Just docked. Haven’t slept. I’m going to work from home.
Her reply is immediate.
Quinn
No, we need to talk. In person. Now.
I sigh, juggling the tote that’s determined to slide off my shoulder while the straps of my heels threaten to fall from my fingers.
Me
I’m exhausted. I need to regroup.
Quinn
This is important.
I’m at the office but I’ll come to you if I have to.
Me
I’m literally barefoot walking around the marina. Whatever it is can wait. I need to get home before someone recognizes me.
The three dots of impending reply pop up on screen. It’s enough to inspire a headache.
I ditch the chat and press the call button. She answers before it finishes the first ring.
“Where are you?” she demands.
“Like I said, I’m at the marina, doing what must look like the worst walk of shame recorded in history.”
“Is that what it is? A morning-after situation?” Her voice is firm and full of judgment.
“That’s not?—”
“Forget it. I don’t want to know. What we need to discuss surpasses whatever lust-drunk decisions you made. Are you alone?”
“As alone as I can be while walking in public, but my ride is waiting.” The limo is double-parked on the street ahead, the driver standing like a sentry at the back door in a black suit with a matching chauffeur’s cap.
“The ride can wait. I’ve been digging and I think I’ve found something,” she says in the familiar rush that announces a hyper-fixation.
My insides hollow. “Whatever it is, this isn’t the time for a deep dive. I need a shower and a?—”
“It’sexactlythe time. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for hours. It’s about Raffael.”
My steps slow as unease prickles the back of my neck. “You shouldn’t be digging into clients?—”
“So you don’t want to know why I think he snapped your head off after you two were getting cozy in his boardroom all those years ago?”
“No.” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, my hand tightening around the phone. “I don’t. It’s in the past?—”
“Just confirm the timeline with me.” She bulldozes over my dismissal. “This all went down when you were working on the Petersen & Sons account, right? Back when you were mentoring Kayla and that overly anxious guy that got fired a few months later.”
“Quinn, please?—”
“You’re telling me, after years of sleepless nights, you don’t want to hear why Michelo interrupted your private moment and Raffael lost his shit?”
My stomach churns. I want to knowexactlywhat happened. What I don’t want is her getting more involved.
