Chapter 23
23
Quinn
T he afternoon passes in a blur. I move like an automaton, serving customers as though I’m running on a program, but all the while, my mind spins with thoughts that crash into one another, jostling for space.
I wasn’t in the photos with Roman. I didn’t have to make a thing of it because he acted like I was a stranger, but I can’t have a high profile. Being photographed with a billionaire and splashed across the newspapers is a surefire way to draw attention to myself.
Uncle Julian may find me. It’s always been a risk—true, I don’t know if he’s even looking, but if he finds out my circumstances have improved, he’ll be far more motivated. That asshole was only ever in it for the welfare.
The state paid him good money to be my guardian; he took every penny for himself. Why would he change the habit of a lifetime if he thought he could steal from me again?
Julian always said I’d end up a whore on the streets without him, and maybe he was right. I was functionally homeless, only saved by the man who followed me to the park and fucked my face until I was breathless. That’s not what good girls do.
But then again, good girls wouldn’t buy dildos and leave the chain off the door, hoping for a sexy but dangerous Russian to drop by.
As we close up for the evening, Katrina gives me a nudge. “I know that guy from earlier, you know. Roman Kazanov?”
I try not to tense up. “Oh, really?” I say, my voice too high-pitched to sound natural. “Which guy was that?”
“The stupidly handsome Russian billionaire. You should pay more attention to who comes in here!” She sprays the counter with cleaner and sets about wiping it down. “His company bought this place. I used to work for him in another one of his businesses, and he offered me the job here.”
I look Katrina up and down, feeling suddenly inferior. Her willowy frame and long blonde hair make me feel like a beached whale in an ombre wig. Does Roman just like to keep his various women on a short leash?
“That’s kind of him,” I say, avoiding her eyes. “Do you know him well?”
“Nah, but then again, no one does. They say he’s difficult to get close to. Cold. Shame, with a face like his.”
I stay silent, so she carries on. “He’s had a few flings in recent years, but nothing serious. He likes to toy with his women, but they don’t seem to mind. He gets what he wants; I’m sure his bank balance doesn’t hurt his prospects. He prefers to keep people at a distance.”
My eyes begin to water, and I pretend to sneeze. “Sorry,” I say. I swear the flour and sugar form their own weather system here. Give it a week, and you’ll be as bad as me.”
I lock up, and as we stand on the sidewalk outside, Katrina gives me an awkward little hug. “It’s great working with you,” she says. “I’ll be here whenever you need me. You’re the boss now; don’t bust your ass when you can make me bust mine! What time do you want me here tomorrow?”
I think of all the dark mornings when I rolled pastry here alone. Only days ago, it felt like that would be my life. What is my life now ?
“I think we should change it up,” I say. “Let’s stop opening at six a.m. and aim for seven thirty. That’ll catch enough business without us needing a sherpa to carry our under-eye bags. How about you start baking at six, open an hour and a half later, and I’ll come in a bit after that.” I pause, wondering if I’m asking too much. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Katrina nods. “You got it, babe. See you then!”
It takes some time to get to Two Pines on the subway and bus, and by the time I arrive, the sun is low, casting spidery shadows through the bare branches of the trees.
Carrie is in her wheelchair in the garden beside the pond, a thick crochet blanket over her knees, and she waves heartily as I approach.
“Hello, my Quinn!” She nods at the ducks on the water. “These greedy little things have eaten all the seed I brought for them. Now we’re pretending we’re friends, and they aren’t just in it for the food.” She narrows her eyes at me, a smile playing on her lips. “What’s different?”
I sit on the wall beside her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Something is distracting you, sweetheart.” She takes my hand and presses it to her hollowed cheek. “Is it a man? Tell me it is. I’d like nothing more than for you to fall in love.”
I sigh. There’s no way I can tell her what happened today. She’d demand I call the police, and for what? At least I can use the leftover money to help her.
Gloria, the care home manager, already told me that the amount I put on the account won’t go far but will keep her in better food and more regular outings for a couple of months.
I know she’d rather be at Rockaway Beach, in the house she shared with her beloved Winston back when they were young and had it all. They sold the old place long ago, and she always regretted it, but I guess that’s the thing about regret; when you know you’re leaving for your last adventure, it’s just extra baggage weighing you down.
Carrie isn’t one for looking back on the rough times; her heart is too big for that.
She pats my arm. “Quinn! You’re miles away. Come on, who is he? Who has my lovely girl’s panties in a bunch?”
“Carrie!” I smirk, and she giggles. “No one, really. It’s been a strange few days, that’s all.”
“You’re sure?”
Well, actually, a man with a gunshot wound locked me in my workplace and then abducted me to a fancy hotel. I escaped, he bought the bakery and my apartment building, and he’s now stalking me.
And, despite all this, I’m hot as sin for him and can think of little else other than him taking my virginity. Oh, and did I mention he shoved his cock down my throat in public, and I loved it?
There’s something seriously wrong with me. Katrina confirmed my suspicions; Roman is a player. A rich, entitled asshole who sees something he likes and buys it, women included. He’s determined to take what he wants on his own terms.
I feel a flutter in my pussy at the memory of Roman’s building climax, the intoxicating power I felt when I made him lose control.
I’m not totally on the back foot here. What’s so wrong with taking what I want, too?