Chapter Three
An hour later, after munching on some crackers she found in the bottom of one of her desk drawers, Max walked back in.
He came to a halt when he saw her, and he did a quick look over his shoulder, almost like he was making sure she didn’t know what was going on downstairs.
Should she keep her mouth shut? He looked like he was in a bad mood, and her self-preservation surged to the forefront
“Are you all right?”
She gave him a weary smile. “Yes. I’m sorry about that whole scene earlier.”
He held up a hand and walked to stand in front of her desk. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I just ... don’t like to see you so upset.”
“I’m fine now.” She handed him a couple of messages. “Did you enjoy your sushi?”
He didn’t answer right away as he skimmed through the notes.
“I didn’t eat.”
When she went to ask why, her phone rang, and she answered it.
Past the paint and the masterpieces, art was a business and to a gallery owner it became all about funding, backing, and having the very prominent attend.
Without critics praising it, modern art would just be a market for sidewalk sales.
“Is that all you ate?”
She glanced up as she disconnected the call. Max leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, and she followed his nod to the cracker packets.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Go ahead and order Thai to be delivered. I’m hungry, too.”
Quinn ordered their usual and had their lunch delivered. They took a break to enjoy the food, sitting on the floor with their backs propped against the couch. Between them sat several assorted cartons of rice, noodles and appetizers.
She used her chopsticks to scoop a large shrimp into her mouth. “Mm. Thanks for buying.”
He leaned over and looked in her box, using his own chopsticks to grab a mushroom. “No more crackers. ‘K?”
She grimaced. “I’m never letting a man get in between me and lunch again. By the way, why did you miss lunch?”
“Had an errand to run. By the time I got done it was time to come back.”
She could tell right away he lied. Although he’d crafted an excellent poker face, for some reason she always saw through it.
The question however was, why? What was going on downstairs?
Something wasn’t adding up and she didn’t know what to think.
She’d been working with Max for a year, and she thought she knew him.
Thought she knew everything about his business and the gallery, but apparently there were secrets he wanted to keep.
Secrets reminded her of Bryan, and it struck her that she still needed to get her shit out of his place.
“What is it?” Max asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“I just remembered I have stuff over at asshole’s place.” She looked down at the empty Thai box in her hand, not remembering having taken the last bite. She threw it in the wastebasket. “Damn it.”
“I’ll go with you if you want me to,” he offered quietly.
She blew out a sigh. “Nah, I’ll take care of it. He can be a bit of a hothead.”
Max tensed. “What does that mean?”
“What?”
“You said he’s a hothead. What does that mean?”
“It means he can yell a lot.”
“Does he hit a lot, as well?”
“No,” she replied immediately.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I promise,” she said soothingly. “Hitting isn’t his modus operandi.”
“What exactly is his M.O.?”
She sighed. “What is this, Max?”
“What is what?”
“Come on, this interrogation.”
“I want to know what the little cocksucker did to you.”
“He didn’t—cocksucker?” She laughed. “That’s funny. I called him the same thing.”
“Quinn.”
“Max.”
If he could be snarky, so could she. He raised an eyebrow with a look that told her not to be dense. She rolled her eyes.
“He liked to say things,” she elaborated. “The type of things that made me feel guilty for thinking or saying stuff he didn’t like. For example, he never wanted me to use a blow dryer because he thought it dried out my hair too much.”
“Are you fucking kidding?”
She shook her head. “Truth.”
“He’s a moron.”
“You already said that.”
“Bears repeating.”
Quinn smiled, happily admitting to herself that she was glad Max thought Bryan was an idiotic asshole. “How long are you gonna need me tonight?”
“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“Nah, I got it handled.”
“You call me if you need me. Okay?”
“Okay, dad.”
He gave her an annoying stare down his nose. “If I was your dad, I’d spank you. And ... let’s pretend I never said that. Shall we?”
She laughed. “Oh no. I will be holding that over your head for the next couple of months. If not years.”
“Brat.”
She stuck her tongue out.
****
Quinn pulled up to Bryan’s apartment complex and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She downplayed Bryan’s gaslighting, and truth be told, she was nervous about what he was going to do or say. Conflict gave her hives. Probably why she let him get away with being a jerk around her.
Knowing she couldn’t stall too long, she pulled her big girl panties up and exited her car.
The apartments were older, resting on stilts with parking under the building.
All the apartments were located on the second and third floor, without an elevator, so there wasn’t any concierge. Just a wall of mailboxes and stairs.
A moment later, she stood in front of his door and raised her hand to knock, only to hesitate.
Bryan had always made her feel inadequate.
Like she couldn’t measure up to whatever preconceived notion he expected.
Never thin enough. Never funny enough. Never pretty enough.
Why had she wasted so much time on a man who never respected her?
The knock on the door echoed in the empty corridor. A moment later, the door swung open and there he was, looking all smug.
“I knew you’d come groveling back,” he sneered. “Is this dick too hard to pass up?”
“Well, you got the dick part right,” she replied blandly. “I’m here for my stuff.”
“Your stuff?” He laughed an obviously fake laugh. “Hilarious. Now, get in here and fix my dinner.”
What did I ever see in him? “No, like I said, I’m here for my stuff. Hand it over.”
“I’m not handing you anything until you get on your knees, beg my forgiveness, and then give me a blow job.”
“You’re fucking delusional, Bryan. One last time, give me my stuff, or I’ll call the police right now and they can force you to give me my stuff.”
To show him she wasn’t bluffing, she pulled out her cell phone. At that moment, all his macho pretense fell away.
“You’re a pathetic bitch,” he snapped.
“I don’t care what you call me anymore,” she said. “I have a pair of sneakers, some clothes, make-up and, oh, and the hair dryer you never let me use.”
His upper lip formed into a sardonically amused twist. “You’re too late. I threw them out.”
“What?” she demanded, taking a half-step closer. “It’s been one day, and you tossed them into the trash?”
“What can I say?” He spread his arms out as if really asking the question. “You called me names and said we were over. Why wouldn’t I throw all of it in the dumpster?”
Anger burned through her. “You’ll regret that.”
“I regret nothing,” he said with a shrug.
Words eluded her. Sure, the items weren’t worth anything, and she could easily replace them, but it was the principle of his actions. He never gave her any courtesy or consideration. Everything was always about him and his wants and needs.
“I hate you,” she muttered. “How I ever convinced myself that I loved you is beyond my comprehension because you are a giant fucking prick.”
She turned and stomped back the way she came, his fake mocking laughter following her.
Stomping down the stairs, she headed around the back to the dumpster, and opened the lid to inspect it, but didn’t see her possessions.
Of course, it was entirely feasible that he’d been lying.
Games. Nothing but stupid games. As she went to leave, her gaze fell on his sedan, and in a moment of shear pettiness marched over to it.
Quinn dug her keys out of her purse and proceeded to etch into the paint exactly what she thought of him. Prick.