Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The next morning I woke up, took a shower, and was dressed in ten minutes; then spent twenty minutes contemplating my shoe selection.
I arrived at the office early and set to work sorting through emails, pending tasks, and preparing for my upcoming business trip to Las Vegas in less than two weeks.
Minutes ticked by at a cruelly slow pace.
My mind wandered to Jem’s strange email.
I was so engrossed in my meanderings that the ring of my cell phone made me jump. Frantically and fumbling, I answered it, finally. It was ridiculous. My office phone never made me nervous.
“Hello?” I said when I finally brought it to my ear.
“Hey, it’s me. Come downstairs.” Quinn’s gravelly tenor sounded from the other end. There was traffic in the background and the roar of a large truck.
I sighed as I stood, gathering my portfolio from the desk. “Why didn’t you just call my office phone? I’m in my office.”
“I wanted to make sure you were reachable on the cell.” I could hear the smile in his voice. I felt half-heartedly annoyed.
“Next time just call the office phone.” I hung up on him before he could respond and felt a little twinge of satisfaction. If he could initiate a conversation with me whenever he wanted, then I could end it whenever I wanted.
A black Mercedes was illegally parked at the corner, and Quinn stepped out of the back seat as I exited the building.
He wasn’t wearing his guard uniform or a suit; instead, his tall form was clothed in black boots, dark jeans, and a blue T-shirt; as normal, his hair was expertly tousled, his face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator sunglasses.
I took a moment to appreciate the sight of him.
He looked really yummy. I may have sighed. I may have licked my lips.
I walked out to the car, feeling a little conspicuous in my capped sleeve red oxford shirt, gray pants, and red satin stilettos.
I’d opted to wear my glasses instead of contacts; for some reason, I always felt a bit more invisible when I wore glasses, like I blended into the scenery behind the frames.
My hair was once again in a tight bun. As I approached, I saw my reflection in his sunglasses, which only increased my unease.
I thought he was going to lecture me for hanging up on him, but instead he smiled as I approached.
“Hey.” He nodded once.
“Hi.” I gave him a half wave, gripping a portfolio notebook to my chest for taking notes, just in case.
Neither Steven nor Carlos proactively briefed me on the scope or purpose of the training.
I thought of Steven’s statement yesterday when I asked him if I should prepare or bring anything for the training; he’d said that we would tour a property, but it should take only an hour.
Steven was half-right. Quinn did show me one of the properties, but we were not back within the hour.
The car took us a short distance to the League Center. The League Center is your typical arena concert venue, and Guard Systems was acting as a security consultant for the managing security company.
There had been a number of breaches in physical security during the past six months. The most recent included an impressively enthusiastic fan that posed as a roadie and serenaded the early audience with a drunken/stoned rendition of a teen pop song called Girl, I Love You Hard.
When we arrived, we were given a comprehensive tour, and the visit ended up being part business meeting between Quinn, the lead Guard Security liaison, and the onsite supervisor of the security management company; part training-slash-information session for my benefit; part review and tour of newly implemented measures.
Quinn was very quiet in the car on the drive to the League Center, and very businesslike, abrupt, and authoritative with everyone we encountered at the venue.
He was not the Quinn I knew from Club Outrageous and the morning after at his sister’s apartment and Giavanni’s Pancake Diner, or the Quinn at Smith’s Take-away and Grocery, or even at Starbucks.
If he didn’t look bored, he looked unimpressed.
People called him Mr. Sullivan or sir. At one point, I thought one of the ground staff was going to salute.
He was actually quite intimidating.
However, throughout the entire visit, businesslike though he was, Quinn took special care and time to define concepts and acronyms that he thought I might not understand.
He clearly identified and described weaknesses in the venue’s security, and he provided context and background to purchases, personnel, and any other topic that he felt related specifically to my management of the account.
By the time 5:30 p.m. rolled around, my brain felt full and my stomach was growling. We just finished an inspection of the site’s server facility, and Jamal, the Guard Security liaison, was leading us down a narrow, low-ceilinged hallway to the elevator.
He glanced at his cell phone and said, “The gates will be opening for tonight’s concert in one hour, so now is the time to eat if you’re hungry. The first act is onstage at 7:10 p.m.”
