“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Quinn sat on the bench at the bottom of his bed and shucked off his shoes and then his socks. A comfortable moan rose from deep within.
“Your reunion.”
Quinn waved him off. “I’m not going.” He made his way into the walk-in closet, where he selected a pair of striped pajama pants and a white tee shirt.
Burgess followed him in, his face pinched. “Pardon me, sir, but I RSVP’d your acceptance.”
Quinn groaned. Burgess was a stickler for these sorts of things. Always careful to abide by the rules of proper etiquette. He’d been a lifesaver in the past, but he’d make Quinn’s week miserable if Quinn reneged on an RSVP. Having the table set with seven forks and planning several-course meals to trap him at the table when he’d rather be in his office. The chef was sensitive when it came to formal dining. “Why would you do that? I never said I was going.”
“Your brother indicated that was your desire.”
Ben. Quinn mentally shook his fists at his brother. “I’m going to kill my brother. He has no right to interfere with my love life.”
“Or lack of one,” added Burgess.
“That’s right!” Quinn took a moment to realize he’d been insulted. Shaking it off, he continued on his tirade, his fatigue inching away in the shadow of his growing indignation. “Not everyone was meant to be as deliriously happy as Ben and Avery. The fact that Ben wants that same happiness for me is great, but I’m pretty sure I should want it for myself, and I don’t.”
“That would be ridiculous.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
Burgess maintained his poker face.
“Anyway, there’s no way of knowing if Ginny will even be there.” His shoulders fell forward. “What would you do?”
Burgess blinked in surprise at being asked a direct question. He did his best to be vaguely helpful in matters such as these. “I’d like to say I’d shun the coward and win the fair lady.” He cast his eyes to the door where Litta had disappeared moments before.
“Aha! It’s not so easy when it’s your heart on the chopping block.”
“I dare say my heart has never been close to a chopping block. But yes, I see your point.” His chest expanded inside his dark gray vest. “I say go. If only to close the chapter.”
Quinn considered his words. “You know what’s worse than not knowing an answer? Knowing it’sno. I’ve lived with a big question mark for years. It’s comfortable. This—” He threw his arm out, indicating the suits hung by color and designer. “—is not comfortable. Is there any way out of this? The alumni association won’t notice if I’m not there.”
“You were on the cover of the alumni magazine last month. They brought the reunion to Seattle to make it convenient for you to attend. They’ll notice. I don’t believe there is a way to skip out without besmirching your good name.”
“Not a besmirchment!” Quinn gasped in mock horror.
Burgess narrowed his eyes. He might take teasing about Litta in a roundabout way, but don’t mock decorum.
Quinn threw the pajamas back on the shelf and stomped out.
Burgess followed, enunciating clearly. “Which is why I pulled the Armani. The double-vented back will give you the ability to run away should you chicken out.”
“Touché, my good man.” He chuckled. For some reason, Burgess’s cheekiness made Quinn like his valet even more.
“It’s also your best power suit. A lady would be impressed by a man who can pull this off.” Burgess brushed imaginary lint off the flat-fronted trousers.
Quinn began to undress, handing over his clothes until he was in his boxers. He wasn’t getting out of this, and in a weird way, he was excited. Maybe it was masochistic to want to get the heartbreak over with, but he could see the wisdom in finality. “Ginny won’t be impressed. She doesn’t notice things like suits or sports cars.” That was one of the things he’d loved about her.
Burgess lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. “I suppose that means you don’t want a shave.”
Quinn ran his palm over his scruffy chin. He may have shaved Monday. The hair was long enough to be soft. “Just the neck. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“I’m just pleased you’ve decided to honor the invitation,” Burgess deadpanned.
“See, now I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I guess we’ll never know.”
