by ZN Willett
“Sorry.”
She scurried away, and I followed quickly behind her right into the elevator. Christopher dashed in behind me. It was full of people all of whom greeted us. He wiggled in behind me and whispered in my ear, “We’re not done.”
I swung my head. “I think we are.”
The elevator door opened to the lobby, and everyone moved out.
“Have dinner with me,” he asked.
I turned around. “I have plans. If I don’t see you, have a nice holiday. I’ll be working from home.” I walked away.
The week of Christmas was hectic with New Year’s being our busiest time of the year. Most of our hotels filled up during conventions and key times, but it was a given that all of them would be filled for the holidays. Between company parties and visits from vendors and sellers, my schedule was full. This made it being Friday that much more enjoyable.
Christmas was on a Sunday and I was taking Monday off for my three day weekend. The office was pretty scarce and my dad was in Cabo or somewhere in Mexico. He had decided to visit an Army buddy that had retired down there. I would be having dinner with Lissa and Justin. They were having a low-key Christmas without the in-laws. Justin had sent them away somewhere for their present. They would be coming back for New Year’s Eve to watch the girls so that Justin and Lissa could get away as their present.
If Justin could have a team of kids he would, although Lissa had cut it off at three. I knew he wanted a boy and Lissa had told me that he had been trying to persuade her for one more. She thought about mentioning adopting a boy, yet hadn’t said anything about it to him.
I had one more appointment that night and couldn’t wait for it to end. Mia scheduled a last-minute dinner with one of our key vendors. They usually took one of us to dinner as a thank you for doing business with them. I wasn’t in the mood, but I needed to renegotiate some terms for the coming year.
Mia called to remind me of said meeting, which in turn reminded her that she had the day off. Yet, she was still working from home. I could hear her house being destroyed with the kids being out of school. I then explained that I was capable of deciphering my outlook calendar and to stop working.
When I heard the elevator doors open, I told her they were here and to leave me alone until Tuesday. I grabbed my jacket and stepped out to greet them when I was met with familiar green eyes. “Christopher. What are you doing in LA?”
“I came to see you.”
I was a bit taken back.
“Well, you made a trip for nothing. I have a dinner engagement.”
“I know that.” He smirked.
“Are you planning on joining us?”
They never said anything about Christopher.
“Something like that.” He came closer.
The familiar smell of his intoxicating cologne flooded my senses. Everything I didn’t need right then. “Christopher, what is going on?”
“Follow me.” He took my hand and guided me down to the waiting car.
“Are we meeting them?” I asked, as I stepped into the car.
After he had followed me in, the driver took off, and I started to text Mia. When she responded, I knew Christopher had lied.
“What the hell, Colby! You aren’t in this meeting. Take me back before I miss them.”
“Relax, the meeting is with me.”
“This is very—”
“You wouldn’t have dinner with me, I made an appointment.”
I didn’t know what to say. I was mad, frustrated and . . . I don’t know! “You tricked me?”
“No. You said your schedule was full, I made room for myself in it.”
I shifted my body to face his. “So, we have dinner, Colby. What do you think will come from this? Another night in my pants?” I hissed.
“If that is all I wanted, I wouldn’t fly across the country to see you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To get to know you better.”
“So that you can use it against me later?”
“Why do you think I have ulterior motives every damn time?”
“Because, you’re a Colby! You people don’t do anything without a reason.”
“Why don’t you give me a chance to show you that we are not all the same? Quinn, you say your hunches are on point. What are they telling you?”
I stared into his eyes, not wanting to answer that question.
“Fine. I’ll have dinner with you, but don’t ever do this again!”
“Can’t promise that, but you will not regret it.”
Something tells me I will.
“Really, Colby?”
“You said you liked Mexican.”
We pulled up next to a food truck located by the beach. The driver opened the door as Christopher came around and escorted me to the waiting table.
It was a picnic table with an elegant blue tablecloth draped over it. Votive candles were lined up across the middle, illuminating the bouquet of tropical flowers that stood as the centerpiece. Two formal place settings were set with a bottle of wine placed on one side.
Christopher directed me to take a seat as he rushed up to the truck’s window grabbing two plates. He placed two chicken tacos in front of me as he walked around setting the other plate down in front of himself.
“This smells really good.” I breathed in.
“I hear it’s the best in the area,” he said, as he poured two glasses of wine.
“Not sure if the wine will go?”
“It’s from Spain.”
I laughed. “I see, well then.” We held up our glasses and clinked them together.
“This is very good.” I hummed in satisfaction from the first bite.
“I knew you would like it.”
The sky darkened, and the waves started to calm around us. “You are full of surprises.”
He grinned. “I try.”
“I was expecting something more. . . . indoors,” I said in-between bites.
