His Page 9

  I smile. “Andrew. I don’t think you understand what a badass you’ve hired in me. I know I can take care of business because I have.”

  “So when someone pulls a gun on you, how does your knife help with that?” he asks sharply.

  “Can we please not do this? I was feeling so good.”

  He nods slightly. “I know, I’m sorry. But I’ll worry about you while I’m gone.”

  I cover his large hand with my free one. “I took care of myself and someone else on the streets for four years. We spent time in the tunnels. It doesn’t get any more dangerous than that. I can handle myself, okay?”

  “The tunnels?”

  “We used to sleep in abandoned subway tunnels in the winter. I’d probably be there right now if not for you.”

  His brows lower and he flinches slightly. “Damn, Quinn. I want you to be happy, but I also want you to be safe.”

  “I want to be a person with free will.” I meet his eyes solemnly. “Not a possession.”

  “Of course. I’d never want you to feel like that.”

  Our pizza arrives, and he lets go of my hand. He puts the first greasy slice on a paper plate and passes it to me. I’ve barely tasted the first bite, and I’m groaning happily.

  “It’s so good,” I say.

  “We should eat this every night for a while,” Andrew says, sliding out of his tux jacket and hanging it on the back of his chair. “Or maybe just you should. I’d start to look like the Pillsbury Doughboy after a couple weeks.”

  I can’t help laughing. “I doubt that. You look like you exercise regularly.”

  “Yep, every morning at five thirty.”

  “At the warehouse?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got the small gym on the main level and a bigger one upstairs.”

  We eat in silence for a minute before I say, “So your mom seems nice.”

  He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Yeah, don’t get me started. I love her and I’d do anything for her, but . . . I don’t know. She changed after my dad died. Instead of selling his company, she decided to take over as CEO. The board of directors thought she was crazy, but I think she just wanted a challenge to occupy her mind, you know?”

  I nodded. “I admire that, actually.”

  “Yeah, it was a connection to my dad in her mind, I think. And she kicked ass. She’s still running it, and she’s grown it by around three hundred percent.”

  “Wow.”

  I think about Gina Wentworth as we eat. Andrew is her only child. He’s probably everything to her. I feel myself softening toward her.

  We finish the pizza, and Roy drives us back to the warehouse. Andrew holds my hand again on the way in. He walks me to the bottom of the staircase and gives me a longer kiss, his hands roaming more freely down to my ass this time. When he breaks the kiss, I find myself wanting more.

  “Goodnight, Quinn,” he says, the fire in his eyes a contrast to the level tone of his voice.

  “Goodnight,” I whisper.

  I turn to walk upstairs, and he watches me. I go slowly and sway my hips just a little, hoping he’ll follow me. He doesn’t.

  I definitely didn’t see this coming. I’m the one thinking about sex and going to bed alone. I decide it was probably just the kiss as I brush my teeth and change into a T-shirt for bed.

  But for the first night since moving in to the warehouse, I don’t lock my door. I don’t even close it.

  Quinn

  The warehouse is quiet. It’s felt eerily empty in here since Andrew left early Thursday morning. He was gone when I woke up that day. I still have a vivid memory of the way he looked the last time I saw him. He seemed so much softer that night at the pizza parlor, and I want to see that side of him again.

  I’d gotten a few how are you texts from him, and I’d told him what little there was to say about my day-to-day life these days. He hadn’t told me much in return, but I was still excited about him coming home today. If nothing else, I needed the company. Andrew’s staff was quiet, focusing on their work and keeping things cordial but detached with me.

  It’s Saturday, and the only difference between today and a weekday for me is that the library will be busier today. But as long as I can find a corner to hide away in with a book, I won’t even notice.

  I put on dark jeans, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and the new tennis shoes I bought. Andrew gave me a debit card right after I moved in, and though I hadn’t planned on using it, I treated myself to these shoes yesterday. They feel like I’m walking on clouds. I’d forgotten how great brand-new tennis shoes feel.

  Once I’ve grabbed my coat, hat, and purse, I’m on my way out the front door of the warehouse. Every time I go in or out this door, I’m wondering where the security cameras are and who’s monitoring them. If I have a fuzzy scarf around my neck and face, will the facial recognition thing trigger an alert and send guys in suits running at me with guns?

  It sounds dramatic, but I always take off my scarf when coming in or out of the warehouse just to be safe. Life sure is funny. I’ve gone from being on guard all the time to being guarded all the time.

  Thursday morning, I briefly considered asking Roy to drive me to the library. But the couple hours a day I spend walking to and from the library are important to me. I like being part of the city again. The biting cold outside doesn’t even bother me; I actually love coming back to the warehouse and thawing out over a giant mug of hot chocolate. Having a place is still a luxury for me, and I enjoy it more when I leave it and get to return.

  About a mile from the warehouse, I stop in front of the window of a little candy shop and look inside. I’ve thought about stopping here since my first time walking to the library from the warehouse, but memories of standing here with Bethy have made it too difficult.

  We’d been in the city for about six months when she stopped walking one day in front of the narrow store’s window and pressed her face against it.

