Fixer for the Billionaire: A Spicy Billionaire Romantic Comedy (Seattle's Anderson Family)

Chapter 15

QUENTIN

In the waning light of the day, my office has a cozy, lived-in feel, with stacks of papers bearing witness to the late nights Carmina and I have been spending here.

Wrapped up in wedding plans and unspoken words hanging between us, I’ve tried to give her space. Respecting her boundaries, as clear as the ”Do Not Disturb” sign imprinted on her forehead, I’ve been patient the last several days.

No moves. No flirts.

Despite the ultimatum hanging between us like a dangling mistletoe, I’m laying off the gas. But I can’t deny the tension is palpable.

So, I”ve been watching her.

Every evening, she walks in looking more like she’s gone twelve rounds with a pasta dish rather than merely eaten it. My resolve has waned.

The unwashed hair, the spaghetti sauce stains multiplying on her blouses and pencil skirts overnight, the stress evident in the dark circles on her pretty face—they all tug at something deep inside me, something primal and possessive.

I want to wrap my arms around her, pull her close, and tell her everything will be okay. But I can’t.

Not yet.

Even as I walk into our next big event—the author meet-and-greet for Danity Dandridge at the big Seattle bookstore, Elliot Bay Book Company—the smell of freshly brewed coffee and newly printed books hits me.

Texting Carmina for the fourth time in the past two hours, I make my way to the event space in the back, my fist clenching at my side.

My fingers relax a bit when I see Freddie, Carmina”s firecracker of a PR specialist. Blonde hair pulled back in a bun, red-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, typing furiously at her laptop.

”Hey Freddie,” I greet her with a smile and a nod.

She looks up and grins. ”Hey Quentin! Thanks for coming early to set everything up.”

”No problem. I know how busy these events can get.” I eye the nearby coffee. ”Any sign of Carmina yet?”

Freddie shakes her head. ”Not yet, but she”ll be here soon. And I heard from Danity”s team that she”s already on her way too.”

I nod and take a seat at the table, fiddling with the stack of books in front of me. Between checking my phone for updates from Carmina and chatting with Freddie about the last event, time flies. Freddie’s jokes about me ”playing the literary hero again” and ”practicing my sultry voice for a Fifty Shades re-do” almost make me forget the time ticking by.

Almost.

Freddie alerts me. ”Danity”s about to arrive, Quentin. Get ready.”

Rolling my shoulders underneath my jacket and collared shirt, I fish my phone out, ready to abuse the Caps Lock button once again with another text to Carmina. But right as I hit send, I catch a glimpse of dark hair and long legs heading my way.

Carmina.

Stunning in her black pencil skirt and cream blouse, hair pulled back in a low ponytail. But the stress lines between her eyebrows give her away. Dark circles under her eyes, evidence of the long hours she”s been putting in for this event and who knows what else.

With a frown, I quickly pocket my phone and stand up, facing her with raised eyebrows. My gaze scans her from head to toe.

”Sanchez, you made it. I wasn”t sure you would. You look... alive.”

She inhales and exhales slowly. ”Gee, thanks Quentin. That really boosts my confidence.”

”I”ve been texting you.”

Her stare narrows. ”I”ve been busy.”

”Clearly.” I reach over, my thumb brushing a smudge on the side of her neck. ”What”s this, huh?”

”Oh. Shit,” she curses. ”Sorry. Gabi had a late soccer practice last night. And this morning, Val had a last-minute science project to finish up. Something about a potato clock.” She grimaces. ”Except we kinda blew the potato up instead.”

”Right.” I smirk. ”I bet that”ll be a fun conversation with the teacher.”

Carmina rolls her eyes. ”Don”t remind me. I need coffee in an IV if I”m going to make it through the day.”

I turn to the table, pick up my cup of coffee, and extend it to her. ”Here. Take mine. I can survive without caffeine for a bit.”

”You sure?” She looks at me, her earthy brown eyes wide, nearly licking her lips at the sight of caffeine.