He took a sip of wine. “I could have rented out an entire restaurant. Had us dine amidst millions of dollars of art. Fly you to Canada . . . Hawaii . . . anywhere really. However, I didn’t think any of those scenarios would impress you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You are different from most women.”
I stopped eating. “Do tell.”
“You have your own fortune, yet live far below your means.”
“True.”
“You appreciate the finer things, although it’s an understated appreciation.”
“How so?” I asked, curiously.
“Take your handbag for instance. I know firsthand the price point of that designer, yet you have the bag with the most understated logo.”
“I’m assuming you sent them to your many lady friends?”
He raised a brow. “You assume incorrectly—as usual. My sister is a shopaholic. That is one of her favorite designers,” he said, and motioned toward my Goyard bag.
“Reagan has good taste,” I added.
“So do you, although Reagan would have picked the logo bag.”
I shook my head. “It’s all about quality for me.”
“That is one more thing we have in common.”
“Are you adding them up?”
“Just helping you out.”
We finished our tacos, and Christopher asked me if I wanted more. “I’m good, thank you.”
He stood up and pulled something out of a bag. “Did you leave room for dessert?” he asked, as he pulled out two pieces of what looked to be chocolate cake. I stared, amazed, that he had thought this through.
“You are going to love this. I brought it from New York.”
I dug my spoon into the chocolate ganache and bit into pure heaven. The bottom layer was a chocolate cake soaked in rum, with a white chocolate mousse filling rolled around the ganache. “This is incredible,” I mumbled, licking the spoon.
He looked at me strangely. “I knew you would like it.”
Huh? I focused on him for a moment. “Thank you.”
His eyes widened. “What was that?”
Mine narrowed. “You heard me, ass.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“You are going to have to give me the bakery information.”
“You already met the chef.”
“Oh, it’s one of ours? I should have known.”
“No, Constance made it.”
I stared a bit puzzled, and at the same time was surprised. “Wow. Well . . . I’m going to have to get her to make another one of these.”
“She already said that next time I would have to invite you to the house for a proper dinner.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “She is a nice woman.”
“She is.” His eyes lit up.
“You two are close?”
He nodded. “I told you she raised me.”
“How does Mrs. Colby feel about that?”
“Mother has her moments. She tried to make up for it by buying me things when I was younger, however that wasn’t what I needed. Reagan took her up on her offers though. That’s why she has no concept of value or money.”
“It sounds as if she is trying to atone for past mistakes.”
He huffed out humorously. “Funny that she can, but my Father can’t.”
I leaned in. “What happened between them? I mean, if you want to tell me.”
He tilted his head. “I’m not sure. This is personal information. How do I know that I can trust you?”
“What!” I sulked insulted, and the hint of sarcasm hit me. “Whatever. Don’t tell me. “
“Oh, I have no problem talking about my personal life. I’m an open book.”
“Is that so?”
“I have no issues with telling you what I want. Haven’t I made that obvious enough to you?” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes and stuck my spoon into his cake. He grabbed hold of my wrist and snickered as he shook his head. I reached over with my free hand and glided my finger across the chocolate goodness and straight into my mouth, and laughed.
Christopher took hold of my hand, popping said finger out of my mouth and straight into his. “Mmm, you taste delicious.” He grinned.
I laughed; as he was licking, I stole his piece of cake.
“Hey!”
“Sorry. You snoozed, now you lose.”
He laughed and poured more wine. “My mother and father were high school sweethearts. He received a scholarship to play baseball during his junior year at the private school my mother attended. My father came from a family with modest means. While my mother came from . . . well, you know. My grandfather, Christopher, despised my dad. He wanted better for his daughter. When my parents announced their engagement, he practically disowned her.”
“I don’t understand how parents can do that to their children.”
“He did, and he disinherited his only child. It wasn’t until I was born that he changed his tune. He finally had a male heir—and Cancer.”
“Huh. Well, at least he saw the error of his ways.”
“Shortly afterward, my grandfather handed the company over to my mother to run. It was still privately owned at the time. She became the CEO while he continued chemotherapy. She had a child, an ill parent, and a Fortune 500 company to juggle. You can see why some things fell by the wayside. She also had to repair her status in her inner circle, mend her relationship with her Father, and make a name for herself. That’s when Constance came to live with us. While she juggled everything else, Constance took care of Reagan and me.”
“I thought your dad ran the company?”
“He was given the title, but it’s my mother’s company—before the merger, of course. She handed him the reigns after his indiscretion.”
“You know what surprises me the most? After everything that your parents had been through to be together, that he would cheat on her. Your Mother obviously loved Thomas; she gave up her inheritance and walked away from her father.”
He looked distant. “My father loves my mother with his entire being.”
“Then why?”
