Perfect Pairing (29 page)

“Who are you, and what have you done to the sexy banker with control issues?” Hal laughed.

“You know? I tried to get ahold of her earlier, but I got an out-of-office message.”

“Maybe she should extend her auto reply a little bit longer, or maybe indefinitely.”

Quinn's smile faltered and Hal immediately regretted the comment.

“You know I would love that, right?”

Hal nodded. “But?”

“But I have a big meeting first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Oh? Important sexy banker stuff?” She tried to recapture the playful tone.

“Something like that.” Quinn stared out the window, and the sinking feeling in Hal's stomach told her not to pursue her line of questioning any further.

The disconnect was jarring to both her mind and body after the closeness they'd cultivated over the last few days. Obviously she knew they wouldn't always feel the way they had on the boat last night. Real life was bound to exact its toll, and Quinn had a right to her own space, both physically and emotionally. Whatever thought pulled her from their reverie was hers alone. And yet she felt the urge to push anyway. Not because she felt entitled to whatever had made Quinn pull back, but because she wanted to stop that retreat at any cost.

“You can tell me, you know?”

Quinn nodded.

“You don't have to. I just . . . I'm new to this whole wanting to be with someone, just one person, and I don't know how it really works. Am I supposed to just let you do your thing and tell me what you want about your life, or am I supposed to ask you and risk offending you by being all up in your grill?”

“You can ask.”

“Okay, as long as you know you can tell me to buzz off.”

“Deal.”

“So . . .” Hal blew a strand of hair from her forehead. “What is this big, important meeting you have to get back for tomorrow?”

“It's with an investment team.”

“I don't really know what that means.”

“It means . . .” She drew out the words slowly. “There are people who help me make decisions about good investments. Some of them are like research aids for the bank. Some of them are at my level or higher up, and they make sure I'm making good decisions.”

“That does sound important. So, you guys have these meetings for all applications for loans and things?”

“Not all of them. I called this one because I know I have a blind spot where my personal connections may compromise my judgment. And there's a great deal at stake.”

The hollow churning in Hal's gut returned.

“It's not something that just came up, though. It's been on my calendar for weeks. I actually . . . I called this particular meeting after I . . . I mean the pop-up had just happened.”

“The pop-up didn't just happen,” Hal reminded her.

“Right, but what happened afterwards did, and it changed things on a lot of levels.”

Hal snorted. “So you called a business meeting to talk to your colleagues about it?”

“Actually, yes, but not how it sounds.”

“I hope not,” Hal snapped, then quickly lowered her voice. “'Cause it sounds bad.”

Quinn sighed. “You fired me, Hal. I had one of the most successful nights of my career, and then I got fired, or you quit, and at the time you seemed pretty clear on your intention to never see me again.”

“I'm still unclear as to how any of those events warranted a meeting with your board of investors.”

“Really? I'd just had the successful pop-up, generated tons of press, made a hefty sum of money to donate, and found an ideal location, only to be dumped by the most important part of the team.” Quinn lifted her eyebrow questioningly. “You never stopped to think about the questions that might raise for the people I work with?”

“No.” She hadn't given any thought to it at all. Maybe that line of thinking made sense to someone like Quinn, someone with a boss and investors, and a system to follow. But she didn't answer to anyone,
and she didn't intend to. Which was one of the many reasons she'd blown her top that night. “You never mentioned—”

“Of course not.” Frustration rose in Quinn's voice. “When would I have mentioned anything, and honestly, would you have cared?”

“I would've cared that you were talking about my personal business to other people.”

“I'm sorry, but it wasn't your business anymore. It was my business. You walked out, and I didn't blame you, but can you blame me for looking for ways to move forward without you?”

That last phrase lanced through her, a new understanding burning hot in its wake. “Move forward without me? This meeting tomorrow is to replace me?”

Quinn shrugged. “Yeah.”

“All right then.” She hated the way the words came out a little strangled. “You're going to open a restaurant with someone else.”

“It's not my first choice, Hal. You know what I wanted, what I still want, but I'm trying to respect your autonomy, so I have to research different directions.”

She did know that. She knew what Quinn had wanted, what she still wanted. Quinn had never lied or misled anyone about her desire to have Hal beside her in the restaurant venture, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow the fact that she was still replaceable. Interchangeable. Temporary.

Quinn had wanted her so badly and come after her so hard. She'd seemed so certain she couldn't open the restaurant she wanted with anyone else, and yet now she was doing exactly that. The move seemed like such a massive flip-flop, and she couldn't help but wonder if the same held true about their personal relationship. Sure, Quinn wanted her now, but what if things got hard?

No, not if.
When
things got hard, because they undoubtedly were about to. What would Quinn want then? Would she look at her, at them, as another investment to be managed? Would she want to trade up? Would she be willing to cut her losses and go in a different direction? Here today, but easily gone tomorrow? Such a sad, storied cliché of her life.

“Hal, say the word and I'll call off the meeting.”

“What word?”

“Say you want it to be you,” Quinn pleaded. “Tell me you'll do this with me. Tell me you want a part in the future I'm building, and it's yours.”

“No it's not,” she snapped, then lowered her tone. “It's yours. Your restaurant, your future. I can have a bit part for as long as I continue to play the part you lay out for me, but it'll never be mine.”