  “I could stand here and smell that caramel corn all day,” she said to me with a wide grin. “Don’t you love it?”

  “Yes.”

  We were hungry, but all we could do was stand outside the store and smell the food inside. My guilt over taking my sister from a place where she never had to be hungry to the streets of New York City had set in.

  I’d already started to question which of the evils was lesser: the one I’d taken her from or the one I’d brought her into.

  And now that I can afford to buy the sweets inside the store, Bethy is gone. I don’t even want to try them without her.

  I resume my walk, still thinking of her. She’s always on my mind. It’s especially hard being alone most of the time when I still don’t know if she made it out of the country safely.

  My worry about her had brought on thoughts of our mom. Did she worry the same way about us? I hoped she knew we’d left and not been taken, because I didn’t think anything could be worse than fearing your child had been abducted.

  She had to know, because we’d taken a handful of our things with us in backpacks. But still, your two underage daughters running away was likely a scary prospect, too.

  I imagine she wonders whether we’re safe—but never why we left. That’s something she knows very well and has to live with every day.

  By the time I walk into the library, my feet are icy cold. I feel the chill of winter weather more acutely now that I have a warm place to sleep at night.

  When I get up to Anna’s floor, I scan the shelf of new paperback arrivals, running my fingertips over the spines. So many possibilities. Knowing I can never read them all is one of the things I love about reading. Books will always be there for me.

  I pull out a thick historical romance, and I’m heading to my favorite chair with it when I see Anna approaching.

  “Quinn,” she says in her soft library voice, “it’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” I say, smiling as she embraces me.

  “Saved this one for you,” she says, winking as she passes me a hardback with a plast
ic jacket.

  I look down at the book, titled Macroeconomics and You. Then I glance back up with a puzzled expression, but Anna has already turned to leave. She gives me a quick, over-the-shoulder smile and walks around a corner before I can ask her why she saved this boring nonfiction book for me.

  When I flip open the cover to see if I’m missing something, my heart pounds wildly as I find a letter tucked between the cover and the first page.

  It bears a Mexican postmark. My eyes fill with tears, and I practically run to my chair, sit down, and open the letter.

  Dear Quinn,

  We made it! It took forever, but we’re here. You know the name of the town, but I sent this letter with a messenger to be postmarked somewhere else. Bean said it was a good idea.

  It’s beautiful here. The ocean is warm, and it’s the prettiest shade of blue green I’ve ever seen. I love the way the sand feels on my bare feet. I wish you were here. I hate that I’m here and you’re stuck in freezing NYC.

  Tomorrow, Bean is going to start looking for a job. I asked him if we’re close to the people from the cartel who cut off his hand and he said no. I hope that’s true. We’re staying at a motel that’s kinda a pit, but at least it’s warm! When Bean finds a job, he’s going to find us a better place to stay.

  I miss you so much. Bean has been really quiet since we left. I think he misses you, too.

  I hope you’re doing okay and Andrew is nice to live with. If there is any way you could call me when Bean and I have a place to stay, that would be great.

  I’ll write again soon. I’ll probably write so much you’ll be tired of my letters, but it’s as close as I can get to talking to you for now.

  Love,

  Bethy

  I blink, and tears spill from my eyes onto my cheeks. I’m filled with happiness. I read the letter again, and then a third time.

  She’s safe. They made it. Bean came through for me in a way I’ll never be able to repay him.

  I carefully fold the letter, return it to the envelope, and file it in the black bag Dawson picked out for me when we got all my new clothes. I take out the phone and see a text message on the screen from Andrew.

  Andrew: Just landed. Have to stop by the office before I come home.

  I get up from my chair and return the paperback to its spot on the shelf. I head back downstairs, trying to remember the name of Andrew’s company. I saw it on a letter in the kitchen last week.

  AD Wentworth Ventures, Inc. That was it. As soon as I hit the sidewalk outside, I type the business name into my smartphone.

  I’m only 2.3 miles away. The phone brings up directions, and I arch my brows, impressed. This thing would have been handy when I was living on the streets.

  It’s been a long time since I felt carefree. But right now, I’m so carefree I can’t keep the smile from my face. I speed walk past people on the sidewalk, checking the phone for directions and watching it count down the distance as I get closer.

  I jog the last half mile, breathless as I double-check the address on my phone against the one on the nondescript downtown building. It’s a match, so I walk inside.

  As soon as I see the warm hardwood floor, I know I’m in the right place. Andrew had the same floor put in the warehouse. The walls are a rich, cream color with a few beautiful paintings framed in simple, dark wood frames. Even the light fixtures have a modern but sophisticated feel, all steel with exposed, clear lightbulbs.

  “May I help you?” a woman asks from behind a sleek, modern desk.

  She’s beautiful. With her dark hair swept back into a knot and her charcoal business suit that looks like it was made for her, she fits right into this elegant place.

  I immediately regret my impulse decision to come here. Andrew is probably busy catching up on work he missed, even though it’s Saturday. He always works Saturdays.

  “Uh . . . sorry,” I say to the woman, my cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”

  “Jana,” a deep male voice calls, “can you send me the paperwork on the close of the Wembley sale?”

