by Penny Reid
I was a little breathless when I concluded and withdrew my fingers from his, leaving the phone in his hand; I tried to look everywhere but at him and his damn tenebrous blue eyes.
He placed the phone in my hand once again. “As much as the idea of collaring and leashing you sounds promising, the purpose of the phone is to ensure you’re reachable-”
I interrupted him, “You mean bound and restrained-”
“Janie, if I wanted to restrain you I’d use rope.” When he spoke his voice was low and softened with what could only be described as intimacy.
I met his gaze abruptly, startled by his tone; however, if his tone surprised me, then his gaze struck me momentarily mute. He’d shifted closer, towering over me so I had to tilt my head back to meet his stare, his mouth curved into a whisper of a smile which felt more menacing than a scowl. I blinked under the scalding stare and leaned one elbow against the counter at my side for balance.
I felt heat rise up my throat and over my cheeks as I frowned at him; “I know what you’re doing.” My own annoyance bolstered my confidence.
He lifted a single eyebrow and leaned against the counter, mimicking my stance, “And what’s that?”
“You’re teasing me again, like yesterday; you’re trying to distract me.” I placed the phone on the counter.
“I’m not trying to distract you.” His eyes traveled slowly over my face.
I gritted my teeth, trying force my blush under control and the beating of my heart- stupid heart; “Yes you are, and it won’t work.”
His smile grew, still just a small curve; his gaze continued its searing yet leisurely perusal of my features. “And why not?”
Recovering my voice but not entirely control of my brain, I started talking without really paying attention to my words, “Because they don’t use ropes, they use nets. They track the Orcas between Alaska and the Hawaiian islands to establish migration paths, mating patterns, and birth rates. It’s actually fascinating; did you know most male Killer Whales raised in captivity- about 60-90%- experience dorsal fin collapse.”
“Really. How interesting. What is that?” His voice was deadpan but he was still giving me that danger-smile.
I took a step backward. “Dorsal fin collapse. It’s where the dorsal fin- you know, the usually stiff fin on their back- droops to the side and they can’t get it up. Scientists think it’s because, in captivity, the males can’t get adequate depth, in the water, and so their fin droops. Which is why I don’t want a cell phone. I don’t want a droopy fin.”
The purposeful languorous caress of Quinn’s gaze ended abruptly as did his smile; he met my eyes and blinked at me like I’d said something completely crazy or horrifying. Quinn shook his head and glanced away, presumably to clear his thoughts of a troubling thought.
“Look,” he almost growled, picking up the phone from the counter and smacking it back into my palm once more; he quickly crossed his arms over his chest, his hands balling into fists, “you’re going to carry that phone.” his tone left little room for argument even as he made concessions, his characteristic up-to-no-good stare slipped back into place; “You don’t have to look at it, you just have to answer it when it rings. No one will text you, I promise. And, if they do, you can ignore the messages. Use it just like a landline- in fact, you can use it for personal calls if you want.” If possible, he looked even more preoccupied and detached than usual.
“But you can still use it to track my whereabouts, I’ll still be-” I swallowed hard as my hand closed around the stupid smart phone, accepting my fate, “I’ll still get a droopy fin. Do you want me to have a droopy fin? …Couldn’t you tell Carlos it was a bad idea? Tell him you made a mistake, he might listen to you.”
His eyes moved down to my neck, lingered there. Then he said, “Do you know what your problem is?”
His question made me frown, insta-glower actually, and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, “I have a problem?”
“Yes. You have a problem.” He lifted his piercing blue gaze to my glowering frown and I was somewhat stunned to see that he didn’t look agitated any longer; he looked intent, determined. It aggravated me.
Without thinking I said, “Oh, really? I can’t wait to hear what my problem is. You’ve known me a total of three weeks and you’ve already diagnosed the problem. The suspense is killing me. Well, please enlighten me oh great identifier of problems.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I suppressed a gasp by gulping hard. The level of my annoyance-fueled sarcasm was reaching critical mass and I couldn’t seem to control it.
“You are incredibly talented and are one of the smartest people I’ve ever met-”
I interrupted him, “Yes that sounds like a real problem. I see your point-”
“-but you are completely blind to the obvious.”
I could feel heat rising again to my cheeks, I clenched my teeth, “Well, obviously you’re right. Obviously I should just carry the cell phone.” I slipped the cell phone into my pocket, “Thank you so much, Quinn, for pointing out the obvious error of my ways.” I gave him a very fake, very sweet smile and started past him, intent on the door.
Before I could move more than a step he reached out and stopped me, gripping my arm above the elbow. “Damn it, I’m not talking about the cell phone-”
“I need to get back to work.” I stepped back and shrugged out of his grip; he took a step forward, effectively trapping me against the counter and I refused to meet his eyes.
“You’re angry with me.” I heard him sigh.
“I’m not angry. I don’t get angry.”
“Then you do a really good impression of angry.”
