The Dirty Series 2(22)

I close my eyes and think back to the first time I saw her, frantically yanking on the handle of that suitcase, stuck out in the middle of the intersection, the rain cascading down on top of her. I didn’t know the first thing about her, but her strength drew me in even then. She hadn’t broken down when the jerk in the SUV sent her suitcase flying, didn’t crumple onto the sidewalk and cry. She commented on it wryly and then went right back out into the street to collect her sopping wet clothes from the pavement without ever missing a beat.

She’s still that woman.

She’s still the same woman who decided to give her life in Colorado the middle finger and do something else because, damn it, she wasn’t going to live with the memory of her asshole ex-fiancé flung in her face all the time.

So, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she will leave the city.

But if I know Quinn—and I think I do—she won’t leave before I can set things straight.

And I have to make this right with her. Between us.

At least, I have to try.

Louis pulls the town car up to the curb outside the Pierce Industries building, and I step out into the sweltering summer heat. It’s miserable in the city right now. I can’t wait for autumn.

By the time the leaves fall from the trees, this nightmare will be over, one way or another. I have no idea right now if solving one problem will lead to a thousand more, but now that I’ve seen Quinn, my mind is made up.

The lobby of the building is blessedly frigid, and I move at a leisurely pace across the lobby to the bank of elevators. Our floor is, obviously, air conditioned as well, but the lobby might as well be a walk-in refrigerator, and it feels goddamn amazing on my flushed skin. It’s not just the weather that has me hot and bothered, and my heart rate is so high right now that I’m probably in danger of cardiac arrest.

It’s time to get this show on the road.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step into the empty car. There are a few things I need to finish up this morning, and at some point—

A man sticks his arm between the closing doors. They stop closing, and then start sliding open again.

It’s my new lawyer.

“Mr. Pierce,” he says, a sheepish smile on his face. “I was in a bit of a hurry, hoping to meet with you by lunch—”

“Not a problem,” I say, smiling back. “We can get started on our business right away.”





Chapter Forty-Five





Quinn



The moment Christian is out of my office, I grab frantically for my phone, tugging open the bottom drawer of my desk with so much force that I nearly dump the entire contents of my purse onto the floor in my hurry.

Hands shaking, I type out a message to Carolyn.

She doesn’t know everything—she can’t know everything—but I can’t keep this all to myself.

Christian just came in for a meeting

I’m fairly certain that she’s working at the boutique right now. She’s almost always at work. I lay my phone down on the desk and take a deep breath, preparing myself for the agonizing wait.

Her reply comes so quickly it’s like she had been holding her phone in her hand, so quickly that the vibration against the glass surface of my desk startles me.

Calm the hell down, Quinn. People are going to think you’re having a fit.

What people, I don’t know, since I’m alone in the office and Adam calls ahead when there are visitors, but I take another calming breath in through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth.

OMG. How did it go?

Fucking weird. And then at the end he said

My thumb slips onto the send button before I can complete the sentence, and while I’m typing out the rest of what I wanted to tell her, Carolyn’s reply comes in.

DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THAT

Accidental send! He said “This? It isn’t over.”

What does that mean???

I have no idea.

Wait…was it mutual?

Not really.

What do you mean, not really?

I left him.

Have you talked about it?

No.

Carolyn sends an animated emoji of a yellow smiley face rolling its eyes.

I know…

Talk to him, Quinn.

I don’t know how to have this conversation.

Yes you do.

It won’t fix anything.

How do you know?

I know, okay?

Then why are you texting me about what he said?

I pause.

Because the truth is that I have to know.

I have to.

If I don’t find out why Christian did what he did, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering, and I can’t do that. Could it honestly be that he couldn’t bear to face his father, knowing that his favorite son was dead?

The blood drains from my face. Christian lied to me. There’s no way around that. But he could have been telling me the truth last Thursday, too.