by Reid, Penny
“I think you look good just like that.”
I stared at him for two seconds before I smacked him on his infuriatingly well-muscled shoulder.
“My shirt is ripped open, and…” I frantically twisted in my seat and may have shrieked. “Where is my underwear?”
There was no amusement in his voice when he responded, “Someplace safe.”
My eyes widened further, and I knew that my mouth was hanging open dumbfounded. I was about to lose my mind.
“Give them back.”
“You don’t need them.”
“Give them back to me right now.”
“You should try new things.”
“I am not leaving this limo while commando!”
The passenger door on Quinn’s side opened, and I yanked the skirt I was wearing back to mid-calf. I didn’t miss his dark smile when it was clear that I was not likely to push the underwear issue further until we were in private. By then, it likely wouldn’t matter.
Quinn reached for his leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders, zipping the front up to my neck. I swam in the largeness of it, but at least I wasn’t going to be walking around with my shirt hanging open. He exited the limo, then held his hand out to me at the threshold. I moved and stood as demurely as possible. When he cleared his throat, I met his gaze and he winked at me, surreptitiously yet suggestively licking his lips.
I followed where he led.
* * *
Sometime later, near midnight, Quinn gave me my underwear back on the promise that I would wear only underwear until sunrise. The only other option was my birthday suit as he’d confiscated all my other clothes and hidden them somewhere within the massive penthouse he called home.
Of course, he lived in the penthouse.
It was the same building where the boss had purchased five floors for Cypher Systems staff. At first, when we arrived, I thought we were headed to the apartment he’d shown me before. My imagination filled with images of us together in the giant bathtub.
Quinn’s tub, as it turned out, was far superior, as was the view and the kitchen, and the bedrooms were more spacious.
The apartment was nearly as sparsely decorated as the unfurnished and unfinished apartment downstairs that we’d toured weeks ago. There was no couch and no chairs in the living room, no table in the dining room, and only a single dresser and bed in the bedroom. The box spring and mattress were on the floor; there was no bedframe. There were no pictures either.
I had a sheet wrapped around myself and, turning away from him, I glanced down at my underwear. They were white cotton and, as I contemplated it, not at all sexy. Most of my undergarments were chosen for comfort, cost, and practicality. I eyeballed him as I pulled on the granny panties, keeping the sheet in place to nonsensically preserve my modesty.
“Why did you hijack my underwear?”
Quinn was lying on his back, his long form stretched on the unmade bed, his hands behind his head, watching me.
He was completely naked. No sheet for him. Nope. No modesty for Quinn. He appeared to be entirely, mindlessly at ease in his own skin. I envied his unabashed ability just to be naked.
I also appreciated it.
“I hate them.” His gaze swept from where the sheet covered my bottom to my bare shoulder then back to my hidden thighs; the way he perused my body made me shiver.
I snapped the elastic at my waist beneath the sheet. “Is it because they lack frill?”
He shook his head lazily. “No. I don’t care what they look like. I hate all your underwear.”
I frowned. “So you’re an equal opportunity underwear hater?”
“Only your underwear.”
“Underwear serves a critical purpose.”
“I don’t want to know.”
He sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and reached for me by moving aside the edges of the sheet and hooking a finger in the band of the much-discussed panties. He brought me to his lap, encouraged me to straddle him, and then he peeled the sheet from under my arms. He kept his eyes on mine while he extracted the material, crumpled it, and tossed it away from us. I shivered. He wrapped his arms around my middle so that his arms crossed behind me and his hands warmed the skin of my sides and stomach and brought my front against his.
“You’re staying with me tonight. No escape.”
I spread my palms over his bare biceps. “You haven’t given me much of a choice; you’ve even taken my sheet. I can’t go home clothed only in granny panties. It’s supposed to be cold tonight.”
He nuzzled my neck and tightened his grip, pressing our chests together. Although I was thoroughly mussed and mollified from our evening of marathon lovemaking, my heart skipped at the contact.