Am I angry? I wondered. I couldn’t remember ever being really angry, not even when my mother left, not when Jem spiked my OJ before the SATs, not when Jon cheated on me with random bimbo #2. I was flustered and agitated and more annoyed than I’d ever felt in my life. But then, Quinn seemed to have some kind of effect over me, made my moods swing faster than a steroid doped Barry Bonds.
I lifted my hand to my forehead and rubbed my temple. “Look,” I huffed. He was standing too close, I couldn’t think with my brain when my body wanted to climb him like a tree. “I’m not angry. I just have a completely irrational hatred of cell phones. And you are just the messenger.”
“It won’t be as bad as you think.” He sounded remorseful.
I looked at him then, narrowed my eyes unhappily, “It’s already pretty bad.”
“Now I can text you daily jokes.” Again, his voice was deadpan but his eyes lighted with mischievousness; he placed his hands on either side of me, my back still against the counter, and filled every inch of my immediate vision.
I cleared my throat, my annoyance melting into something warmer even as I tried to stay focused, “I thought you said there would be no texting?”
“Only from me. And you don’t have to answer.”
“I won’t answer, and I won’t read your jokes.”
Then he smiled. It was the same slow sexy grin that always penetrated my defenses; “Yes you will. You’ll read them.” He nodded slowly, just once, as though to emphasize his certainty.
I tried not to smile and only half succeeded, “I’m still angry with you.”
“You said you weren’t angry.”
“In retrospect I think I was angry-” I tried to take a step to the side and met only the immobile granite of his arm, “-am angry.” I corrected myself.
“What can we do about that?” his eyes moved between mine.
I tried to keep my voice steady. Again his closeness was twisting my stomach in to knots. Didn’t he understand the concept of personal space?
“You can start by moving out of the way. I’ve been gone for too long and my lunch is now cold.”
I let out a breath of relief tinged with a semi-subconscious note of disappointment as he stepped back; he straightened and let his arms fall to his sides. It was suddenly clear to me that our short time together had helped me to
become slightly more at ease around him. If he’d cornered me like he’d just done when he escorted me from my old job I think I would have spontaneously combusted with lust or fainted into a coma of bliss.
It felt like we were becoming friends or, at least, friendly. I didn’t see him as just a delicious piece of man meat any more. I saw him as Quinn: pushy, intelligent, frustrating, sexy Quinn who liked to tease me and thought I was smart and talented.
The corner of his mouth pulled upward just a fraction, “Yesterday you said I could interrupt your meals anytime.”
I grunted non-committedly and wrapped my arms around myself; without his closeness I felt cold and something about his eyes made me shiver.
He sighed, suddenly becoming serious, “Listen, I was calling earlier to cancel for today but I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten for training.” he pulled a hand through his hair, the locks arranging themselves with adorable askewness before settling back to their tousled perfection, “You go eat your cold lunch. I have to go to a meeting.”
“Go then.” I shrugged. “And if you lock yourself out of your car don’t call me. I won’t be answering my cell phone.”
His eyes narrowed threateningly in response, “You’ll answer. Besides, I’m taking the motorcycle.”
I frowned, “Be careful on that thing.”
He nodded once, gave me a half smile, and left. I stood in place for several minutes after he left, motionless except for intermittent smiles and frowns alternating over my features. I replayed our conversation in my head; the phone felt heavy in my pocket. I thought about appealing to Carlos about the phone; as Quinn said, Carlos was my boss and if he decided the phone was unnecessary then maybe I could get out of having to carry it around.
On my way back to my office to eat my now cold lunch I felt the phone vibrate against my thigh. At first I didn’t know what it was and jumped in startled surprise. I fished out the contraption and glanced at the screen; true to his word he’d sent me a joke:
There are 10 kinds of people in the world, those who understand binary numbers and those who don't
I shook my head and said to no one in particular, “What a nerd.”
But, by the time I existed the elevator to my floor I had a silly grin on my face and any thoughts of appealing to Carlos had vanished.
~*~
When I arrived home that night after tutoring on the south side Elizabeth was still gone and it looked like she hadn’t yet returned to the apartment. This was fairly typical and I think was one of the main reasons why she and I were able to cohabitate in a small one bedroom apartment with no issues or drama. That and we were drama free by nature. I plowed through my Chinese takeout then dutifully opened my laptop and began searching for two bedroom apartments.
Three hours later and no real progress made, I navigated instead to my email. As usual, I had an email from my dad; it was a forward of some joke. This was how he communicated with me. I often wondered if my dad knew he could modify the content of messages as he’d never sent me anything but forwarded emails.
There was also an email from Jon.
Jon and I were speaking every few days and meeting for coffee or lunch or dinner since his freak-out a week and a half earlier. It was almost like dating again except we lived separately and the night didn’t end with soft kisses and caresses but rather awkward goodbyes and weird staring contests.
Each time we saw each other he would indirectly- or, sometimes, not so indirectly- bring up the possibility of us getting back together. I hoped that over time he would realize our romantic past was exactly that: the past.
This particular email from Jon was in response to me and a confirmation of changing a lunch to a dinner.