“Fine.” Quinn exhaled forcefully and folded her arms across her chest. “If you feel that way, I'll respect your wishes. I don't like them, I don't agree with them. I feel like we could have something special together. We could build something special together, but if you disagree, I am not going to push you.”

The words were right. She'd affirmed her, let her know she wanted her, but also respected her right to say no. She gave her the power, and Lord knows that wasn't something Quinn did easily. So why did Hal still feel like shit? The choice was hers. She had to at least feel good, but she didn't. Why?

Who was she kidding?

She knew why. She'd always known why.

The right to choose was an illusion, because she was left once again with the same shitty choices she'd always faced. She could accept her place at someone else's table, or she could sit at her own . . . alone.

“Hal?” Quinn asked softly. “Are you pulling away now?”

The truck gave a little lurch. Just a small stutter most people wouldn't even notice, but it caused the hair on Hal's arms to stand up. She automatically eased off the gas a little and then pressed on again. Nothing snapped or caught fire, but she thought she heard the engine working harder than usual, just a hint of a note higher, something slightly off key, the kind of difference only a trained mechanic would hear.

“Hal,” Quinn asked, “are you not even speaking to me now?”

“No. Shh!”

“Shh?”

A loud ding echoed through the truck, or at least through Hal's ears, as the battery light flashed on the dashboard.

“Shit.”

“What?”

“The battery.”

“Of the truck? While you're driving? Isn't that unusual?”

Hal gave Quinn a little nod of respect for at least knowing that much about how engines run. “Yeah, which leads me to think it's not the battery and more likely the alternator. Shit, shit, damn, hell.”

“What does this mean?”

“Do you smell something burning?” Hal asked.

“No.”

“Fuck it. I have to pull over.” Hal flipped on her hazard lights as they neared an exit ramp. God, she was already too frazzled. She didn't need a mechanical breakdown on top of the emotional one she feared.

Quinn grabbed her phone. “You want me to Google a garage?”

“Yeah, but nothing's going to be open on the Sunday morning of a holiday weekend.”

They rolled to a stoplight and looked around: a gas station, an Arby's, and an adult video store. “Not much to see here.”

Hal pulled into the parking lot of the gas station and killed the engine before hopping out. Quinn followed more slowly.

“Do you want me to call a tow truck? Can a tow truck even carry something this big?”

Hal lifted the hood and fastened it into place before she started to poke around. “I don't want a tow truck. They cost a fortune, and I think I'm going to need a new alternator. Damn, yeah, and maybe a new belt, too. I do not really have the money to drop on a low-bed tow-truck ride.”

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck
. Just another failure. Another break down. Another reminder of how insecure and unstable everything in her life could be. Why couldn't things just go the way she needed them to? Oh right, because that's how her life worked. Why had she let herself forget that? She rested her head on the front of the truck, closed her eyes, and thought of another long string of cuss words.

“So . . .” Quinn said as she shuffled her feet across the hot asphalt. What she had to say next was going to be received either really well or really badly, but she didn't see any other way. “I have a platinum card.”

Hal stopped her tinkering and stepped back from the truck. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I can open some doors, and I'm happy to do so.”

“You're happy to do what, exactly?”

“Pay for the tow. Pay for the higher rate for someone to come out here and fix the truck today—”

“I can fix my own truck.”

“I don't doubt that.” She tried to tread carefully. “You're a very capable—”

“Then keep your card in your pocket.”

“Hal, please. You haven't let me pay for anything on this trip.”

“I was going to make this trip with or without you. There's nothing you need to pay for.”

“I know I don't need to, but I want to. I don't like the idea of being a kept woman any more than you do.”

Hal gestured to the fast food joint across the street. “Then go buy us some cheeseburgers or something, but
you
aren't buying anything for
my
truck.”

“Really?” Quinn asked. “You're going to pick this fight right now?”

“What fight?”

“The your-money-my-stuff fight?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Bullshit, Hal.” Why did she keep pretending she didn't have issues in this area when they both knew she did? “It's the same fight we've had since the day we met.”

“So why do you think it would end any differently now?”

“Because it's not just you stuck here. We're in this one together.”

Hal sighed. “We're not far from Boston, maybe half an hour. There's got to be a commuter train stop around here somewhere. If I can get into the city, I can start looking for the part.”

“How long will that take? And if you actually find a place open, and by some miracle they have the part you need, do you have the
tools to fix it?” She mentally tried to reschedule their trip. She had to be back tomorrow. She'd already been away too long at an important time. Why couldn't Hal see her side for once? She'd bent over backwards to respect the things she cared about. Why didn't she deserve the same in return?

“I might need to find someone else to come out with me,” Hal shrugged. “I'm not sure how I'm going to pull it off yet, but if I can—”

“There are so many what-ifs in that scenario. Just let me pay for the return trip, and we might actually get home before Monday morning.”

Hal slammed the hood. “That's it, isn't it? You're freaking out about missing your big meeting to replace me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You gotta get back to find the next big thing. Makes sense. Why waste any more time with me when replacements are so easy to come by?”

Quinn opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had no words, and even if she did, she wasn't sure she could've found the air needed to give them voice.