Her words were like code without a closing greater-than sign. They caught him in a loop, replaying them over and over again. “I don’t understand.”
“Dad moved the company here eight years ago, and I’m trapped by the deal we made.”
“Trapped?” he repeated blankly. Trapped. Closed in by words. Her back curved with regret.
If that was how she felt about a job, how must the marriage pact make her feel? Jobs could be given to others, quit, traded, and/or adjusted. She had options at the corporate level, and she’d certainly had enough time to consider them. But marriage? That was forever. He wasn’t the type of guy who bounced from woman to woman. In fact, there had only been one woman for him.
Shewas the one who’d brought up the marriage pact.Shewas the one who had started this whole thing. He certainly wasn’t going to hold it over her andmakeher marry him.
“Remember? Dad gave me ten years to sow my wild oats, and then I have to behave like arespectable adult.” She lowered her voice for the last two words, doing a fair impression of her father.
An uneasy feeling formed in the pit of Quinn’s stomach—telling him to proceed with caution. “Bitter much?” he teased, hoping that his instincts were wrong and that the fairy tale he’d pictured was real.
She grimaced. “Sorry. I know we haven’t seen each other for a while—it just feels the same.Wefeel the same. Like I can be completely honest with you, ya know?”
He swallowed as he nodded.
“It’s just, I don’t think I should be held to a deal I made when I was too young to know any better. Back then, ten years seemed like forever, but it’s flown by.” She ran her hand down his arm. “You understand, don’t you?”
He did. He understood that she was speaking in code, giving him and the pact the brush-off without having to come right out and break his heart. He understood that they were over. Whatever hope he’d harbored for the two of them getting together was false hope. Innocent. He’d been right when talking to Burgess. Knowing the answer wasnowas much harder than not knowing the answer at all.
He pulled away from Ginny, letting his arms drop and then tucking his hands in his pockets. “It’s unfair. I hope you get it figured out. Excuse me, I see someone I have to talk to before they leave.” He left her there on the edge of the dance floor. Not looking back was a struggle. His mind begged for one last view of her in that navy dress with the silver trim. If he closed his eyes, he could recreate the image. There was no need to torture himself with the picture of her getting farther away from him.
He had his answer and he could move on. That was the closure he’d come to find. Well, not exactly. He’d come to find a second chance at love, and what he got was a brick wall and a sign that said “Take a hike.”
His footsteps grew heavier as he pushed open the doors and stepped into the night. After he sent a quick text to his driver, his car was waiting for him in the roundabout when he finally got there. He should be happy. He was free and single. He should hit the town, meet a lady, date.
With a sigh, he landed in the back seat and tugged his tie loose. “What did you expect?” He chided himself for his naïveté, for his belief in first loves.
Chapter Seven
Ginny
Lockwood Family Pharmaceuticals: Serving your family’s needs since 1995.
Ginny stared at the logo on the back of the elevator as she rode it to the executive floor. Her first day back in the office and India already felt like a lifetime ago.
The elevator slowed and Ginny turned to face the doors. They opened to reveal a man who was as much a part of Lockwood Family Pharmaceuticals as the lab on the fourth floor.
“Jack, it’s good to see you again.” Ginny gave the older man a light hug. He’d been with Dad from the early days, explaining the science that was beyond Dad’s understanding and preventing costly product recalls. His position was an advisory role now, no longer donning the white lab coat and sitting behind a microscope.
“You’re too skinny.” Jack frowned. Ten years hadn’t changed him much. His thick black hair had a few silver strands, but other than that, he hadn’t aged a day.
Ginny chuckled. She’d forgotten how blunt Jack was with his observations. “It’s good to see you too.” She walked with him past the receptionist desk, where a woman with a messy bun was answering phones. Dad had moved the company to Seattle, needing to be closer to tech development and in a city with a highly educated working class. He’d picked a good building. The outside was done in warm brick that looked good on marketing posters. Inside was streamline corporate.
At least some things didn’t change with the move. Dad’s fingerprint was in the color of gray carpet—the same he’d picked for his house and the artwork on the wall. He preferred discovering artists. Dad wasn’t someone who fit nicely in a box. He was tough on those around him, oftentimes demanding, and yet his support had allowed men and women to follow their artistic dreams. He always said it was a gamble of an investment, and she wondered what he enjoyed more: gambling or helping others.
Swimming in the sense that her father’s ghost haunted these halls, she was physically jarred by what she found in his office. Correction: his former office. Ginny’s stepmother, Jillian, had taken occupancy less than 48 hours after Dad’s passing. The viewing and funeral were netted in a haze of jet lag. If she swiped a net through the fog, bits and pieces of memories would cling to the mesh. One of them was giving Jillian control of the company for five years. She was an accomplished businesswoman and had been the VP before she became a stepmom.
Gone were her father’s signature office pieces. A raspberry-colored couch and a white coffee table sat atop a rug so fluffy you could hide Easter eggs in it. There were teal curtains framing the floor-to-ceiling windows on the south wall and a modern steel desk on the east. The heavy wooden desk her father had used for decades, the one that smelled of lemon furniture polish, was nowhere to be found. Instead of his portrait, floral watercolors graced the wall. It was all so … garish.
“Sweetheart!” Jillian exclaimed. Jillian rose from her throne behind the desk—the chair back was so tall there was no other word for it.
Ginny’s shoulders jumped to her ears at the sickly-sweet tone in her stepmother’s voice. “Jillian.” Ginny smiled and accepted her hug and the accompanying bath in Chanel No. 5.
They’d both known this day was coming. Jillian had forwarded quarterly reports, which Ginny perused on her cell phone from all parts of the world, though she’d never commented on them. What was there to say? Jillian could read the numbers and know the company was growing—she didn’t need agood jobfrom her stepdaughter to feel good about herself.
“You’re just in time.” Jillian handed Ginny a legal pad of paper, a pen, and a meeting agenda.