Jon and I were scheduled to meet for lunch on Friday afternoon and I was planning to bring Steven along. One day at work, after reviewing the corporate account structures and during a particularly funny story about one of Steven’s most recent dating disasters, I mentioned to Steven that Jon- my ex- and I were still friends. Steven, his grey eyes narrowing with plain suspicion, said he wanted to see what an amicable break-up looked like; he insisted the concept was as mythical as odor-free cat litter.
However, since Quinn’s announcement less than forty eight hours ago that my days would now include afternoons spent meeting corporate partners, I emailed Jon earlier in the day and canceled the lunch. Instead it was settled that Jon, Steven, and I would all have dinner together tomorrow night at a new Ethiopian restaurant near my place.
Before I closed my inbox another message popped up, sent less than a minutes ago. I blinked at the screen several times before the words made sense.
It was from my younger sister, Jem.
The body of the email was blank but the subject line read: I’m coming to visit, I want to see you.
CHAPTER 10
The next morning I woke up, took a shower, got dressed in ten minutes then spent twenty minutes contemplating my shoe selection. I arrived at the office early and started working through emails, pending tasks, and preparation for my upcoming business trip to Las Vegas in less than two weeks. Minutes ticked by at a cruelly slow pace. My mind wandered to Jem’s strange email.
I was so engrossed in my meanderings that the ring of my cell phone made me jump. Frantically and fumbling I answered. It was ridiculous. My office phone never made me nervous.
“Hello?” I said when I finally brought it to my ear.
“Hey- it’s me. Come downstairs.” Quinn’s gravely tenor sounded from the other end. There was traffic in the background and the roar of a large truck.
I sighed as I stood, gathering my portfolio from the desk, “Why didn’t you just call my office phone? I’m in my office.”
“I wanted to make sure you were reachable on the cell.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I felt half-heartedly annoyed.
“Next time just call the office phone.” I hung up on him before he could respond and felt a little twinge of satisfaction. If he could initiate a conversation with me whenever he wanted then I could end it whenever I wanted.
A black Mercedes was illegally parked at the corner and Quinn stepped out of the back seat as I exited the building. He wasn’t wearing his guard uniform or a suit; instead his tall form was clothed in black boots, dark jeans, and a blue t-shirt; as normal, his hair was expertly tousled, his face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sun glasses. I took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He looked really yummy. I may have sighed. I may have licked my lips.
I walked out to the car, feeling a little conspicuous in my capped sleeve red oxford shirt, grey pants, and red satin stilettos. I’d opted to wear my glasses instead of contacts; for some reason I always felt a little bit more invisible when I wore glasses, like I blended into the scenery behind the frames. My hair was once again in a tight bun. As I approached I saw my reflection in his sunglasses which only increased my unease. I thought he was going to lecture me for hanging up on him but instead he smiled as I approached.
“Hey.” He nodded once.
“Hi.” I gave him a half wave, gripping a portfolio notebook to my chest for taking notes; just in case. Neither Steven nor Carlos proactively briefed me on the scope or purpose of the training. I thought of Steven’s statement yesterday when I asked him if I should prepare or bring anything for the training, that we would tour a property but it should take only an hour.
Steven was half right. Quinn did show me one of the properties but we were not back within the hour.
The car took us a short distance to the League Center. The League Center is your typical arena concert venue and Guard Systems was acting as a security consultant for the managing security company.
There had been a number of breeches in physical security during the last six months. The most recent included an impressively enthusiastic fan that posed as a roadie and serenaded the early audience with a drunken/stoned rendition of Justin Beber, or Bieber or something, Girl, I Love You Hard song.
Note, Justin Bieber may or may not have a song entitled Girl, I Love You Hard; however, the title- I feel- is reflective enough of Justin Bieber songs- as a sum total- to be utilized as a placeholder for whatever song this drunken crazy person was singing.
When we arrived we were given a comprehensive tour and the visit ended up being part business meeting between Quinn, the lead Guard Security liaison, and the onsite supervisor of the security management company; part training-slash-information session for my benefit; part review and tour of newly implemented measures.
Quinn was very quiet in the car on the drive to the League Center and very businessy, abrupt, and authoritative with everyone we encountered at the venue. He was not the Quinn I knew from club Outrageous, the morning after at his sister’s apartment and Giavani’s Pancake Diner, Smith’s deli or even Starbucks. If he didn’t look bored he looked unimpressed. People called him Mr. Sullivan or Sir. At one point I thought one of the ground staff was going to salute.
He was actually quite intimidating.
However, throughout the entire visit, business-like though he was, Quinn took special care and time to define concepts and acronyms I may not understand; describe identified weaknesses in the venue’s security; and provide context and background to purchases, personnel, and any topic which he felt related specifically to my management of the account.
By the time 5:30PM rolled around my brain felt full and my stomach was growling. We were just finishing an inspection of the site’s media-server facility; Jamal, the Guard Security liaison, led us down a narrow, low ceilinged hallway to the elevator and glanced at his cell phone.