I looked imploringly from Jamal to Quinn; aside from being ravenously hungry and suffering from crippling stiletto-related foot pain, I had plans with Steven and Jon at seven o’clock.
“Um, are we staying for the concert?”
Quinn nodded, his expression of impassive detachment firmly intact.
This was news to me. I chewed on my top lip during the silent ride on the elevator and debated what to do next. I was with Quinn, and I didn’t particularly mind that I’d be stuck with him for several more hours, even if it would be Mr. Sullivan Quinn instead of shirtless, smiley, teasing Quinn.
The elevator reached our floor, the top floor, and Quinn placed his hand on the base of my spine to guide me from the lift.
He’d been doing this all day, and I was still getting the warm fuzzies each time.
I was so preoccupied with Quinn’s hand I didn’t notice where we were until Jamal opened the door to a private box and motioned me inside.
“Here—we have dinner set out. I’ll be back in an hour to take you through the gate procedures, and then I’ll show you the new crowd control measures we’ve instituted.” Jamal didn’t enter the room and was gone before I could turn and thank him or say goodbye.
I took three steps into the impressive box and stopped, my eyes moving over the spacious suite with unbridled wonder.
It was very large. There was a full kitchen with a bar, several high-top circular tables and stools as well as five rows of stadium leather seats facing a large picture window overlooking the stage.
A small buffet of fruit, green salad, hot dogs, hamburgers, condiments, barbeque potato chips, and canned soda was placed on the bar. This was not fancy food by any stretch of the imagination, but two of my favorites happened to be represented: hot dogs and barbeque potato chips.
Quinn crossed to the steps leading down to the picture window and scanned the floor of the arena beyond.
I glanced at my watch and fiddled with the strap. I was having what my sister Jem calls a champagne problem: a champagne problem is when something good happens but it interferes with something else, usually planned, which is either very important or also good. I wasn’t really sure what to do.
Quinn must’ve noticed my disquiet because he asked, “Are you hungry?”
I nodded as I eyed the food, and in confirmation, my stomach rumbled audibly.
“Is the food ok? I can order something else.”
“It’s just…” I twisted my mouth to the side. “It’s just that I actually have dinner plans for tonight.”
“With who?”
“With Steven from work and my friend Jon.”
“Jon.” Quinn repeated the name and shifted on his feet. His eyes moved between mine. “Isn’t that the name of your ex?”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s the same person. The three of us were supposed to go out to lunch, but instead we moved it to dinner because I thought I’d miss lunch due to the training today, and so…
” I sighed, assuming the aloofness in his expression meant I was boring him.
“Sorry—I’m sorry. You probably don’t care about any of this.
Anyway, I just need to call them and cancel for tonight. ”
Quinn watched me for a moment; as usual, his features seemed to be carefully expressionless. Then he said, “Are you and Jon back together?”
“Oh, no. We’re just friends now. But Steven wanted to see what an amicable breakup looked like, so we are all going out for sustenance.”
“You still see this guy—Jon?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“All the time?”
It felt as though I was being interrogated. “No, not all the time; just two or three times a week.”
Quinn’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure you’re not still dating this guy?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I think I would know if I were having sex with someone.” I bit my lip as soon as the words were out of my mouth; feeling very abruptly mortified, a remarkable blush spread its warm tentacles up my neck and behind my ears. I fiddled with the zipper of the portfolio.
We stood silently for several moments, and I had to continue biting my lip to stem the tide of random sex factoids that threatened to spill forth. I was annoyed by his questioning and even more annoyed with myself for feeling the need to answer.
I didn’t like that he knew every detail about my lack of a love life, but I knew absolutely nothing about him, whether he was seeing someone or had a girlfriend or a fiancé—or a wife.
Without really meaning to, I glanced at his left hand; his third finger was bare. When I spoke, I was surprised by the sound of my voice. “You’re not married.”
“Was that a question?”
I lifted my chin and met his gaze, hoping that if I appeared confident, then he wouldn’t notice my unending mantle of awkwardness. “No…yes.”
“No. I’m not married.”
His response further aggravated me. I already knew he wasn’t married. When he didn’t continue, I pressed him. “Well?”