Chapter 8 #2
“I like it.” I had to focus on breathing normally; being so close to him was maddening.
I couldn’t seem to look anywhere without seeing some part of him, so I settled for looking at his hands.
One held the roast beef sandwich and the other gripped a napkin.
“I like it a lot. I just started, and…uh...” I frowned, then huffed out a breath.
I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to talk to Quinn about work.
I hadn’t seen him at work, and to my knowledge, he didn’t have an office on my floor.
I must have debated the issue a little too long because, after a few moments, Quinn asked, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just…” I met his searching gaze. “I’m not sure what I’m allowed to tell you.”
His eyes narrowed at me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about what I do with anyone.”
He blinked at me. “What?”
“I signed the non-disclosure agreement last week.” I gave him an apologetic grimace.
He set his sandwich down and looked at me with something resembling disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it and gave a short laugh. “Janie, trust me. You can talk to me. It’s my company.”
My shoulders sagged a little. “I know you work there too. I’m sorry; I’ve never had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before, and I don’t want to make a mistake.”
His smile widened subtly as his gaze moved over me. His eyes brightened with what looked like laughter, and then he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call Carlos. If he tells you it’s ok to speak to me freely, will you?”
Unthinkingly, I put my hand over his to still his movements.
“No, don’t do that. You’re right; I’m being silly.
I really don’t want to mess up, and everyone seems so nice—like too good to be true nice—and the office is too good to be true, and how I got the job is too good to be true, and when you add all that together, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
” I sighed. “No, the first shoe hasn’t dropped, so that’s not the right idiom to use, even though it originated in cities like Chicago.
” I slid my hand away from his and to my book, nervously picking at the cover.
Quinn shook his head, and I noticed that his usually detached, hawk-like gaze seemed softer and unguarded. “Janie, what are we talking about?”
“About the origin of the idiom I just used: waiting for the other shoe to drop. Did you know it originated in cities like Chicago and New York?”
“No, I did not.” He tilted his head, his mouth hooking upward to one side as though he were trying not to laugh. “Tell me about it.”
He was teasing me again. “Well, it did. So…”
He lifted his eyebrows. “That’s all? You’re not going to tell me the specific details of how it originated?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know the details.”
He mimicked me and shook his head in response. “You’re lying. You do know.”
“Nope, I don’t.”
“This is just like the mammals.” He sighed and placed his phone on the table. Before he took a bite from his sandwich, he said, “You’re stingy with information.”
My frowned deepened. “No, I’m not.”
His words were somewhat garbled as he spoke between chewing. “You’re an information tease.”
“What?”
“Or maybe you don’t really know the origin, and you’re just making things up to impress me.” He took another bite.
“I am not! It originates from the late industrial revolution in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Apartments were all built with the same floor plan and with a similar design so that one tenant’s bedroom was under another’s.
Therefore, it was normal to hear one shoe hit the floor, then the other, when an upstairs neighbor undressed at night. ”
“I wonder what else they heard.” His gaze held mine and seemed to burn with a new intensity.
“I suppose anything that was loud enough.”
He gave me a full grin followed by a deep, rolling belly laugh.
I liked the sound of his laugh and smiled reluctantly in response; nonetheless, I was fighting the warring feelings of being pleased that I’d made him laugh but concerned that I was being laughed at.
The latter feeling eclipsed the former, and I frowned then glanced at my lap and picked self-consciously at the cover of my book again.
I could feel the heat of a blush spreading up my neck.
The intensity of my reaction to him continued to confound me.
It wasn’t just his good looks, which verged on angels-singing-on-high miraculous, that unnerved me so—not anymore, at least. If he’d been a gorgeous jerk or a good-looking moron, my reaction would have cooled and normalized rather quickly.
Inopportunely, he was not a jerk, and he was most definitely not a moron.
He was thoughtful, clever, and confident, and the most adroitly sexy guy I’d ever met.
I didn’t like to think he was laughing at me.
I heard his laugh falter abruptly before he said, “Hey, Janie—look at me.” I lifted my chin but couldn’t quite manage to meet his eyes. A hint of a grin was still on his face when he said, “I was just teasing you.”
