Sister Mary’s forehead crinkled in confusion.
Ginny dropped her arms. “It means that it’s time for me to leave.” With the statement out there in the universe, it felt like her rib cage caved in and she leaned against the wall. The weight of the mantle she’d assume when her feet touched American soil already suffocated.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Sister Mary offered a touch of confidence to her words, pulling Ginny away from the wall to stand on her own two feet.
“I made a deal with my father.”
“I thought he’d passed away?”
“He did. But that’s what makes it all the more important that I uphold my end of things.”Family businesses should be run by family, he used to say. It wasn’t like he’d taken over Lockwood Family Pharmaceuticals from his father or anything. Dad built the business from the ground up. But he’d billed it as a family company from day one, and it seemed the only thing he wanted more than the money he brought in was to see Ginny succeed him as president. Not Ginny—Virginia. Gag! The name was overbearing and put on airs. When she’d moved to Scotland, the nickname popped out of her mouth as she’d introduced herself, and it had stuck with her ever since. It felt authentic in a way Virginia never had.
“If it’s important to you, then you’ll find a way to be successful.”
Ginny snorted. “Lockwoods thrive at succeeding. We don’t know how to fail—it gives us hives.” Another quote from her dad. She wasn’t even home yet, and already she was turning into him. “I’m not afraid of what’s ahead; I feel cheated by Father Time.”
Sister Mary patted her arm. “You are a timeless woman. You value babies and children but cannot live without your Netflix subscription.”
Ginny laughed, feeling the happiness in her whole body. “That’s not the definition of a timeless woman.”
“Ah, well.” The corners of Sister Mary’s eyes wrinkled. “Don’t worry so much about time. God doesn’t—and things seem to work out for Him.”
Ginny shook her head at the wise and mischievous nun who worked eighteen-hour days and spent hours on her knees. “I suppose you’re right.” She yawned. “I’ll make arrangements in the morning to leave. I’d like to be here for Nubai’s farewell party.” The boy was sixteen and had acquired an apprenticeship with a printer. He had a smile that would break many hearts. When Ginny told him that, he’d been offended, saying he didn’t wish to make anyone sad. Once Ginny explained the terminology, he blushed and hardly looked her in the eye for a week. Such a sweet kid, determined to make his way in the world. She hoped he hung on to that innocence.
“He would like that very much.” Sister Mary kissed both of Ginny’s cheeks and then sent her off to bed.
Ginny lay on her mat, staring out the small, open window at a sky full of stars, wondering if Quinton ever thought about her.
Chapter Four
Quinton
Quinton rubbed his sore eyes at the same time he wondered if it was too late to call his massage therapist. Wendy didn’t work Friday nights, but he could set an appointment for tomorrow morning. His neck muscles were as hard as steel and kept him from letting go of his work. The hot tub would relax him enough to sleep.
He’d stared at a computer screen for over ten hours, having finally gotten the rollover angles right and working out the math for the safety system regulations. The new coaster would be ready when it was ready. That was one of his stipulations: he didn’t work under a deadline. Deadlines killed creativity. But somehow, he managed to get a new coaster design to the board about every three months, so no one complained about hisartistic temperamental nature.
Food would have been nice, but all he wanted to do was fall into bed for the next two days. Figuring out the complicated formulas that defied Newton’s Laws was his geeky thrill that pushed Quinn to ignore his physical limits. He’d given his all to the art of creation—the fusion of science and form—and come out of it with a product that would be enjoyed by billions of people and a feeling of satisfaction that he had yet to find in any other area of his life.
He entered his spacious suite. The room was done in golds and navy blue with cream walls and heavy, manly fabrics. The designer who had bid the job wanted to add leopard and zebra prints along with mirrors on the ceiling and other oddities—like the hot tub off to the right and the bank of privacy windows that allowed him to see out over The Cove. He assured her he would rather sleep in a cabin in the woods, and she’d come back with dark woods, African tiles in the bathroom and around the sunken hot tub, and thick carpet that was like walking on a pillow. The hot tub and windows stayed and he was glad. On nights like this, that hot tub was heaven-sent.
Instead of walking into an empty, quiet space, he found Burgess standing at the foot of his bed while two maids retrieved suits from his walk-in closet and held them up for inspection. On the bed was Quinn’s Armani black two-piece suit in a herringbone pattern. There was also a pressed blue shirt and a selection of ties. Apparently, nothing held a candle to the Armani, because Burgess continued to send the maids back for other options.
Litta came back with her hands empty. “There is no more.” She sliced her finger through the air and cocked her hip, daring Burgess to contradict her.
If Burgess had known how to slouch, he would have at that moment. Instead, his general sense of being disgruntled shone through. “Very well. This will have to do.”
Litta went back into the closet and came out with Sue, her trainee, who looked as bad as Quinn felt.
“What’s all this?” he demanded.
Burgess frowned. “The invitation denoted formal attire. We were simply reviewing your options.”
“Could have seen them in the closet just fine,” Litta murmured as she passed Burgess, her nose in the air.
Burgess’s eyes followed her from the room. Not in a creepy way, but with much admiration.
Hmmm. “Is there romance in the air tonight?” He couldn’t help but tease Burgess, who stood at military attention.
His eyes hooded so Quinton could no longer read his feelings. “Only if your evening proves, shall we say, fruitful.”