“He told her it was a bad judgment call, a one night stand. My mother was never home, and they were both busy. She had a company to run, a family to take care of, and at the time, grief to deal with. My grandfather died that year, and my mother handled her grief by taking it out on him, I’m told. My father would have lunch at the same place every day and I guess he befriended a waitress. Long story short, she listened to his woes, and they ended up in bed.”
“If I were your mother, I would have thrown him out and divorced his ass! She had her hands full and he what? Had to eat out? Watch the kids? Wait—Constance did that—so, what the hell?”
Christopher sat back, perplexed. “I’ve asked him that on several occasions.”
“Why are they still together?” No wonder the woman was evil. If I had to see his cheating face . . . Mrs. Colby should have kicked him out and never looked back.
“My father will never stop trying to make it up to my mother, Quinn. And my Mother will make sure he never forgets what he’s done.”
“So he continues to cheat?”
He shook his head. “There was only that one time.”
“How can you believe that?”
“He never hid the truth from us. The night it happened, he told my mom right away. When I heard all the commotion, he apologized to me for hurting my mother.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten.”
“Wait . . . this happened when you were ten, and they have continued to live like this for what . . . over twenty years?”
He nodded.
I sat back. “What the hell is wrong with your parents? How . . . I don’t . . . no wonder . . . damn.”
“My family isn’t the only dysfunctional ones out there.”
That was true.
“But why would your mother hand her company over to Thomas to manage?”
“She decided to give him ‘busy’ work to keep his idle hands occupied. I’m sure you have heard of the saying, Idle hands are the Devil’s tools.”
I grabbed the wine bottle and poured another glass. “My mom and dad had their moments, but yours win the prize.”
“I have friends’ with more dysfunctional parents than mine.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Did you go to boarding school?”
“Prep. You?”
“Still not surprised. Public education until High School.”
“Ahh, you mixed with the commoners.”
“My mother insisted, smart ass. It was Joseph that wanted me to go to a different school.”
“Most parents want the best for their children. Even, my mother. She may have gone about it the wrong way—”
“You think?”
“She means well. She just has a hard exterior.”
“I see where you get it from.”
There went his bitch brow. “And yours? I assume it’s from your mother. Your father is a stand up man.”
“My mother was a kind woman.”
“Then, why the concrete wall?”
I glared at him. I don’t have a wall! “It’s not a wall. You for one should know that not everyone has the purest of intentions.”
“True, but—” He shook his head and took another drink.
“Just say it, Colby.”
“Not everyone has an ulterior motive.”
“So far, everyone that I have met has had one.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Maybe so. Although, there is always at least one exception.”
I didn’t respond, and neither did he. We sat and finished our drink as the darkness fell around us.
“Did you enjoy dinner?” Christopher asked, as he opened the car door.
“Actually, I did.”
“We can do this again.”
I thought about it. “Maybe.” Christopher smirked. “I said maybe.” I reiterated as he closed my door.
/> On the way back to my house, we talked a little about the new software along with the New Year’s projections. It was interesting how we could easily switch back and forth between business and pleasure. One minute I would ask about the P&L, the next he would ask me what perfume I was wearing. We went back and forth the entire time until we had reached my house.
Christopher insisted that he walk me to my door. I stood there waiting for him to come up with an excuse to come in, but surprisingly none came. “I hope you had an enjoyable night Quinn, Merry Christmas.” He took my hand and squeezed it as he leaned in for a chaste kiss. Then turned and walked back to his car.
That night I lay in bed reviewing our evening, and regretted that I hadn’t asked him to come inside.
Waking up the next morning, I felt nostalgic and turned on the classics. It was Christmas Eve and they were playing all the old Christmas movies. I grabbed a bowl of cereal and plopped down on the sofa. I was half way through White Christmas when I heard the knock on the door.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
Christopher leaned against the door frame with a box in his hand and looked amazing as always.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
I pulled my robe in tighter. “No. I was . . . doing some things and hadn’t had time to get dressed yet.”
“There was something I forgot to give you last night,” he said, as he gazed intently.
I was locked in his gaze, but then realized and said, “Come in.”
He walked past me, admiring the view. “You really do have a nice home. It’s very . . . homey.”
“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?” I asked, leading him into the kitchen.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Make yourself comfortable. I can make some fresh coffee if you would like?”
“Don’t bother; I’ll take a juice or water.”
I placed an orange juice carton in front of him, while I collected two glasses. Christopher poured while I sat down on the bar stool opposite him.
“Do you cook a lot?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“You have a lot of cookware.” He nodded to the overhead hanging pots.
“Those were my mother’s. She was the cook. You would think I would have learned something from her, although I never had a knack for it. I can order a fierce take-out, though,” I said laughing.