“It’s supposed to be cold tomorrow, too. Why did you leave your coat at work?” He asked the words against my skin, kissing a path across my collarbone then biting my shoulder.
I was really and truly enjoying physical contact to the point of craving it, yet I did not allow myself to wonder at this inexplicable transformation. My spoken reply was an automatic, thoughtless, breathy sigh. “I didn’t. Jem took it.”
Quinn immediately stiffened, and his movements stilled. Abruptly his hands moved to my forearms and he pulled away even as he held me in place. “You saw Jem?”
I met his astonished glare, and my mouth struggled to make sound. I squeaked once or twice before I managed to respond, “Yes.”
His eyes seared and scorched, and pinned me with an accusatory stare. “When? Where?”
“I-I-I saw her last night. She was at my…she was waiting for me at my apartment.”
“Damn.” Quinn clenched his teeth, his jaw and temple ticking, and pulled me abruptly against him in a fierce hug. “Damn it, Janie. You should have called me.”
“She didn’t stay long.” I held on to him tightly even though I didn’t precisely understand the ferocity of his reaction.
We held each other for a long moment. My encounter with Jem had been weighing on me like a squatting Sumo wrestler all the previous night and through the morning; but I hadn’t thought about her since Quinn showed up in my office with his greasy lunch offering.
I moved my hand in a slow circle over his bare back, a motion I hoped would sooth the unexpected shift in mood. I kissed his temple and whispered, “I don’t understand why you are so upset.”
“Because Jem is dangerous.” I felt his chest expand; he sucked in a capacious breath as though greedy for air. “I don’t want her anywhere near you.”
I leaned back and forced him to meet my gaze. “She would never hurt me.”
His eyes only narrowed. “You’re wrong. She would.” His voice was like steel. “I really think you should move into this building.”
I pressed my lips together but didn’t respond.
His hands moved to my face, giant palms cupping my cheeks, long fingers pushing into my hair behind my ears and at my temples. “Please. You don’t have to stay here forever. Just please show Elizabeth the apartment and think about it. Think about staying until this Jem business is resolved.”
“Quinn, I…” My hands moved up his biceps and settled lightly on his forearms. “You are my boss. You are also the guy I am dating, and now you want to be my landlord?”
He winced then gritted his teeth. “It’s not like that.”
“Just one of those things—relationships—can complicate, does complicate interactions between two people. You can’t be everything to me. I have to stand on my own.”
He studied me, his stare turning hawkish. “You could move in with me.”
I smiled even though my heart felt heavy. “We’ve been dating less than a month, and besides, I can’t afford even one-tenth of the rent on this penthouse.”
“I own this place. There is no rent.”
“Quinn…”
He cut me off with a kiss and turned us in one fluid movement so that I was lying under him on the bed.
“Just don’t say no.” He kissed me again. “Not
yet.” He kissed my neck, and his words and breath were hot and urgent. “I’ll give you the key and the code to the building. Promise me you’ll show Elizabeth the apartment.” He nibbled on my ear and whispered, “And promise me that you’ll think about moving in with me.”
I nodded, but not mindlessly. I wanted to pacify him so we could get to the good stuff.
He pulled away and his eyes surveyed me. “Promise me.”
I nodded again and lifted my hand to tousle his hair. “I promise.”
* * *
At some point in the last forty-eight hours, Quinn had brought my bag from the Vegas trip to his apartment. Therefore, and thankfully, I was able to dress in fresh clothes, ones with buttons, before heading to work.
I learned a bit more about Quinn as a consequence of spending the night at his place; he doesn’t really sleep, he exercises every morning, he eats pastries for breakfast. Quinn was up by five and back from a long run by six thirty.
After his shower, he woke me up in the most pleasant way imaginable.
Yes. That way.