”Positive.” I wink. ”Besides, you need it more than I do.”

She takes the cup with a small smile. ”Thank you.” She takes a long sip and lets out a satisfied sigh. I watch her, noting how her shoulders start to relax and the corners of her mouth turn up slightly.

Every inch of me wants to wrap her in a hug and never let go. But I know better.

Especially when she looks up at me, the way she”s doing right now, with her lashes lowered and a frown forming. ”By the way,” she starts, ”when you have some time after Danity”s reading, can we talk? I have something to ask you.”

My brows lower. ”Sure, of course. Is everything okay?”

She nods, but I see a hint of hesitation in her eyes. ”Yeah, it”s just...”

Whatever she was going to say is cut off by applause and cheers from the front of the room.

A curly-haired woman with smooth mocha skin and a book in her hand makes her way to the podium, beaming.

It”s Danity. She’s arrived, floating in through the doors with her publicist by her side.

Freddie is already in place, talking animatedly to a redheaded woman at the podium and microphone stationed there.

”Thank you all for joining us today for Danity”s first book reading!” she exclaims. ”We are so excited to have her share her beautiful words with us.”

The room erupts into more cheers and applause, but I”m barely paying attention as Carmina sets my cup back on the table and starts clapping with everyone else, her expression now serious.

”Don”t worry about it,” I say. ”We”ll talk later.”

She nods and gives me a small smile before turning her attention back to the front of the room. I check the time again, remembering the event is only an hour and a half.

Seems like I’ve been waiting for Sanchez to make a decision about us much longer than just this past week. I guess I can wait a little longer.

Steeling my shoulders, I practice keeping my expression neutral and my gaze off Carmina so I can focus on the reading.

The lights dim, and I try not to inhale the scent of Carmina”s vanilla perfume as she leans forward. The next two hours are going to be absolute torture.

* * *

CARMINA

Danity”s voice is like warm honey, filling the room with emotion and depth as she reads from her latest novel. The audience hangs on every word, her storytelling commanding the space with ease.

I should be lost in it. Really, I should.

But my mind keeps drifting over to Quentin, sitting beside me.

The scent of his woodsy cologne, his presence radiating heat and energy, is all I can feel.

It hasn”t helped that this past week working closely with Quentin on Ry and Jen”s event has shown me how easily one can get swept up in his charm, his intelligence, his easy laughter.

In my head, the list of reasons ”For” getting involved with Quentin grows longer every day.

His unexpected kindness. His wit. The way he seems to see me, truly see me, beyond the fa?ade I put on like lipstick every morning.

But then, there”s that overwhelming, singular ”Against” that topples the list every time...

Quentin doesn”t do ”involved.”

Not in the way I need. Not in a way that would last.

And I can”t—I won”t—end up in another relationship that feels like trying to hold onto smoke. My mom”s been an expert at that; showing up in bursts of love and attention one day and then vanishing the next.

I can’t risk my stability, not with the teenage lives I manage daily.

The question isn”t really if Quentin could be there for me; it”s about when he inevitably wouldn”t, and how much that would hurt.

No, getting caught up in Quentin is a fantasy best left as just that—a fantasy.

A fantasy I plan to put an end to...

Tomorrow.

Right now, my nerves are too frayed to handle anything else. As the reading wraps up, I join Danity and Freddie at the podium for the QA. I thank Danity for her reading, and Freddie briefly introduces the QA session.

The audience is engaged, asking thoughtful questions about the writing process and the inspiration behind Danity”s upcoming ”Love in Seattle” series. I can”t help but feel proud as she answers each question with grace and poise.

Just as we”re about to wrap things up, Quentin surprises me by raising his hand to ask a question. As always, he”s devastatingly handsome, tall, and poised in a button-down shirt, jacket, and slacks. My heart races as his deep voice echoes through the room.

”Danity, your writing is so raw and honest, especially when it comes to showing men putting themselves out there. What advice do you have for men who struggle with vulnerability?”