  It’s Andrew, who has just walked around the corner. He follows Jana’s gaze to me.

  “Quinn?”

  I smile awkwardly, wishing I would have dashed out the door when I had a chance. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” He sets the folder in his hand on Jana’s desk and walks over to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should have waited to see you later.”

  A corner of his lips quirks up in a smile. “No, I . . . it’s good to see you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He takes my hand. “Come back to my office.”

  Jana is eyeing me with open curiosity as we walk past her desk. Andrew leads me down a hallway, and I glance over at another beautiful painting, this one of a giant oak tree in a field.

  He steps aside when we reach an open door, and I walk into his office. It has a massive, dark wood desk with neat stacks of papers and an open laptop. The walls are the same cream as the lobby, but the frames on them hold diplomas from MIT and NYU. Seeing them makes me remember my own dream of attending NYU. Instead, I’m a high school dropout.

  “This place is more low-key than I was expecting,” I say, turning to look at him. “I like it.”

  His eyes light with amusement. “What were you expecting?”

  “I guess . . . a high-rise building with windows everywhere and sweeping views of the city.”

  Andrew just shakes his head. “Not me.”

  I run my fingertips over a dark wood bookcase and scan the titles on the books. Many are about 9/11. Others are nonfiction business books. Aside from the diplomas, there doesn’t seem to be a personal touch to this office.

  “You want me to hang up your coat?” he asks.

  I nod, slide it off, and hand it to him. He hangs in on an antique-looking wooden coat rack in a corner and walks back to me.

  “I think I surprised your, uh . . . Jana.”

  “Yeah, we don’t get much walk-in traffic.” He gestures to a leather wingback chair, inviting me to sit down, but I shake my head no. “She’s my receptionist. I have a couple other people on staff, but they don’t work Saturdays.”

  “How was your trip?” I ask, suddenly feeling nervous.

  “Good. A lot of time in the air, but I was able to work on the plane.”

  He crosses his arms, and I hate how awkward it feels between us. I wanted the newfound warmth from our night together and the kisses we shared to stay with us.

  “So I came because I got some good news,” I say, taking a deep breath, “and I just wanted to see you.”

  “Good news?”

  I nod but don’t elaborate.

  “I see,” he says softly. “Well, that’s great. It’s really good to see you, Quinn. I missed you.”

  The tenderness in his tone makes me jump forward and throw my arms around him. “I missed you, too.”

  He laughs and wraps his arms around my back. We hold on to each other for a full minute, his nose brushing over my hair and my hands running up and down his back.

  This feels good. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the sense of security I have with Andrew. Despite the paid nature of our relationship, I know if I needed something, he’d be there in an instant. Part of me wishes I could take a chance and trust him with my past, but I can’t. There’s too much at stake.

  I pull away from him, leaving my palms on his chest. My gaze roams around the room, and I come to a conclusion that makes me furrow my brow.

  “There are no windows here.”

  Andrew shrugs. “Not much of a view. Just an alley.”

  “The warehouse is the same way. All the windows are high up.”

  “I’m a very private person, Quinn.”

  Having no windows seems hyperprivate, but I just smile. I’m finding that Andrew is a hard man to know. I can respect that since I’m the same way. But given that we’re coming up on the end of the first month of six together, I�
�d like to try. I’d like to find a way to soothe the deep loneliness I feel for Bethy and Bean.

  “Is Roy outside?” Andrew asks. His hands rest loosely on my hips, and I like the way it feels.

  “Um . . .”

  “I know he’s not. I’ve checked in with him every day, and he says you haven’t ridden with him even once.”

  I sigh deeply. “I know. I know you want me to, but like I said, walking is important to me. I’m used to walking miles every day. I need the freedom it gives me from being indoors all the time.”

  He nods, his lips set in a reluctant line.

  “I bought new shoes,” I say, stepping back and looking down at them. “With the card you gave me.”

  That gets me a small smile.

  “Those are nice. I’m glad you went shopping.”

  “They were on sale.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Quinn, buy anything you want. I’m quite wealthy, okay?”

  “I know, but . . . that’s not me anymore.”

  “Anymore?”

  I look around the room, trying to find something I can use for a subject change. After a few seconds, Andrew asks, “Have you had lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t I call Roy, and we’ll go get something to eat? I’m about done with work anyway.”

  “That sounds good.”

  While he’s calling Roy, my phone buzzes and I check the screen. There are a couple text messages waiting there.

  Dawson: Why haven’t you responded to my texts?

  Dawson: Quinn . . . I need to make salon and gown-fitting appointments for you. Text me back.

  I tuck the phone back into my purse. Dawson’s been hounding me since Andrew left, wanting to get me waxed and dyed and fitted into a glamorous woman for Andrew’s return. I’ve grown tired of him treating me like a doll he can fix up as he pleases, so I’ve been ignoring him.

  “What’s with the frown?” Andrew asks. “Everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great.”

  It really is. Bethy is safe in Mexico, and Andrew is back. Everything in my small world feels right.

  Andrew

  Quinn is different now. She’s lighter. The good news she got has obviously taken a weight from her shoulders. I can only assume it was about her sister.