I was standing at his kitchen counter drinking a really delicious latte from one of those marvels of modern mechanics one-touch espresso makers and eating a cherry and cheese Danish by 7:20 a.m. At 7:40 a.m., we were walking to work, a short six-block stroll, holding hands and talking about the day ahead.
Since I had tutoring on Thursdays, we made arrangements to go out again Friday night. He kissed me goodbye at the entrance to the building, leaving me wobbly headed and kneed, at 7:58 a.m. I was in the elevator at eight o’clock on the dot.
What a difference a day makes.
I was still smiling dazedly as I walked down the hall to my office, not really noticing anyone or anything. I sat behind my desk and mindlessly shuffled through the folders. I didn’t yet want to lose myself in spreadsheets, so I opted to read through the pile of memos threatening to spill off my desk. It would allow me to continue to revel in all the warm and silky feelings from the previous night and morning.
The first ten or so were actually about my new billing software. The last memo suggested moving the conversation to email. This was typical. Most conversations were initiated via hard-copy memo. After they were determined to be benign in nature, they were moved to email. All memos were to be shredded after they were read.
As he was responsible for the private clients, most of Steven’s internal correspondence was hard copy. Since I was responsible for the corporate clients, most of mine was electronic.
I sifted through the correspondence quickly, but then my attention was abruptly ensnared when I spied both my name and Quinn’s listed together in a printed copy of an email. I’d never received a printed copy of an email before, and my gaze moved to the email address of the sender. I recognized it as one of the French Tweedle Dee lawyers I’d met on my second day. At first, I skimmed the email, but then after the second sentence, I forced myself to start at the beginning and really, truly read it:
Hi Betty,
Per Mr. Sullivan’s request and as discussed during our phone conversation, Jean and I have consulted on the matter of Ms. Morris at length. It is our opinion that Mr. Sullivan’s best course of action would be to terminate Ms. Morris’s employment as soon as is feasible (without interrupting operations). In such cases as these, it is not unusual or unwarranted to offer a large severance package and release her from the non-compete agreement she signed on initiation of the position.
The reason for termination should not be stated explicitly to Ms. Morris nor inferred/alluded to in any documentation in order to mitigate risk for future recompense. Furthermore, we advise that Mr. Sullivan not be charged with conducting the dismissal interview. I’ve taken the liberty of cc-ing Mr. Davies and his administrator to this email as it is our recommendation that he handle the matter as Mr. Sullivan’s designee.
The other option is for Ms. Morris to resign her position. In either case, we’ve drafted a release form that Ms. Morris should sign, and which, regardless of future outcomes, should, as much as is feasible or possible and to the extent allowable by law, absolve Cypher Systems from any related future litigation. I recommend that she sign the release as a condition for receiving the severance.
Please let us know if Mr. Sullivan decides to proceed so that we may move to nullify the non-compete agreement. Likely, Ms. Morris will have great difficulty finding new employment until it is expunged.
Henry LeDuc, JD
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Have you shown this to him? Have you asked him about it?”
I shook my head and chewed on my thumbnail, staring over Elizabeth’s shoulder at nothing in particular.
We were in the Starbucks four blocks away from my building. As soon as I found the email, I used the dratted cell phone to call her and beg her to meet me for lunch. As it turned out, I woke her up at home, and she immediately left to meet me for coffee. Thus, she was dressed in pajamas and boots.
“I have to be honest, Janie. I don’t speak lawyer gibberish, so I’m not really sure what this says. But,” Elizabeth reached for and held my hand, drawing my attention to her. “I think you should ask him about it before you jump to any conclusions.”
I swallowed. “I know. I will.”
Elizabeth’s frown deepened. “How did you get a copy of this? Did they accidentally email it to you?”
“No, it was with my memos on my desk. Someone must’ve…” I blinked, my eyes losing focus again, and then I shuttered my lids.
Of course.
“What? What is it?”
