Chapter 13
Quentin was still seething with fury the next morning when he stalked past his secretary’s desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Reddick,” she greeted him cheerfully.
“Morning,” he growled, because there was nothing “good” about it. “Has Byron come in yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“When he gets here, tell him to come see me.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like some coffee?”
“Not right now, thanks.”
He strode into his plush corner office suite—an upgrade Marcus had insisted upon when Quentin became joint owner last year.
Ignoring the broad expanse of windows that overlooked downtown Atlanta, Quentin dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk, scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to remember how many glasses of whiskey he’d imbibed last night to block out torturous mental images of Lexi and Byron writhing all over her bed.
The new bed, which had replaced the one tainted by her ex-husband and his mistresses.
“Rough night?”
Quentin glanced up to find Marcus leaning in the open doorway with one shoulder propped on the doorjamb, hands tucked into his pockets. In no mood to be interrogated by another Wolf brother, Quentin grunted unintelligibly and reached for his phone to check his voice mail.
“I had to push our meeting up to ten-thirty,” Marcus informed him. “I’m going to be out for a few hours this afternoon.”
“Fine.”
Instead of leaving, Marcus entered the office and wandered over to the wall of windows. As he gazed out at the downtown skyline, the expression on his face reminded Quentin of a kid who was bursting to share a secret.
Reluctantly intrigued, Quentin set down the phone receiver.
“What’s on your mind, Lit—Marcus?” He automatically checked himself before he called him “Little Man,” the nickname he and Michael had given Marcus when they were younger because he’d always tagged along after them, trying to hang with the big boys.
Quentin made a point of not using the nickname when he and Marcus were at the office, but every so often it slipped out.
Marcus turned from the window, beaming from ear to ear. “Samara’s pregnant.”
“Really?” Quentin grinned broadly. “Hey, man, that’s wonderful news. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I suspected something was up when we were in France and she threw up after we went fishing. She said the smell of the fish bothered her, but I remembered how sick she got when she was pregnant with the boys.”
“Have you told the family?”
“Not yet. Samara wants to wait until after Mike and Reese have their baby. She says they deserve to enjoy their time in the spotlight, just like we did.”
“Thoughtful woman, that wife of yours.”
“Always.” Marcus smiled softly. “We have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. We’re hoping it’s a girl this time. Not that we’ll know for a few months.”
“Are you going to find out?” Quentin asked. “Or are you going to wait like Mike and Reese?”
“We want to know. Definitely. But either way, it’s all good.” Marcus looked happy enough to float away at any moment.
Quentin was surprised to feel a sharp pang of envy. Did he want what Marcus had? A doting wife, adorable kids, a big, beautiful house in Buckhead? Was he truly ready to give up his bachelor pad, wipe his PDA clean of women’s phone numbers and become domesticated?
Seeing his frown, Marcus gave him a knowing, sympathetic grin. “Lexi still not speaking to you?”
“No.” Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know about that?”
Marcus chuckled. “You must have called her while she and Samara were out running errands for the baby shower. Samara says Lexi took one look at caller ID, saw your number and shut the phone off.”
Quentin scowled. “Don’t tell your brother. I don’t feel like hearing his damn mouth.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. But just out of curiosity, what’d you do this time?”
“For once,” Quentin grumbled morosely, “not a damn thing.”
Marcus gave him a long, assessing look. “I believe you.”
“Gee, thanks, Wolf.”
“No, I’m serious. I know what it’s like to be presumed guilty until proven innocent, and it’s no picnic.” He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “You know, Lexi reminds me a lot of Samara.”
“In what way?”
“Tough, headstrong, vulnerable. They both went through a lot with their mothers. And they both have daddy issues, which, unfortunately, makes it hard for them to trust the men who genuinely care about them.”
Marcus wasn’t saying anything Quentin didn’t already know. But considering that Marcus had successfully weathered the storm and gained Samara’s love and trust, Quentin figured the man probably knew what he was talking about.
“So what’s your advice, Confucius?”
Marcus smiled cryptically. “Don’t get caught kissing any supermodels.”
Remembering Lexi’s accusations about Giselle, Quentin swore colorfully under his breath.
Marcus laughed. “See you at ten-thirty.”
Shortly after he’d left the office, Byron stuck his head through the doorway. “You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Yeah.” Quentin waved him inside.
As soon as Byron sat in one of the leather visitor chairs across from his desk, Quentin said without preamble, “When you asked me for dating advice yesterday, I didn’t know you were going out with Lexi.”
Byron flushed. “I was trying to be discreet. I know you guys are best friends. I wasn’t sure if she’d want you to know that, uh, we were, ah—”
Impatient, Quentin cut him off. “No more dates with Lexi. Got that?”
Byron looked confused. “I—I don’t understand.”
“Look—” The lawyer in Quentin reminded him to tread with caution. Byron was his employee, and this was a personal matter. He couldn’t give him the impression that there’d be some sort of workplace retaliation if the kid didn’t comply with his demand.
Quentin knew all that—but he didn’t give a damn. “All you need to know is that Lexi is off-limits. I like you, kid, but if you insist on seeing her again, you and I are gonna have a serious problem. Feel me?”
Stunned, Byron gaped at him for several moments, then swallowed hard and nodded.
“Good.” Quentin smiled, leaning back in his chair to defuse some of the tension between them. “Whatever happened to that cute little hairstylist you were seeing a while ago?”
“Diamond?” Byron made a face. “Didn’t work out. Besides, she’s nothing like—” He broke off, but Quentin knew what he’d been about to say. She’s nothing like Lexi.
He wondered if he, too, would forever judge other women by that standard.
“Lexi and I had a good time last night.” Byron smiled wryly. “That is, after I got rid of my butterflies.”
Quentin narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘good time.’”
Byron met his gaze, correctly interpreted what he was asking and let out a nervous little laugh. “That’s kind of a personal question, boss.”
Quentin was already measuring the width of the massive desk, mentally calculating whether it’d be quicker to go over it or around it to get his hands on his young associate.
Seeing the leashed violence in his eyes, Byron got quickly to his feet. “If we’re done here, I, uh, have some client phone calls to make.”
“Go,” Quentin snarled, a dismissal and a warning. Temper simmering, he shoved to his feet and paced to the windows.
Pausing at the door, Byron said tentatively, “There’s just one thing. What am I supposed to do about tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. I’m, uh, supposed to see Lexi again. She was going to make dinner for me.”
The words slashed through Quentin’s heart like the blade of a well-honed dagger. He turned his head with eerie slowness and stared at Byron. “What did you just say?” he asked in a chillingly soft voice.
Byron visibly gulped. “Lexi offered to cook dinner for me.”
Red swam before Quentin’s eyes.
A moment later he was storming across the room with an expression of such lethal fury that Byron actually cowered against the door. As Quentin stalked past him, he growled, “I suggest you make other dinner plans, kid, or you’re gonna starve.”