Chapter Fourteen
Monday Morning
Quinn’s office
Quinn
M onday morning has greeted me with a pounding headache and memories I’d rather forget.
I massage my temples, willing the aspirin to kick in faster as I stare at the jumble of notes spread across my desk. A detailed layout of the property at the Solana venue, test shots, security options—all the elements of Jonathan and Kiera’s wedding that should have my complete professional attention.
Instead, my mind replays last night at the Brick on an endless loop. Nathan’s hand at the small of my back. The heat of his body as we swayed to the music. The way his eyes had darkened when he pulled me closer. The moment when our lips were a breath apart before reality intruded.
“Focus, Quinn,” I mutter to myself, shuffling the papers for the fifth time. This contract is too important to jeopardize over an almost kiss with a man who still believes I’m a villain.
My computer stutters mid-document, the cursor freezing before the screen fades to darkness. Again.
“Seriously?” I jiggle the power cord, but the screen remains stubbornly dark. With a frustrated sigh, I restart the machine, drumming my fingers impatiently against the desk as the device struggles to come back to life.
A knock at my office door provides a welcome distraction.
“Please tell me that’s coffee,” I call out.
Lyla stands in the doorway, two steaming cups in hand and a knowing smile on her face. “Coffee, yes. And we need to talk about last night.”
I accept the cup gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. “What’s there to talk about? You were there.”
“I was,” she confirms, settling into the chair opposite my desk, kicking off her heels and tucking her feet beneath her. “And I had a front-row seat to that slow dance with Nathan. Looked more like foreplay than anything professional.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It was just a dance. For appearances’ sake.”
“Right.” Lyla’s skepticism couldn’t be more apparent. “For the record, no guy looking at you like he did would ask you to dance just to save face. And was the way he looked at you like he wanted to fuck you right there and then also for appearances? Fess up and don’t you dare leave a single detail out.”
“Nothing happened,” I technically lie. While nothing physical happened between us, I can’t necessarily deny to myself something would have happened.
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s definitely not what I saw.”
I sigh. “Okay, so we almost kissed during the dance. So what? Nothing happened. The song changed before anything could. So end of story.”
Lyla leans forward eagerly. But before she can retort, my computer chooses to come back to life, momentarily distracting me from Lyla’s interrogation. “I swear, this damn thing is driving me crazy.”
“This is cute and all, but stop avoiding the subject,” Lyla says. “This is big news. And you’re treating it all like a footnote. What about the bet?”
The bet? Ugh, as if I didn’t need reminding.
A reckless, impulsive challenge that’s becoming more dangerous by the day.
“The bet stands,” I say firmly. “No rules have been broken.”
“Except that now you know he could still want you.” Lyla thinks she’s pointing out a fact when in reality she’s speculating.
“How do you know he wasn’t watching me to make sure I didn’t betray his family again? What if that almost kiss happened because he’s trying to get me to lose the bet?” I counter, though the memory of Nathan’s arms around me invades my brain. “What matters right now is winning.”
“And what would winning really prove, Quinn? That you can resist a man you’re clearly still attracted to? Sure, that’ll show him.” I hear what she’s saying, but I don’t appreciate her sarcasm. She has a good point, however.
What would winning actually accomplish other than to vindicate me? Nathan would grudgingly admit he had no proof of my betrayal, but would he ever believe in my innocence? Would clearing my name be enough for me even if he still harbored doubts?
Of course, it would be enough…right?
I push that thought away. “I’m trying to beat him at his own game. What better way to make him eat his own words than to get him to lose?” I pause, a new determination forming. “I’ve been approaching this all wrong.”
“Meaning?” Lyla asks for clarity.
“Meaning it’s time to raise my tactics.” I lean forward, my mind racing with possibilities. “I should’ve known he’d try to pull something like that, try to make me break first. I’d like to see how he handles being the one who’s tempted beyond endurance.”
Lyla must realize I’m dodging, because then she drops her line of questioning. “So what’s the plan?”
“I’m going to make Nathan Knight realize exactly what he’s missing. Push him right to the edge, and then walk away.” A dangerous strategy, but one with a certain poetic justice. “It’s time to play the player.”
Lyla laughs. “Based on that mischievous look on your face, he won’t know what hit him.”
Knight Industries
Nathan
I’ve barely slept.
