8. Georgia
Chapter 8
Georgia
I t was not the last time I would have to deal with Sebastian Quinn. Because there he was, dressed in a ridiculous suit that seemed custom-tailored to fit his tall frame. Why was Sebastian Quinn in the coffee shop in a custom-tailored suit?
"Sarah!" I hissed as I labeled a sticker for the fresh coffee grounds. I was suddenly very aware that I was covered in said coffee grounds, and that my apron was freshly marked with a smearing of chocolate and something that looked like old whipped cream. Sarah looked up from the cash register in confusion as I huddled behind the counter.
"What are you doing?" She asked in a very normal volume of voice, to my utter dismay. I pressed my finger to my lips and beckoned her over, which she did, though, with a roll of her eyes.
"Why is Quinn here?" I whispered, jerking my head behind me towards my neighbor and the group of people he was currently conversing with.
Sarah looked over at his group, eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment. "Who's Quinn?"
This time, it was my turn to roll my eyes, "The tall, dark one."
Sarah took another look over the counter with an appreciative noise, "Oh, tall, dark, and handsome? No idea. His grandfather's firm booked us for some client meeting today." She straightened again, going back to the cash register as another customer approached. I looked down at my watch and inwardly groaned when I realized that I still had an hour left before my shift was over. The shift I practically begged for when I overheard Sarah on the phone with a sick employee.
I finally straightened and walked quickly to the back to toss my soiled apron in the linen bucket and grab a new one. I had nothing to be shy of, especially from Sebastian Quinn. Or should I say Wolfe?
So I walked out, hauling the large bag of wholesale ground coffee beans that the shop supplies to local restaurants to the shelf. Passing by the talking group of people, sipping expensive lattes, I pushed the bags onto the shelf as quickly and quietly as I could.
"Hey! Do I know you?" piqued a voice behind me, and I froze. Fuck. I turned around with a fake, customer service smile on my face to see Thomas Fletcher. The tall man looked just like he did in high school, chiseled jawline with the kind of looks that could get him hired as a shirtless greeter at a mall somewhere. Jesus, did anyone leave this stupid state, or did they all just come to congregate in my fucking neighborhood?
"That's right! You were the valedictorian, Perrington Prep, right?" I forced myself to keep smiling as the man held out his hand. "You probably don't remember me, but I'm Thomas. I'm usually just called Fletcher, though."
I shook his hand, trying not to look shell-shocked that the guy even remembered me. Or how nice he was being.
"You work here?" He asked politely, shoving his hand back in his pocket. I nodded, trying to look over at Sarah to save me from my nightmare, which was a casual conversation with a near stranger. Of course, she had a line of people out the door, all in expensive-looking suits and dresses.
"Yeah, just a few hours a week." I wiped my hands on my apron and looked over as Sarah marked cups with each order. "I better go help, but it was nice to see you!" Quickly making my exit, I walk-jogged over to behind the counter, where Sarah sighed a breath of relief.
Thankfully, Quinn didn't speak a word to me the entire evening.
It was a late night once again; I was overjoyed when Hank, Sarah's manager, asked me to stay to help cover the event. The bill for my grandmother's home was coming up, along with the rent for the apartment. By this time, my grandmother could've bought the damn place five times over. But my grandfather had died buried in his son's gambling debts, and my grandmother's credit was in no place to afford to buy. Besides, she had always told me she hated lawn maintenance, and renting made up for it, escrow be damned.
"Why are you working at The Grind now?" came a voice behind me, and I swore for at least the twentieth time that day.
"Why do you care, Quinn?" I hissed as I picked up my fallen keys once again. I smelled like coffee beans and old milk, not my best fragrance. I turned to see him looking nervously at me, which was not a look I was used to seeing on his face. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to snap. Yes, I work there part-time."
He bit the inside of his cheek and leaned against the wall next to his front door. "I noticed Hemingway's isn't open much any more. Is everything going alright?"
Crossing my arms, I turned to stare at him. "Is there a reason you're asking about my job, Quinn? What, are you hiring?" I joked, turning around again to jingle my keys in the stuck lock.
"Yes, actually."
I stopped cold in my tracks, my keys dangling halfway out of the ancient lock while I turned to stare at my next-door neighbor.
"Real funny, Quinn. Have a good night." Just as I pushed my door open, a large hand came to rest beside me.
"Listen, Clark, you're not my first pick either, but it could help both of us out. "
My eyebrows shot up and I barked out a laugh as I pushed my door in. "Wow, don't be too flattering. Do I start now or what?"
Sebastian groaned and leaned on my door frame, not stepping into the house but leaning forward. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean…listen, my partner that I usually work with is out of the game. I have references and a clean bill of health."
