.

“I just talked to someone at the animal hospital,” she says. “The dog can come home tomorrow.”

“That’s good. I gave Roy the day off, so I’ll take you to get him.”

She nods silently.

“How was the shelter yesterday?” I ask, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter. I’d worked so late last night that Quinn had already been asleep when I got home.

“It was good.” She tucks her blond hair behind one ear. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get me that fake driver’s license? And birth certificate? There was even a passport in that envelope. How is that possible?”

“I’ve got connections.”

“Yeah, but . . .
legal
ones?

“Ah . . . not exactly. But I got you what you needed, didn’t I?”

“You did. But . . .” She looks away.

“What?”

She sighs softly and looks back at me. “Was it the same people who helped you with the purse thing?”

“The purse thing?”

Her expression is exasperated. “How could you have gotten my purse back if you didn’t know who took it?”

I glance at my wristwatch. “Can we talk about this on the way?”

“Sure.”

“You look really nice, by the way.”

She’s wearing a dark orange dress with brown leggings and tall brown leather boots. Even all covered up, she looks sexy.

“Thanks. I picked this out myself.”

“You know, I sent Dawson with you for that first shopping trip because I figured you’d be overwhelmed. But you don’t need him anymore. I’ll tell him to back off.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

I take both our coats from the hooks hanging off the kitchen and hand hers to her. Then I lead the way to the elevator and stand aside as she gets on. Being so close to her makes me want her even more than usual. When I slide my arm around her waist, I feel her tense.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I want to finish our conversation. About my purse.”

I drop my hand from her waist. “Like I said, I have connections. And one of the reasons I have them is because I keep the relationships confidential. Why can’t you trust me? I’ve never done anything but look out for you.”

The elevator doors open and we step off. I turn to Quinn, my voice echoing slightly in the underground parking garage.

“I trust
you
,” I remind her. “I know almost nothing about you, and what I do know could be interpreted as incriminating. You can’t get ID, you won’t tell me your real name, and you’re paranoid about anyone taking photos of us that could be published. For all I know, I could be harboring a fugitive. But I see something in your eyes, Quinn, and I hear something in your voice, and it tells me to trust you. My instincts are never wrong. What do your instincts tell you about me?”

Her smile is soft, relaxed. “That you’re not a bad person, and you want me to be happy here. That you keep everyone an arm’s length and not just me.”

“That’s true. You were so upset about the letters, and I just wanted to get them back for you.”

She nods. “And I never thanked you.”

“You yelled at me and called me an asshole,” I say with a shrug. “Close enough.”

“I shouldn’t have accused you of setting up the mugging. I guess I never considered there could be a good reason you didn’t want me to know how you got my purse back.”

I reach over to stroke my thumb across her jawline. “I need to apologize for being an asshole to you. I sometimes don’t handle frustration well.”

“Sometimes?” She gives me an amused smile.

I lean down to kiss her forehead. “That’s right, sometimes. And you’re the same way.”

“Me?”

I tip her chin up with my thumb, stemming another argument with a kiss. Quinn holds on to the sides of my coat, pulling on them as I kiss her deeper. I can feel the difference in this kiss and the ones we shared when she was mad at me. I felt her fire for me then, but it was all physical. She’s opening herself back up to me, and I wish like hell we could spend this day alone together.

My mother’s waiting, though. Reluctantly, I pull away from Quinn.