"Sorry to interrupt, but there's a courier package here for you?"
I frown. "OK, uh, thanks. You can just sign for it and I'll get to it-"
"It's a direct courier, signature only, from Mr. Dempsey."
Oh now what.
I nod, furrowing my brow as Carol ducks back out of the room before returning with a sweaty looking hipster with a bike helmet and a bag full of brown-box packages. "Dr. Archer? Dr. Quinn A-" The kid starts to snicker before I level my coldest, bitchiest face at him and he just mumbles something about signing on the dotted line as he passes me his clipboard.
He's barely out the door before my cellphone buzzes on my desk. I glance down, and my face instantly goes bright red before I hurriedly snatch the phone off the desk.
It's Logan calling, of course. But it's not who the number is that has me flushed pink as a tomato and looking quickly at the door to make sure Carol isn't hovering. It's what the picture is that pops up accompanying that number.
Because what flashes in big, high-definition pixels across my phone screen is a picture of Logan Dempsey's cock.
"How did you get into my phone?!" I hiss, hunching over at my desk and turning away from the door.
I can hear him chuckle on the other end. "Do you think I got my good side?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out "the good side" of Logan that's just seared itself across my brain. "Jesus, Logan, I mean what if someone saw-"
"You're always calling me a dick, so I thought I'd deliver!" He snorts a laugh, and I'm grinding my teeth as I shake my head.
"When- I mean how did you get into my-"
"Listen, did you get the packages?" He says suddenly, cutting me off in a way that says there's no way he's going to tell me how he managed to get into my contacts list without me knowing about it. With a guy with his sort of resources though, I'm not sure I want to know.
"Yeah," I mutter. "I got them."
"Well, go ahead and open them, Doc!"
I furrow my brow. "What, now?"
"No better time than the present. Carpe diem, darlin."
There's something strangely chipper in his voice. A giddiness that's more suspicious than anything else when you think about the man they're coming from.
"OK, what is this, Logan."
He sighs over the phone. "A present. From me to you."
Ok, yeah, now I'm suspicious. "What kind of present," I say evenly, wondering if I should expect some sort of live animal to jump out of any of the six packages sitting on the desk in front of me.
"You should open the smaller one first."
I'm reaching for the box, ignoring every single voice in my head that's telling me to just hang up and throw all these packages away. "Is something going to bite me, Logan?"
He laughs heartily as I apprehensively pull off the packing tape sealing the box and tear it open.
It's totally full of batteries. Like, batteries of all different shapes and sizes; double-A's, triple A's, C's, D's; even a few USB charger cables.
"Ok, what the hell is-"
"Quinn, Quinn, Quinn," He sighs. "Look, I felt bad the other day about the whole, you know, the whole thing with stealing your, uh, toy like that."
My face goes hot instantly as I close my eyes, leaning over my desk and rubbing the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "Logan, what-"
"Hey, actually I've gotta run for this meeting, so you just go ahead and open the rest-"
"Oh, the meeting with Peyton?" I say icily. I want to hear him deny, or falter, or lie. Anything really.
But he doesn't do any of that. He just laughs.
"Ok, you know what, fuck off, Lo-"
"Jesus, Quinn!" He hoots, laughing his ass off;. "That jealous streak is crazy! You know, you should really deal with that sometime."
"I am not jealous!" I hiss, feeling totally, completely, and utterly so.
"Well, let me know how that's going for you later," he says, and I can practically hear him grinning that smug smirk through the phone. "Enjoy your presents, darlin."
I slam the phone face-down on the desk, muttering under my breath as I stare at the five remaining boxes sitting on top of the work I've ignored all day. I want so badly to just shove them all into my waste basket and call it a day, but I also know that the curiosity is killing me.
Screw it, I think, as I snatch the first box up and shake it. Nothing hisses, or scratches, or growls back, so that's a good sign at least. The tape comes off as easy as the first box, and then I'm pulling it open and reaching inside to grab-
Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.