I stood incredulous in my living room, ignoring Hannah swirling around my legs as she purred. Taking in Quinn's deep, imploring eyes, I crossed my arms again.
"You're being serious right now, aren't you?"
He nodded. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't posted in a while."
I blushed a deep scarlet and chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Haven't looked since … well, you know." I lied, hopefully convincingly.
He lowered his gaze as if he was seeing right through me; he leaned closer, the hints of his tattoos peeking out from beneath the cufflink shirt.
"Listen, I get good money from live streaming and solo shit, but I really rake it in when I have collabs. And I'm picky; I have to be, with who my family is." He wasn't lying there. The Quinn Foundation owned and ran half of the city, and what they didn't own, they invested in. I still couldn't wrap my head around why he was doing sex work to begin with. Thirst traps on social media? Yeah, absolutely, but this was different.
"Quinn, listen, I'm not doing that. It would kill my grandmother, first of all."
"We wear masks, totally anonymous, you know the drill." He was pleading at this point. "We split it fifty-fifty; it's more than reasonable."
I threw up my hands and bent down to pick up my cat, her gentle purring calming my nerves. "Absolutely not, but thanks for thinking of me, I guess?" I snorted, attempting to shut the door in his face.
His foot stopped the door from closing fully, and he looked down at me. "If you change your mind, here's my number and the number to my references. Just think about it." He had barely finished the sentence when I finally shut the door, grabbing the offered business card so he would just leave.
Shaking my head, I kissed Hannah between her furry ears and went to refill her food dish as I looked at the card. It was plain, with simple text that had what I assumed was his phone number—no name, but it was local—next to a scrolled text that said Wolfe LLC. I tossed it on my rarely used kitchen table with a sigh.
Did Sebastian Quinn just proposition me?
"How's work going?” my grandmother asked between sips of her shake. “I'm sure Hemingway's is about to be busy with the holiday season coming up." I swallowed the guilt around the lie I was about to tell, stuffing some fries into my mouth to delay my response.
"It's been great. That coffee shop, The Grind? It's really bringing in more foot traffic, too." My stomach twisted with the falsehood, but I would rather do anything than cause my grandma to worry.
"There's nothing better than good coffee and a good book." She nodded, frowned, and began to look around.
"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to follow her gaze around the room. Staring out across the room for a moment, she shook her head and smiled.
"Oh, nothing; I just couldn't remember where I had left my glasses, is all." My heart dropped as I motioned to the pair of bifocals perched on top of her head.
I changed the subject, talking about Hannah and how happy she was with the new cat bed I’d bought her. We passed the time with casual talk before it was time to head out. I couldn't tell her it was because I had a shift at The Grind, so I once again lied and said I had dinner plans with Sarah.
Shutting the door to her room, I let out a sigh of regret, and the smile I had plastered on my face for the visit finally slipped away.
"Georgia?" I jumped at the sound of my name, once again plastering on a smile when I saw my grandmother's nurse, Abbey, walking up to me with a clipboard in hand.
"Oh hi, I put the check with the front desk. I hope that’s okay?" I asked, not liking the way she was smiling at me. It looked sympathetic, and that was concerning.
"Of course, I was just wondering if you had a second. I wanted to go over some things with you about your grandmother's care." And just like that, the floor dropped from under me. Again.
I was thankful that my driver was quiet on the way home. Gripped in my hands were the paperwork and pamphlets for my grandmother's continued care. Apparently, Mary had tripped the alarm sometime last night and they’d caught her wandering the halls. They wanted to add her to a different package—a more expensive package—due to her declining health and advanced age.
It was over six hundred dollars more a month, something that would have been hard with my full-time job and would now be impossible, even when I was covering as many shifts as I could at the coffee shop.
I was numb when I entered my apartment, the glow from the lamp I’d left on for Hannah's benefit lighting the space as I collapsed on the couch.
The cat jumped up on me immediately, rubbing her head into my hand as if she could smell her old owner on my clothing. So I sat there, petting the cat and looking off into space while I contemplated my new predicament. How was I supposed to come up with over six hundred extra a month on top of everything else?
Hannah's insistent chirping was becoming nonstop, and I looked over to her feeder to find the cause of her dismay. Sighing, I fed the furry beast and went to throw away her now-empty cat bag when I saw the business card that I had discarded just a few nights ago on my dining room table. Exhaustion pawed at me; my skin felt stretched too thin, like my body was too large for all of the expectations required of me. I struggled to breathe deeply the way my therapist had taught me when I was sixteen. I could do this, I was fine.
I gnawed at my lower lip while I shoved the cat bag down into the trash bin and crossed my arms over my chest, a chill running up my spine despite my thick sweater.
There was no way I was actually considering this, right?
Right?