Chapter Seventeen
Nathan
“ N athan,” Quinn whispers, her voice catching. “This wasn’t me.”
The words hang in the air between us. I stare at her, fury building like a gathering storm as I take in her flushed face, tousled hair, and the panic blooming in her eyes. Just minutes ago, I’d been worshipping her body, losing myself in her taste, her scent. And all along, she’d known this bombshell was about to drop. The rage rises in me like bile, bitter and burning.
My phone buzzes again in my hand. Jonathan’s name flashes on the screen. He’s called three times now.
I look back at Quinn, still naked on her desk, the evidence of what we’d been doing clear on her swollen lips and marked skin. The contrast between the intimacy we’d just shared and the betrayal spelled out on my screen makes my stomach turn.
“You had access to all of it,” I say, my voice calm despite my anger. “Every detail in this article: the proposal, their history, the exact wording. All of it.”
“It wasn’t me,” she repeats, more forcefully this time as she scrambles off the desk, grabbing her clothes which are cascaded all over the floor. “We’ve been here before, Nathan. You accused me without proof then. Don’t do it again now.”
I laugh harshly, the sound escaping my lips bitter and cutting. “You’re right, we have been here before.” I run a hand through my disheveled hair, my movements sharp with barely contained fury. “Different leak, same situation. Interesting how these things keep happening around you.”
I watch her beautiful face crumple, then harden with anger. Good. Let her feel a fraction of the betrayal that’s going through me. I’ve played the fool once before with her, opened myself up only to be blindsided. I won’t make that mistake again. Not with my family’s reputation hanging in the balance.
“Are you serious right now?” Her voice rises with indignation. “After everything—after what just happened between us—you still refuse to consider that I might be innocent?”
I force steel into my voice. “What happened between us was a mistake.”
The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I let them out anyway. Because it’s safer this way. Because the alternative—believing her, trusting her, only to be betrayed again—would destroy what little is left of me.
“You can’t possibly believe I would do this twice,” she says, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. “Not when I’ve been working so hard to establish myself, to build a reputation after what happened last time. Not when I’ve been working beside you. Why would I jeopardize everything?”
“I don’t fucking know, Quinn.” I button my shirt back up with precise movements, focusing on the task to avoid looking at her. “Money? Recognition? Some twisted revenge?”
“I didn’t do it either time!” Her voice cracks with emotion. “An article like this requires interviews well before publication. I’ve been with you and your family all week. How could I possibly have leaked this?”
Her point registers somewhere in my mind. She had been with me the entire time. But I push the thought away quickly. “You didn’t need to make it personal,” I counter. “A scheduled email, a timed release. Shit, an accomplice. You’re smart, it’s not that hard to do.”
“That’s not how media leaks work, and you know it,” she fires back. “Stories this big require days to put together, not the hour we’ve been in my office.”
My phone buzzes again. I can’t ignore Jonathan any longer.
“I have to go. My brother needs me.”
“And what about us?” she asks softly, her voice small and unsure but steady.
The question sparks a new surge of anger. Us. She just betrayed me, and she wants to know if there’s an us?
“There is no us, Quinn.” The words come out cold and precise. “There never really was. Just a PR consultant who got close enough to steal information and fuck over her ex in the process. Congratulations on your performance, by the way. You almost had me convinced this time too. Truly an Oscar-worthy performance.”
The cruelty of my words is deliberate. I want them to hurt her as much as her betrayal is hurting me. Because there was an us once—one that mattered enough for me to buy a ring, to imagine a future, to open myself to her in ways I never had before. And she destroyed it all.
Something flashes in her eyes—hurt, sadness, resignation. “Fine,” she says, lifting her chin. “Go help your brother. That’s what matters right now anyway.”
Her professionalism in this moment is almost worse than if she’d screamed or cried. I nod stiffly and head for the door, pausing only when she speaks again.
“Nathan.”
I turn slightly, not quite looking at her.
“Whatever you believe about me, I will fix this,” she says firmly. “Because it’s my job and because Jonathan and Kiera deserve better than having their story twisted like this.”
I don’t acknowledge her words. I can’t. Instead, I walk out, closing the door behind me in silence.
In the hallway, I slam my fist against the wall, welcoming the sharp pain that shoots through my knuckles. The ghost of Quinn’s taste still lingers on my lips, her scent embedded in my skin like a cruel reminder of my weakness. I’m disgusted with myself for falling into her trap again, for letting my desire for her override my better judgment.
The thought that I almost—almost—believed her innocence stings. She’s good; I’ll give her that. Playing the victim while systematically ruining the happiness of my family and potentially everything they’ve built.
I straighten, pushing away from the wall. Jonathan needs me now. I’ll focus on that, on something I know how to fix.
I dial my brother’s number as I walk to the elevator. He answers immediately.
“About fucking time you answered.” Jonathan’s voice is thunderous with tension on the phone. “Are you done with the meeting with Quinn?”
I’m done with her, period.
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “We discussed the situation.”
There’s a pause. “And?”
“I’m on my way to you,” I say, sidestepping the question. “Twenty minutes, tops.”
“Meet me in my office. Bring coffee—the strong kind. We have a long day ahead of us.”
The line goes dead, and I step into the elevator, grateful for the momentary solitude. I check the article again, scanning for details. The story paints Jonathan and Kiera’s relationship as scandalous—the powerful CEO seducing his secretary. It’s a twisted version of what actually happened, designed to get clicks and maximize damage to Jonathan’s reputation and, by extension, Knight Industries.
I scroll to the reporter’s byline: Carmen Steinfeld. The name doesn’t ring any bells, but a quick search shows she’s written several similar exposés, mostly centered around corporate scandals. What catches my attention, though, is a photo of her at a charity gala from last year—standing beside a woman I recognize from Quinn’s social media.
Another connection pointing to Quinn.
By the time I reach Jonathan’s office, I’ve run through all the evidence in my head. It almost all points to one person. Almost. Still, something about this whole situation doesn’t quite feel right. Why now? Why like this? The timing feels too convenient. But I can’t afford to be distracted by doubts. Not with my family’s reputation on the line.
When I get to Knight Industries, the place is absolute chaos. Employees running in one direction, some typing on their computer like their asses were on fire. This is not good.
I find Jonathan in his office, pacing like a caged animal, phone pressed to his ear. Kiera sits on the sofa, her face pale, one hand protectively over her slightly rounded belly. She looks up when I enter, relief evident in her expression.
“I understand your concern,” Jonathan is saying, his CEO voice firmly in place despite the strain around his eyes. “But I assure you, Knight Industries’ leadership remains steady. This is a personal matter that has no bearing on our business operations.”
He catches sight of me and nods, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.
At least my brother still trusts me.
Unlike Quinn, whose desperate pleas still echo in my mind no matter how hard I try to silence them.
“I’ll have my office send over the updated projections this afternoon,” Jonathan continues. “Yes, thank you for understanding.” He ends the call with a weary sigh.
“The board?” I ask, dropping into the chair across from Kiera.
“Two more investors and no doubt more to come,” Jonathan confirms, loosening his tie with a sharp tug. “They’re concerned about ‘stability’ and ‘judgment,’ as if falling in love somehow makes me less fucking competent at my job.”
“How bad is it?” I ask, yet I already know the answer from the article.
“Bad enough,” Kiera answers, her voice steady despite the circumstances. “The article has everything—how I came to work at Knight Industries, details about our relationship that only a few people knew.” Her gaze meets mine, direct and searching. “They’ve even involved my pregnancy in all of it.”
My stomach clenches. “Who do you think knew those details?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Our immediate circle,” Jonathan says, resuming his pacing. “You, Jake, Ian, Mia, Kami?—”
“Quinn,” I finish for him, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.
“And Marco, who helped set up the proposal,” Kiera adds. “My sister, crazy enough, who helped pick the ring. Even my parents, who Jonathan asked for permission.”
I hadn’t known about those last few. The circle is wider than I realized. The possibility of another suspect begins to form in my mind, but I push it away. The facts point to Quinn, just like last time.
“That’s a lot of potential sources,” I say, trying to sound objective.
“It is,” Jonathan agrees, stopping to look at me directly. “Which is why jumping to conclusions would be premature and foolish.”
The pointed remark doesn’t escape me. I look away, unwilling to meet my brother’s knowing gaze. “I was in Quinn’s office when the story broke. She claims she’s innocent.”
“And?” Jonathan prompts.
“What else is there?” I snap, frustration bubbling over. “She claimed innocence the last time. Remember where that got us?”
Jonathan and Kiera exchange a glance I can’t quite interpret. “Was she in the room with you when the story broke?” Jonathan asks carefully.
How do I tell my brother my head was between her legs when the news hit?
Heat creeps up my neck. “Yes. We were reviewing the plans.”
“I see,” Kiera says softly.
“Anyway, stories like this take time to put together, so she could’ve conspired with Steinfeld from the moment she started working with us.”
“Or she could be innocent,” Jonathan points out. “Have you at least considered that possibility? Seriously considered it?”
I choose not to answer, but there’s no denying his words land hard. The doubt I’ve been suppressing surfaces again.
Jonathan sighs, rubbing his temples. “Nathan, I need your logical brain, not your pride. Your beef with Quinn needs to take a backseat to this crisis.”
He may be right, but I can’t entirely eliminate her as a suspect. For now, I push aside thoughts of Quinn. Her touch, taste, and tears aren’t part of the problem at hand.
“What do you need from me?” I ask, straightening in my chair.
“Schedule an emergency board meeting for an hour from now. If we’re going to convince them not to do anything rash, we need to present a united front. That means I need you solid, focused, and on my side.” Jonathan’s voice is steady, his CEO persona still firmly in place. “And if we’re to weather this storm, I need you to work with Quinn on our response. She’ll know what to do.”
I blink. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious,” he counters. “This is what we hired her for.”
“After everything she’s?—”
Jonathan cuts me off. “We don’t know she did anything, and neither do you,” His voice is stern. “What we do know is she’d meticulously created our crisis management plan. She talked us through each detail, each possible scenario. In fact, her work surpasses what our own house team could do.”
She would’ve created a perfect plan if she knew the leak was coming. It makes sense. But a small voice in my head argues that it could also be professional foresight. A doubt I can’t seem to shake.
“Enlighten me, then. What’s her plan?” I ask, my voice clipped.
Jonathan hands me a red folder. “See for yourself.”
I skim the crisis management plan quickly, grudgingly impressed by its thoroughness despite myself.
“The strategy is solid, strategic, and could potentially be very effective,” Jonathan praises.
“Fine,” I concede reluctantly. “But I want to be involved in every step she takes on our behalf. Nothing she does goes out without my approval.”
Jonathan and Kiera exchange another one of those looks. As if I’m missing some kind of point.
“We expect nothing less.” Jonathan eventually brings his gaze back to me. “Quinn had already suggested you act as the liaison between her and us. She said you’d want oversight, and she’s willing to accommodate that to make this work.”
She anticipated my reaction, what I’d want, the control I’d demand. Is it because she knows me so well or because she’s manipulating the situation?
My phone then buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. On my screen, I see a text from an unknown number.
Quinn Sanders will ruin your reputation like she’s done to you before. Smart clients cut ties before more damage is done. You should think about doing the same.
I stare at the message, a cold realization forming. This doesn’t seem like someone targeting Knight Industries directly. What if this is about Quinn? Could someone be trying to destroy her credibility by sabotaging her clients?
The theory sits uncomfortably in my mind. If this is true, that would mean Quinn is innocent, that I was wrong about her. But I can’t dismiss the evidence against her, either. For me to be certain, I have to have more information.
“Nathan? Are you okay?” Kiera’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
I don’t show them the message. Not yet. Not until I understand what we’re dealing with.
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just realizing there could be more to the story.”
If someone is targeting Quinn and using her clients to destroy her professional reputation, that means anyone connected to her is at risk. Not just Jonathan or Knight Industries.
Regardless, though, the result is the same. My family’s reputation is being dragged through the mud because of her.
As Jonathan goes on to outline his talking points for the board meeting, my thoughts keep circling back to the anonymous text message. There’s something about it that pokes holes in my initial assumptions.
If Quinn leaked the story herself and is trying to maintain innocence, it wouldn’t make sense for her to anonymously send a text to me warning about her; it adds insult to injury.
Regardless, the text message complicates things. Who would target Quinn this way? Why? What’s their motive? And why use my brother’s relationship as ammunition?
An hour later, I’m following Jonathan to the boardroom when my phone buzzes once more. I glance down, expecting another threat. Instead, it’s a message from Quinn.
Whatever you believe about me, I’m going to help make this right. For Jonathan and Kiera’s sake. Meeting with Dallas Lifestyle in less than an hour to implement crisis plan. Will update you afterward.
Professional. Focused. No mention of what happened between us or my accusations.
At this point, I don’t know what to think.
Sliding my phone into my pocket with a sharp movement, I take my place beside Jonathan at the head of the boardroom table, anger hardening into resolve.