I forced a small laugh and shrugged. “I know. I…uh…” I looked at my watch purposefully. “I have to get back to the office; my lunch break is over.”
His grin faded. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You still haven’t told me how the job is going.”
“It’s great, but I don’t want to be late getting back.”
He swallowed and pushed his sandwich to the side. “Don’t worry about being late. I’ll give Carlos a call.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I don’t mind.”
“But I do.”
He watched me for several moments and, despite the thunderous beating of my heart, I silently endured his perusal.
I felt too hot, too self-aware, too everything.
When I finally met his gaze, I noted that his face had settled into an impassive mask, but, as ever, his blue eyes seemed to burn with intensity.
At last, he stood. I released a breath that I didn’t know I was holding.
As I moved to stand, he reached out his hand and grabbed mine to help me from the booth.
“Listen,” he said, and then he cleared his throat again. He was still holding my hand and thereby holding me in place. “Over the next week you’ll be going out with me on a couple of stops. It’s part of your training.”
I opened my mouth in surprise. A little pang of pleasure and pain twisted in my chest as I thought of spending more time with him. Finally, pulling together enough of my wits to form words, I stuttered, “Wh—what kind of stops?”
“I’ll be taking you to meet some of the corporate clients.”
“Steven didn’t mention anything about that in his training schedule,” I said.
“He must have forgotten.”
“That doesn’t seem likely,”
Quinn lifted his eyebrows in challenge. “Is there some reason you don’t want to go?”
“We won’t be taking your motorcycle, will we?”
“No, we’ll be taking a company car.”
“Oh. Ok.” I looked down at our hands, still linked together from him helping me out of the booth. His hand was very large; mine was small in comparison. It was a strange sensation to feel that any part of my body was small. I’d always felt so big around Jon. My hands were the same size as his.
Quinn must’ve noticed my gaze because he abruptly let my hand drop and reached over to the bench where his coat lay across my handbag. He moved his jacket to the side and picked up my bag. He seemed to study it for a few brief moments before he handed it to me.
“Thanks,” I took the offered purse but made no move to leave; instead, I gave him a small, closed-lipped smile and shifted under the weight of his steady gaze.
“You’re welcome. And thanks for letting me interrupt your lunch.”
I shrugged. “Oh, no problem; feel free to interrupt anytime.”
“Really? Anytime?” The corner of his mouth hooked to the side and he dipped his chin as though to force me to meet his gaze. “That’s a dangerous thing to say if you don’t mean it. I might interpret that to include lunch, dinner, and breakfast.”
His question, then statement, and the manner with which both were posed, made my bun feel too tight and my neck hot.
I glanced at him through my lashes, unsure of where this was going.
Even after our various, albeit limited, encounters, everything about Quinn made me hypersensitive and self-conscious.
Undoubtedly, if he expected me to retort with something coquettish and droll, then I would fail completely.
I didn’t know how to engage in flirtatious banter.
My mind wandered to conversations with Elizabeth in which she’d continued to insist that Quinn was interested in me, and I continued to find the assertion ridiculous.
Therefore, faced with such a man speaking to me in such a way, I was wholly unprepared.
All previous attempts in similar situations, mostly relegated to college, had been disastrous and painfully uncomfortable.
They were either ill-timed, or the topics I had chosen were ill-conceived.
As an example: the pheromone excretions of termites.
Now, standing awkwardly, avoiding eye contact, trying to postpone my response, I didn’t even know if flirtatious banter was what Quinn expected or wanted. Men in general unsettled me; this one in particular turned my insides into a brouhaha of chaos simply by glancing in my direction.
Finally, while ignoring looming feelings of trepidation, I decided to answer with candid earnestness. There was nothing wrong with honesty, and it was his choice to read as much or as little into my answer as he liked.
Not quite able to meet his eyes, I finally responded. “Yes, I mean it. Feel free to join me anytime.” I was surprised by how soft my voice sounded.
A slow, hesitant grin spread over his features, and I had difficulty drawing breath. It was a sexy grin—a very sexy grin. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and he licked his lips almost imperceptibly. I felt a little woozy.