There, in my hand, is a small, pink, vibrator. In fact, when I snatch up the box and stare into it, I realize that's all that's in there - vibrators, like thirty of them. I start to tear into the second box, but I already know what's inside even before I pull out the twenty-odd more vibrators and two obscenely jiggling dildos. I'm red faced and mortified as I quickly open up my bottom desk drawer and start hastily shoving the boxes full of sex toys into it, slamming it shut before Carol can walk in and think I'm some sort of sex-addict.
That son of a bitch, I mutter to myself, clutching at the edge of my desk and trying to regulate my breathing and cool down my beet-red face.
"I felt bad the other day about the whole, you know, the whole thing with stealing your, uh, toy like that."
God, this whole messed up tit-for-tat with Logan is just so- so- I take a deep breath.
It's infuriating is what it is.
I'm not some lost teenager, and this isn't some sort of stupid high school crush thing. We are two adults, who made one mistake like plenty of other adults make. We should be able to move past this. I should be able to move past this at least. So why does the idea of him and Peyton spending a night alone together in DC have my blood boiling? I mean, there's only so many times and ways that I can tell myself I'm not jealous before it just doesn't have any more weight to it. Because as much as I fucking hate to admit it, I am jealous. I'm jealous that he's there with her, and the thought of her hands on him, or her lips, or … God, I can't even think of it anymore.
And now here I am, moody, jealous because a man I shouldn't want anything to do with, and sitting at my desk at a job I was skeptical about taking in the first place. Oh, right, and I've got a drawer full of about two-hundred sex toys.
"Carol!" I snatch up my purse and storm out the door. "I'm taking lunch."
Chapter Thirteen
Logan
Alright, even if I still think it's a fucking terrible idea that I've got Quinn Archer physically near me while we work together, I'll grant that having her on the team is the best move we could've made. I'd like to think I'm man enough to know what my strengths and weaknesses are, and I certainly know that one of those weaknesses is shit like this. Negotiations, and board meetings, and trying to be diplomatic in them. Me? I'm terrible at that kind of thing. Zero tact and absolutely zero patience for talking things out.
Yeah, I suppose there's a reason I spend my nights punching guys in the face.
But Quinn - damn, it's like she was born for this, and knowing her father, she kind of was. She's smooth and easy with the team, and she gets shit done. And it's not because she's bossy or cajoles people into doing what she needs them to do, which is basically my method, it's because she's open and firm, and just honest with people.
Well, honest with people besides me.
Because I know I'm not the only one still thinking about this whole thing between her and I, not by a damn mile. And I know I'm not the only one getting all turned around when we're alone or even not-so-alone with each other. She can deny it all she wants to, but I'm definitely not so blind that I don't catch the linger in her looks when she thinks I'm not watching her.
‘Did you know who I was?'
That look in her eyes and those words of hers are fucking haunting me. She's pissed, of course, but the worst part is, I'm not sure I can tell which part she's actually more pissed about. That it happened, or that I didn't recognize her.
Hell, I'm not sure she can tell which one she's pissed about, probably both.
I mean hell, I hadn't seen her in five goddamn years! And it was dark, and I'd just had the shit kicked out of me, and- and-
And she was gorgeous, and sexy as fuck, and there was something so damn disarming about her fixing me, and helping me, and leaning into me and letting me smell the jasmine in her hair.
On the other side of that coin, it's not like she knew who the fuck I was, which seems like some serious double-standard bullshit to me. Oh, a beard was my masterful disguise? I can't look that different with or without facial hair from what I did five years ago. She on the other hand-
Well shit, if Quinn Archer was this hot five years ago, I'm fucking blind.
I scowl to myself, thinking about the night that started this whole cock-up, and the more I think about it, the more blame I'm putting on her for whatever consequences we're dealing with now. I mean, hell, she's a damn Doctor, and she slept with me? If "come on your patient's tongue and then ride his cock like a race-horse" is part of the hippocratic oath, than I've been seeing the wrong fucking doctors my whole life.
"You might have a concussion. I can't let you fall asleep."
Right, and I'm the fuckin bad guy here. Give me a break.
"Ok, well that's a wrap, guys. We'll check back in tomorrow on the U.N. appropriations stuff."