The Dirty Series 2(24)

“I know,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I know, Frank, but this is what I have to do. The damn thing starts in five minutes. Are you really going to stand here trying to talk me out of it until the last second?”

He shakes his head, then pats my shoulder. “I had to try one more time.”

“Glad it was the last one.”

The press is gathering on the sidewalk. Two different networks have cameras here, and I see reporters from three print outlets, plus the usual cadre of bloggers who show up whenever someone from a multinational holds a press conference.

Good, I think. She can’t miss this.

In fact, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t miss this.

She can’t miss this, because from what I understand, this is my last chance.

The text from Carolyn came in late Wednesday night.

You up?

Always :)

Ha.

What do you need?

Chris, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Q. None of my business. Don’t need to know the details on your end unless you want to tell me. But she told me this evening that she started talking to HRM about a transfer to London. If everything works out, she’ll be gone in a matter of weeks.

Thanks for letting me know, my friend.

Welcome.

I haven’t talked to Carolyn in person since she got busy with her boutique and I stopped frequenting the Swan quite as much, so I don’t know how pissed she is at me for fooling around with her roommate’s heart. Obviously she’s not too pissed, otherwise she wouldn’t have given me a heads up, but it’s probably time to have a conversation with her once this news breaks.

I called my lawyer within five minutes of receiving her message and told him to move everything up to the earliest possible date. If I’m going to do this, it has to be now.

Three minutes to go. This news is going to do more than break.

It’s going to explode.

Two minutes. I pull my phone out of my pocket and swipe to unlock the screen. Quinn’s office number is the first contact on my list.

Adam takes the call.

“Quinn Campbell’s office.”

“This is Christian Pierce. Is Ms. Campbell available to speak with me?”

“Her line is clear. Hold one moment, please.”

“Thank you.”

There’s a muted silence as Adam transfers the call, and then a click as Quinn picks up her handset.

“Quinn Campbell.”

Her voices makes my heart skip a beat. Am I imagining the hitch I heard in the breath she took right after she answered?

“Pull up a window on your computer and start streaming ABC7.” Their camera guy is fifteen feet away from me right now, fiddling with the tech at his shoulder. The anchor is a tall redhead in a coral jacket standing just to the right of his elbow. In another minute, they’ll be broadcasting my announcement to the entire city. Perhaps the entire world. The anchor looks down and presses a finger to her ear—listening to whatever’s coming in from the studio, probably.

“What?” Quinn asks, her voice pure worry. “Why? Did something happen?”

It hits me all at once that Quinn might be imagining some kind of terrorist situation.

“I’m holding a press conference outside the offices of Pierce Industries.”

“What?” I hear papers rustling in the background, a series of clicks. “We didn’t plan for—what are you doing?”

“I’m telling the truth.”

Before she can say another word, I disconnect the call, then flip through my settings, shutting down every possible ringtone and chime. I hand the phone to my lawyer, who tucks it into his leather portfolio. He’ll hold it for me while I’m making my remarks so there’s no chance of me doing something idiotic like dropping it on the sidewalk. He was a stickler on that point. Why, I don’t know.

I’ve been relatively calm, but now that the press is beginning to focus all their attention on the podium, my heart beats faster.

This is it.

This is the moment I thought would never come, and now I’m the one forcing it to happen.

Frank puts his hand on my shoulder in a show of strength and support, turns me toward him, and then looks me up and down. I follow his gaze, making sure that my jacket is buttoned, my fly is zipped, there are no errant threads, no pieces of lint—nothing to distract from my message. Quinn herself has done the same thing many times since we started working together.

I wish she was doing it right now. I wish it was her by my side. Frank’s a good guy, but nobody holds a candle to Quinn.

I steel myself. This is the only way I’ll ever have a chance at getting her back. If I want her to stand by my side at any point in the future, I have to get through what’s happening here right now.