Janie,
I’ll be right back with breakfast and coffee. Call me as soon as you wake up.
-Quinn
I stared at the note.
I stared at it.
And, I stared at it.
Then, I stared at it.
After that, I stared at it.
The longing was back, the hope. It spread like a wild fire through my heart and brain and body so fast I nearly lost my breath. Therefore, I did the only thing that made sense.
I panicked.
CHAPTER 22
I wondered if Quinn had ruined me for everything that was not-Quinn-like in much the same way his private plane had ruined me for commercial airline travel.
I left Las Vegas at 11:35 am on an Alliantsouth direct flight to Chicago. The security line made me feel like a refugee and it all went downhill from there: while waiting at the airside an escaped pet turtle stole my glasses and snapped them in half at the nose; I was severely jostled when I boarded the plane and was pretty sure the man behind me copped a feel; when I took my seat by the window the woman next to me took off her shoes.
Swamp-feet was all I lived and breathed for two hours. I wondered if the thieving turtle would have enjoyed the aroma.
Mercifully, 1510 miles and one taxi ride later I was sitting at my desk, checking my email, sipping on coffee, and modifying the original project plan for the Vegas club. It was just after 6:00pm and the office was quiet. I allowed myself to get lost in spreadsheets and calculations and formulas and pivot tables.
My office phone rang and, after inspecting a calculated value on my screen for veracity, I lifted the receiver to my ear.
“Janie Morris.”
“What the hell, Janie.”
Electric shock. That’s what it was.
He was irate and the sound of his voice caused the sensation to travel down my spine, my limbs, stinging my fingertips, toes, and ears.
“Hi- Hi Quinn.” My chest was tight, I was having trouble breathing; even so I struggled to sound unflustered and calm.
Silence
“How was your trip?”
Silence
“It’s nice to hear your voice…?” The statement came out sounding like a question, as though I were playing jeopardy and I’d chosen my category-
‘I’ll take ‘Charming Chit Chat’ for $200, Alex’ and behind the $200 read: ‘This is what you say to the hot guy- you abandoned- when he returns after you inexplicably leave him and his private jet in Las Vegas after having amazing and multiple occurrences of the hot sex.’
Obviously, I realized that the length of text would likely not fit in a jeopardy box and would also not get pass the censors, but I was having trouble thinking in condensed situational short-hand.
I heard him sigh, almost see his beautiful face and the frustration marring his features.
Finally he said, “What’s going on?”
I picked at the plastic of my desk calendar with my thumbnail and felt nothing but contrition.
I closed my eyes, “I’m sorry.”
His voice was less irritated, “Why are you sorry?”
“I just-” I hesitated, letting my forehead fall into the palm of my hand.
I couldn’t tell him the truth.
I couldn’t tell him that I was sorry for exhibiting poor, wine-induced judgment and sleeping with him- because I wasn’t. I wasn’t sorry. I was glad I’d been inebriated because it allowed me to do something that was so very, very unwise. I was glad my judgment had been impaired.
I couldn’t tell him that I left because I was an idiot who was confusing fantastic sex with depth of feeling.
I couldn’t say I was hoping for a future with him. I couldn’t admit I was desperate for it.
So I lied.
“I kept thinking about the plane ride with everyone, and you, and I don’t think there is a handbook for this, but if there is then please send it to me, because I didn’t want to say something wrong in front of everyone. I mean, we haven’t talked about how this is going to work, us working together and you being you and me being me- and I- I don’t want to jeopardize my working relationships with the team here-”
He interrupted me when I paused to take a breath, “Janie, Janie- it’s ok. Ok? I understand.”
I stopped, hesitated, bit my bottom lip, wondered what he understood because I wasn’t even sure that I understood. “You do?”
“Yes. I do. I know you like… labels and defined expectations. I can do that- for work. We can put in place some sort of agreement which defines expectations and such at work.”
“So you think we need one too?”
“Yes if it will make you feel more comfortable and definitely yes if it keeps you from disappearing again.”
I blurted before my brain could stop the words, “Why are you even interested in me?”
I closed my eyes again, scrunching my face, as mortification (from me) and stillness (from him) greeted my question. My self-recrimination was swift: Don’t ask that question, he may not have an answer…