I hold my breath, curious to hear her answer. Danity smiles warmly at Quentin before responding. ”Thank you for that question, Quentin. Vulnerability is tricky, especially in a society that often equates it with weakness. But I believe it”s a sign of strength. It takes courage to open up, but it allows for deeper connections and understanding in relationships. My advice?” She pauses, looking directly at Quentin. ”Embrace vulnerability and let yourself be seen. Take the leap. It”s scary but necessary to truly connect with someone. And as writers, showing vulnerability in characters can create more compelling and relatable stories.”

The room erupts in applause. I see Quentin nodding along, a thoughtful expression on his face. Heat sweeps through me at the thought that Quentin”s question might be personal.

Turning away from him, I lean toward Freddie and whisper, ”I”m not feeling so hot, Fred. I think I”m going to head out.”

Her blue eyes soften as she looks at me. ”Are you sure? You don”t want to stick around for more of Danity”s wisdom?”

I shake my head, knowing I have all the wisdom I need right now. The courage to be vulnerable and take a chance on someone who may not feel the same way.

I hug my employee goodbye and make my way to the exit. But just as it”s within reach, I feel a hand on my wrist.

I look up to see Quentin standing there, a determined expression on his face. His green eyes bore into mine.

”Where are you heading off to, Sanchez?” he asks.

”I just need some fresh air.”

”Well then, let”s go for a walk. I could use some fresh air too.” He tugs on my hand, his grip warm and strong. I have no choice but to follow.

As we step outside into the cool night air, I inhale deeply. Quentin”s hand is still wrapped around mine. When I glance down at it, he glances too. A beat passes before he lets go.

”I thought you had something you wanted to talk to me about?” he prompts.

I swallow hard, the words harder to form than I thought. ”I did. I just wasn”t sure if you wanted to hear it.”

He keeps walking beside me, his expression soft. ”I always want to hear what you have to say, Sanchez. Even if it”s annoying as hell sometimes.” I snort, and he continues, ”I thought we might walk to Sopra. Eat there and talk.”

”I... don”t know, Quentin. Sopra seems a little too formal for what I have to say.”

”What, the carbonara and candlelight aren”t romantic enough for you?” He grins, one hidden dimple making an appearance.

”No, it”s just... a lot to unpack. I don”t want to ruin anything.”

Quentin stops walking and turns to face me, placing a hand on my shoulder. ”Alright, Sanchez. Spill. Whatever you have to say can”t be worth the dramatics you”re putting on right now.”

He steps closer, and I can feel the warmth of his body radiating towards me. The soft stubble along his jawline looks even more inviting under the streetlights. My pulse pounds. Then I notice something—a flash of orange at the corner of my vision.

I blink at the object coming out of the nearby alley, enough that Quentin turns to look too. His brow creases as he stares. ”Fuck.”

”Quentin?”

He starts walking toward the alley, quickening his pace as he gets closer. I follow, my heart in my throat. When we reach the entrance, Quentin curses again, and I gasp.

There, on the ground, is the orange tabby I saw Quentin once feed outside of Sopra. Its fur is matted with dirt and blood, and its chest barely moves as it takes shallow breaths.

”Oh my god,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.

Quentin kneels next to the cat, his face a mask of anguish. ”I knew something was wrong when I didn”t see her these past few nights.”

He carefully picks up the cat, cradling it in his arms. ”Sanchez?” His voice is distant; I can barely move. ”Sanchez! We need to get her to a vet. Now.” Quentin”s words snap me out of my trance, and I nod, wiping away the tears. ”Please. Get me an address and number for a vet, quick.”

I fumble with my phone, hands shaking as I search for a nearby vet. Quentin”s grip on the cat tightens, and he looks at me expectantly.

”Got it,” I say, reading off the address and number. ”Let”s go.”

We rush out of the alley towards the sidewalk. I dial the emergency animal hospital as Quentin raises a hand, signaling for a taxi—any taxi—to stop.