“Olivia.” Blood drained from my face even as heat spread up my neck. “I found Olivia, Carlos’s assistant, in my office yesterday morning. She must have left it there.”
“The one who gives you dirty looks at work? Any chance it’s fake, then?”
“I don’t think so.” I debated the theory for a moment but dismissed the possibility. “It’s real. She wanted me to find it.”
Elizabeth rolled her lips into her mouth and between her teeth, surveying me. Finally, she said, “After everything you’ve told me about him, about Quinn, I seriously doubt he wants to fire you.”
I nodded and was surprised to find that I agreed with Elizabeth’s assessment. “I don’t believe it either.”
She smiled a wry hopeful smile. “So, does that mean, despite this strange email and its indecipherable but damning contents, you trust Quinn?”
I nodded again without thinking and spoke my thoughts aloud. “It does. I do.” I met her clear blue eyes. “I do trust him. I think there has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Yay!” Elizabeth’s smile was full and immediate; she squeezed my hand. “Although I don’t advocate love as a rule, I can honestly say yay for you and Quinn!”
My head tilted to the side in a very Quinn-like gesture before I could stop the movement. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Quinn.” Elizabeth sipped at her black coffee. “You are in love, Janie.”
“I’m not in love! I’m in lust, I’m in deep infatuation, I’m in—in—in definite a lot of like with Quinn, but I’m not…”
Was I in love?
Though I loathed to admit it, that was a distinct possibility.
I loved being around Quinn. I loved talking to him. I loved his laugh and, at times, his bossiness. I loved his self-doubt and I loved his determination. I loved that he seemed to be changing, wanted to change, even as I was changing. I loved that we were growing into something new, together. I loved trusting him. I loved making love to him—really loved making love to him.
If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck and loves like a duck…
Well, Thor!
My ears were suddenly ringing.
Elizabeth wiggled in her seat and wagged her eyebrows. “You l-o-o-o-o-o-ve him.”
“You don’t even believe in love.” I leveled her with a severe glare, hoping to quell the unexpected dawn of realization. If I could just think about it a litt
le more without Elizabeth’s wagging eyebrows, I might be able to analyze the situation with the pragmatism it deserved.
She shook her head and averted her gaze from mine. “You know that’s not true. I believe in one love, first love.”
I knew not to press her on this point or to dissuade her from this belief, especially in relation to herself. I knew Elizabeth’s history, and I didn’t want to make her hash through a topic that was so painful for her.
I tried to make my argument relevant only to the present situation. “What about Jon? I loved Jon.”
“No, you didn’t. You tolerated Jon in much the same way that tolerance is taught in the workplace or at school.” Her mouth curved downward as though she tasted something unpleasant. “I think you loved him as a fellow human being, but you never felt more than tolerance for him.”
“But Quinn wants—he’s my boss, and now he’s my boyfriend. And then there is that apartment in his building. I promised him I would take you to see it.”
She shrugged. “We’ll go tomorrow afternoon before you meet Quinn for your date.” She was wagging her eyebrows again.
I held my breath for a moment then sighed. My forehead landed in my palm and I directed my question to the table. “What am I going to do?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat then brushed her fingertips against my wrist. “Well, you are going to go back to work and not let Ms. Olivia Von Evilpants think she made any impact on your relationship with Quinn. Tonight, you’ll tutor down on the South Side. Tomorrow, we’ll go look at the swanky apartment. Then, afterward, when you go on a date with the man you love—aka Quinn Sullivan, aka Sir McHotpants—you’ll ask him about the email.”
She made it sound so simple, so reasonable, and so possible.
I could only nod, agree, and hope she was right.
* * *
It all went according to plan, until it didn’t.
I did go back to work. I did ignore Olivia even though she seemed overly eager to throw herself in my path and speak to me for the rest of the day. I did go to tutoring that night, and I successfully avoided thinking about being in love with Quinn until he messaged me his nightly text, which had turned somewhat math-mushy recently: