Chapter Eighteen
Quinn’s office
Quinn
T he door slams behind Nathan, the sound echoing through my office. I flinch as hot tears immediately well in my eyes, the cold reality of what just happened washing over me like ice water. One minute, I’d been lying across my desk, Nathan’s mouth on me, my body basking in the pleasure and wanting more. The next, I’m being accused of betrayal. Again.
My hands shake as I finish putting the rest of my clothes back on. The intimacy we’d shared just moments ago feels twisted now, tainted by Nathan’s accusations and the coldness in his eyes when he’d walked out. I angrily swipe at the tears streaming down my face, but they keep coming, even as I finish cleaning up the cascaded papers on the floor and put them neatly back on my desk.
A sob escapes my throat as I sink into my chair. I press my forehead against the cool surface of my desk, letting the tears flow freely. The contrast is unbearable. How could the same man who worshiped my body just minutes ago now believe I’ve deliberately sabotaged his family for a second time?
My chest aches in a way that feels both familiar and brand new. This isn’t the first time Nathan has hurt me, accused me, walked away. So why does it feel like he’s taking pieces of me with him each time? Why does his opinion still matter so much? Why does it all hurt far more than it should?
I close my eyes, and uninvited memories surface—Nathan bringing me soup when I was sick, staying up all night to help me prepare for a presentation, the way he’d absently play with my hair while we talked about anything and everything. The way we danced back at the Brick the other night. The way he kissed me so passionately. Things I’ve tried so hard to suppress in the back of my mind.
I thought what I felt for him was anger, resentment, perhaps lingering attraction. But as I sit here with my heart splintering all over again, I’m forced to the conclusion I can no longer deny.
I still love him
Despite all the things Nathan has done to me, I never stopped loving him. Maybe that’s why this cuts so deeply, why I can’t just brush it off as a professional setback or wounded pride. Why seeing him again has been both heaven and hell.
All those nights I spent convincing myself I was over him, all the dates I went on to get over him but never could… It was love, stubbornly persisting when it should’ve died like a normal breakup. And being with him again only made it stronger. And now I’ve let him back in, trusted him foolishly with my body if not my heart.
My phone buzzes again, and I glance at it, half expecting, hoping despite myself, that it’s Nathan. That he’s changed his mind or he’s sorry. Instead, the screen shows Lyla’s photo.
Have you seen the news? Are you okay?
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This isn’t just about me and Nathan anymore. Jonathan and Kiera are in the midst of a PR nightmare, and I have a job to do. The personal heartbreak is going to have to wait.
I text back.
In my office. Need you ASAP. Bring coffee and snacks.
While waiting for Lyla, I force myself to read the article again, this time with a critical eye. Every detail I read feels like a knife twist, but I keep reading. Information about the couple I’d been entrusted with is now displayed across the internet for clickbait. Whoever wrote this makes Jonathan’s relationship with Kiera seem sordid, painting Jonathan as some predatory boss and Kiera as an opportunist.
I can’t imagine what they must be feeling. The violation. The public scrutiny. I feel physically ill from the déjà vu of it all.
My laptop chooses at that moment to die again, the screen going black mid-sentence. I sigh and close it, the frustration just one more thing to deal with today.
The door opens fifteen minutes later, and Lyla rushes in, a cardboard tray of coffee in one hand and a paper bag filled with snacks in the other.
“Hey, girl,” she says, her voice soft and compassionate when she sees me. She must see my tear-stained cheeks despite my best efforts to hide them because she quickly sets everything down on the chair across from my desk and pulls me into a tight hug. “Oh, honey. What happened?”
I sniffle. “Nathan and I…” I begin, my voice cracking. “We were…together when the story broke. And he immediately blamed me for the leak.”
Lyla’s eyes widen as she processes my words, letting me rest my head on her shoulder for a moment. “Stupid, stubborn, pompous, egotistical, prideful bastard of an asshat. After you gave him so many reasons to believe you, he still refuses to give you the benefit of the doubt?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath. My voice wavers but grows stronger with each word. “We have bigger problems. Jonathan and Kiera are being crucified in the press, and regardless of what Nathan thinks of me, I have a job to do.”
Lyla studies me, a mixture of admiration and concern in her eyes. “You’re going to help them anyway? Even after what Nathan just did?”
“My clients are not an extension of what Nathan says or does to me. This is professional, not emotional. And I gave my word.” Most of that is true; I am a person of my word. But mostly, I care too much about Nathan’s family to just walk away. On top of that, if there was any other way to convince Nathan to at least reconsider his theories about me, this would probably be it. I open the crisis binder, flipping to the scenarios section. My hands tremble slightly as I blink rapidly to clear the remnants of tears from my vision. “And contrary to what Nathan believes, my word actually means something.”
Lyla sits across from me, pushing one of the coffee cups in my direction. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “You are so brave and loyal, and I love you for that.” She wipes away a small tear from her own eyes. “Okay, boss. What can I do to help? This may not be my area of expertise, but I’m here for you. You point, I’ll follow.”
I get Nathan is angry, but I have a job to do, so he’s just going to have to get over it.
The familiar rhythm of crisis management helps ground me, gives me something to focus on besides the hollow ache in my chest and the occasional hiccup that still escapes my throat. This is what I’m good at. This is what I know. Focus on the immediate problem, assess the damage, identify key messages, implement containment strategies. The personal pain and dilemma can wait.
“First, I need to speak with the lifestyle editor at Dallas Lifestyle ,” I say, already pulling up my contacts list on my phone. “We prepared for this contingency—an exclusive interview with Jonathan and Kiera to control the narrative.”
“Who do you need to call? Want me to dial while you drink your coffee?” Lyla asks, already reaching for my phone. “You look like you need the caffeine more than the phone right now.”
I give her Sarah’s name from my contacts, grateful for Lyla’s practical support. While she dials, I take a long sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me.
“So what’s a lifestyle editor going to do that helps this situation?” Lyla asks, genuinely curious as she waits for the call to connect. “Is that like a special kind of journalist?”
“Sarah’s perfect for this because she handles softer news stories with more nuance than the tabloids,” I explain, appreciating Lyla’s interest even as she’s learning the PR strategy. “She’ll let Jonathan and Kiera tell their story on their terms, which is exactly what we need right now.”
Lyla nods, her expression showing she’s doing her best to follow along. “So it’s like fighting fire with…nicer fire?” The call connects before I can answer. “Oh, hi! This is Lyla calling on behalf of Quinn Sanders…” She hands me the phone quickly.
After speaking with Sarah, arranging the exclusive interview, I quickly shoot a message to Nathan telling him I’m meeting with the magazine in an hour. If I’m going to start the damage control process, Nathan needs to be kept in the know. My message is professional, but transparent.
Lyla busies herself organizing the office, laying out the snacks she brought, and making sure I have everything I need within reach. When I hang up, she’s already got a notepad ready for me.
“What’s the plan?” she asks, pen poised to take notes.
“We need to draft a statement for Knight Industries’ social media accounts,” I say. Lyla starts scribbling notes on the legal pad. “Nothing that directly mentions the article—that just draws more attention to it. Instead, we’ll emphasize Jonathan’s leadership and the family values of the company.”
“Got it. So like…pretend the bad article doesn’t exist and just say nice things instead?” Lyla summarizes, trying to grasp the concept. “That seems so simple but I guess that’s why you’re the pro.”
I smile despite myself. “It’s a bit more complex than that, but you have the right idea. We’re not pretending it doesn’t exist but rather redirecting the conversation away from the article itself.”
“Smart,” she says, nodding appreciatively. “And what about Jonathan and Keira themselves? Do they need to post something too?”
“Not yet,” I explain, appreciating her question that helps me think through the strategy. “They shouldn’t say anything until after the interview. We need to meet with them first, gauge their emotional state.” I pause, thinking of Kiera’s pregnancy and the added stress this must be putting on her. “Eventually, they’ll need to post something simple. A photo of them together, maybe from their engagement shoot. Something that shows unity and normalcy.”
Lyla watches me work with obvious concern. “Quinn,” she says carefully, “at what point do you want to talk about?—”
“Not now,” I interrupt her, taking a steadying breath and pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes to stop the fresh wave of tears. “I can’t…I can’t think about that right now. If I let myself feel it, I’ll fall apart completely. I’m not useful to Jonathan and Kiera if I’m emotionally breaking down. They and this story are my top priorities.”
She nods, understanding in her expression. “You got it.” She silently passes me another tissue. “Tell me to do whatever needs to be done while you get this done. Need me to reschedule anything? Cancel appointments? Order lunch? Tell the world to fuck off? I’m your girl.”
I appreciate her willingness to follow my lead, to help me stay functional when I’m barely holding it together. Despite the fact we work in different spheres of business, she gets me.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Could you put together a folder with the positive press coverage Jonathan and Kiera have gotten so far? It might help in crafting our response.”
“On it,” Lyla says, reaching for my laptop before realizing it’s dead. She looks up, helplessly. “Wait, how do I?—?”
“Use my iPad instead.” Her eagerness to help helps to put me at ease. “Search their names and save any positive articles you can find from the past six months.”
We work side by side for the next hour, me drafting statements and preparing talking points, while Lyla handles the practical tasks that keep my workspace functional—ordering food, organizing files, making sure I eat. Her support is exactly what I need to stay focused.
My phone buzzes with a text from Jonathan.
We’re in the middle of an emergency board meeting, but let me know when you have a plan.
I wonder briefly what exactly Nathan “filled him in” about. Did he mention what we were doing when the news broke? Did he share his suspicions that I was behind the leak? I push the thoughts away.
Right, not productive.
It doesn’t matter. All that does is doing my job.
I text back.
Meeting with Dallas Lifestyle in twenty. Will call with update after. How are you both holding up?
His response comes quickly.
Handling it. Kiera’s upset but strong. Board members are the bigger headache right now. Thanks for asking.
His message reinforces the urgency of the situation. This isn’t just a personal issue—it’s affecting Knight Industries at the corporate level, with board members already expressing concern.
My resolve hardens further. Whether Nathan believes me or not, whether he ever trusts me again, I will fix this. For Jonathan and Kiera, for their future.
And maybe, in some small, foolish corner of my heart, for Nathan, too. Because that’s what loving someone means, doesn’t it? You help them even when they don’t believe they need it. Even when they push you away. Even when it breaks your heart to do so.
I grab my purse and stand, quickly checking my appearance in the small mirror on my office wall. My eyes are red and puffy, my cheeks blotchy. I dab at my face with a tissue, trying to repair what damage I can, and apply a minimal layer of makeup.
“Here,” Lyla says gently, stepping up behind me with a small bag I hadn’t noticed before. “I brought your emergency makeup kit from your apartment, too. Figured you might need it.”
The thoughtfulness of her gesture makes me smile. “Thanks, girl.”
“Just the important stuff,” she says, helping me fix my face. “Now, let’s get you looking like the badass bitch you are.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I still look like someone who’s been crying, but it’s an improvement. It’s enough at least to face Sarah.
“Ready?” Lyla asks, gathering her things. “I’ll drive. Better if I deal with Dallas traffic so you can focus.”
I nod, slipping on my jacket. “Let’s do this shit.”
“And later, when this is all over, we’re going to blow off some steam at that rage room you like and then get stupid drunk with tequila at your place.”
I like the sound of that. “Deal.”
And later, I promise to myself silently, I’ll figure out who’s really behind all of this.
Even if one Knight will never know just how much I still love him, despite everything.