Chapter Seventy-One
The ballroom has finally emptied save a few stragglers and servers clearing the tables, the sound of clanking plates and clinking silverware filling the room, which is less grand in the bright lights.
Jules feels a wave of relief that the event went smoothly, that the donations have exceeded expectations.
“Jules,” a voice calls from behind her.
Jules turns and sees Quinn looking dashing in his tux.
Before she replies, Quinn says, “I wanted to thank you for a lovely night.”
“Are you kidding? Thank you!” She hugs him.
“I talked to your parents and they’re so proud of you, Jules. Everybody is.”
Jules notices Lucy giving her the eye from across the room.
“You’re coming to the Dubliner?” Quinn asks. The after-party at a nearby bar.
“It’s your birthday, I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Sorry it doesn’t exactly fit the elegance of the evening,” Quinn says, looking about. “The guys at the firm picked the place…”
“I think it’s perfect,” Jules says. She even brought a change of clothes more suited to a sweaty Irish pub. “We just need to get things squared away here. I’ll be there in about an hour, if you think it will still be going on?”
“My Uncle Pat’s become fast friends with the investigators from my office. Trust me, it will still be going unless the bar runs out of booze.”
Jules smiles. “How could I miss that? And I’ll finally get to meet the famous Uncle Pat.”
“In all his glory, I’m sure.” Quinn hesitates. “Well, okay, I’ll see you there.”
It’s been a magical night. One of those rare ones, so Jules decides, Fuck it. “Hey, Quinn.” He turns back to her. She walks up, gets close. He doesn’t pull away.
“There’s something I need to say.”
He looks at her with a furrowed brow, like he’s concerned by the seriousness in her tone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. The night was perfect. Which is why I wanted to—”
They’re interrupted by someone calling Quinn’s name. Quinn turns to the pretty woman with red hair.
“Holly?” he says with surprise.
The famous Holly. Quinn’s ex. The woman blushes, cute dimples piercing her freckled cheeks. “Malcolm from the group home called me, told me he saw on the news you were getting the award. I wanted to, I don’t know … I wanted to see you.”
Quinn stands between them, clearly at a loss for words.
“Can we talk?” Holly continues.
Quinn hesitates, looks at Jules.
Jules reacts on instinct: “Go. I’ll see you at the pub.” She feels heat in her face.
“But you had something you wanted to—”
“I’ll catch you at the Dubliner. It’s nothing important, it can wait.”
Quinn hesitates again, nods, and he and Holly walk slowly out of the ballroom.
Lucy and Carrie, obviously spying from across the room, fast-walk over.
“Who was that?” Lucy says.
“Holly.”
It takes Lucy a second to understand. “Did he invite her? What’s she—”
Jules holds up a hand. “I have no idea. And he’s a grown man and can do what he wants.”
Carrie says, “They could be just friends. He would’ve said something otherwise…”
Jules isn’t so sure. But she’s determined not to ruin the night. “It’s fine. Seriously,” she says.
Lucy and Carrie share a glance, but say nothing.
“I need to close out with the hotel’s event manager,” Jules says. “I can meet you at the bar.”
“We’ll wait,” Lucy says. “I drove you here and—”
“Seriously, go have fun, I’ll be there soon.” Jules pauses. “Jack said he’d drive me over. I’ll be fine,” Jules adds, reading Lucy’s mind. It’s May 1st.
“We’re staying,” Lucy says, leaving no further room for debate. Carrie folds her arms and gives a decisive nod in agreement.
Jules protests but a warmth spreads through her. At this night. At these friends.
Quinn Riley or not.