After Jonathan’s revelation last night, I spent hours awake staring at my ceiling, memories of Quinn playing over and over in my head, with doubts I’ve refused to entertain until now. The possibility that I might’ve been wrong has shaken my foundation in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
So this morning, I arrive early to the office and pull up server logs and security records from the time of the NorthStar leak. I’m not sure what I’m looking for—confirmation that Quinn is guilty as I’ve believed for twelve months? Or evidence that I’ve spent all that time blaming the wrong person?
My dance with Quinn last night seems the least of my worries now. But holding her in my arms again had me feeling a connection I thought was dead. A connection that goes far deeper than the physical. Fuck, was it never superficial in the first place?
Images from last night flash through my mind—her body pressed against mine as we danced, the softness of her skin beneath my fingers, the moment when our lips were about to meet. That almost kiss, the way her lips parted in anticipation, felt as passionate as a tango between two lovers.
“You want to tell me why you’re digging into year-old server logs on a Monday morning?” Jake’s voice startles me, and I quickly minimize the screen in front of me.
“Just following up on something,” I reply, trying to sound casual.
Jake closes my office door before dropping into the chair across from me. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what Jonathan told you last night, would it?”
Of course Jake would know about this. Those two don’t keep anything from each other. “I’m just doing my due diligence.”
“A year later?” Jake stares at me incredulously. “That’s some delayed due diligence.”
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. I’ve been staring at logs and reports all morning, looking for something, a smoking gun, anything that might support or contradict Jonathan’s hell of a bombshell. Anything to get me something concrete, anything to tamp this panic within me.
The possibility the leak came from a place where Quinn wasn’t is something I can’t bring myself to just ignore. Not when that theory is starting to feel like it holds more merit.
She could’ve had someone do it for her.
The thought had crossed my mind several times, but that’s another one of several things I have to find out on my own. Whether she did it herself, hired someone, or otherwise, I have to at least try to find something to make either story plausible.
“I need to know,” I admit finally. “If there’s even a chance that I…” I can’t finish the sentence, the implications too overwhelming to voice aloud.
“That you what?” Jake presses. “Made a mistake? Blamed the wrong person? Threw away something real because you were too up in your head to consider other ideas?”
His bluntness makes me wince. If the truth is she never betrayed us, betrayed me, I’ll have a lot of guilt to face. “I’m just covering my bases,” I say defensively, though we both know it’s more than that.
Jake studies me for a moment. “Would it be the end of the world if you were wrong about her?”
The possibility sits like a stone in my gut, heavy and uncomfortable. For twelve months, I’ve been absolutely certain Quinn betrayed me. That certainty is what fueled everything—my actions, my words. I did it all to prove I’d moved on. If that certainty crumbles…
“I need to be sure,” I say finally. “Before I do anything.”
“Like what?” Jake presses. “Apologize? Try to make amends? Grovel? Love her into oblivion the next time you’re alone together?”
“I haven’t gotten that far.” There’s a strong chance she’ll never forgive me. No matter what happens, there are two scenarios where I’d be the asshole. And my gut is telling me it’d be the punishment I deserve. “It’s not that simple,” I mutter.
“You’re right, it isn’t.” Jake sighs. “Have you considered just asking her? Directly? Without accusations or assumptions?”
The very thing I was too proud to do in the first place?
What I considered just fun at the time of making the bet with Quinn now feels like just another way I’ve tried to avoid confronting the real issues between us. The issues that I created in the name of my pride.
“I have Scott pulling everything we have on the leak,” I say, redirecting the conversation. “IP addresses, timestamps, server access logs—all of it.”
Jake looks surprised. “I see.”
“He said he’d have the files ready in the next few hours.”
He pauses. “What will you do until then? What do you truly want to find?”
The question hangs in the air. What am I really looking for? Proof Quinn was innocent or proof of what I already suspected? Which would be the easier pill to swallow?
“I’m hoping to know when the time is right.” Call it intuition.
Jake looks at me with concern. “You should be prepared for anything and for what it might mean.”
After he leaves, I unlock my desk drawer and pull out a small black velvet box I haven’t looked at in almost a year. With hesitant fingers, I open it to reveal the oval-cut diamond ring nestled inside—the engagement ring I’d selected three days before the NorthStar leak happened.
I’d been planning to propose during a weekend getaway the week of her birthday the following month. I’d even planned to speak to her father, a traditional gesture Quinn would’ve appreciated.
Instead, the ring, and our ideas of the future, sat in my drawer for a year, and became a painful reminder of a dream that seemed forever out of my reach. Questions never asked are now questions that are too important to ignore.
I don’t know whether to feel hope or dread.
Snapping the box shut, I slide it back into the drawer. One step at a time. I need the truth first. Then I’ll figure out what to do with it.