Chapter Eight
Nathan
T he front door slams with enough force to rattle the hall mirror. I stand frozen in place, unsure whether to scream or hit something. Her scent, lilies and something uniquely Quinn, still lingers in the air around me, taunting me. Making the dining room feel too empty and too crowded with memories at the same time.
“What the hell was that?” I growl, turning to face Jonathan as he emerges from the kitchen.
My brother’s expression is infuriatingly calm, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. “You nearly drove our PR consultant away on her first day. What did you think I was going to do?”
“She shouldn’t be here!” I slam my palm against the dining room wall, welcoming the sting of pain that momentarily distracts from the hollow ache spreading through my chest. “After what she did?—”
“Again, that’s what you think she did,” Jonathan corrects, leaning against the doorframe with practiced patience.
I pace across the room, unable to stand still with Quinn’s voice still echoing in my head. I loved you, Nathan. You had my heart. The tremor in her words had caught me off guard. And for a second, I hesitated. How can she still put on such a convincing act, even after all this time?
“This is a mistake,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Unwanted memories come to the surface. The bitter ones, not the good. The shock of seeing those confidential details leaked online. The sickening realization that only Quinn could’ve been the source. The way my heart shattered into a million pieces when I realized she was the only one that could’ve done this.
“You’re inviting the fox into the henhouse,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
“Or I’m hiring the best person for a complex PR situation,” Jonathan counters. He studies me with the uncomfortable scrutiny that only older brothers can master. “I’ve done thorough research. She’s good at what she does, Nathan.”
Jake appears in the doorway, his expression more diplomatic than Jonathan’s. “Look, man, I get your concerns. But the wedding’s six months away, your theories as to why it’s her are circumstantial at best, and we need someone who understands high-profile damage control.”
I turn away from both of them, staring out the window as the car that Lyla and Quinn climbed into disappears down the street. My reflection in the glass looks haggard, eyes hollow with an emotion I refuse to name.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I?” Jonathan’s voice hardens slightly. “What I understand is that you’ve let mere speculation justify your actions and words against that woman. And the partying, the endless string of women? We’ve done our fair share of that ourselves, but not to this extent. We did it because we enjoyed it. You do it like you have to. Like you’re trying to erase her from your memory. That’s not you, Nathan.”
His words snap something inside me. He has no idea what he’s talking about. I’m doing what any other man in his thirties would do: blowing off steam. It has nothing to do with Quinn. Nothing.
“You don’t know what I’m?—”
“I know my kid brother.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “And I know when he’s running from something that matters.”
His words hit too close to home, and I lash out. “She betrayed us! How many times do I have to say that for you to get what I’m saying?”
“And what if she didn’t?” Jonathan asks quietly. His same questions again are driving me insane. There is no what-if like he thinks there is. That question doesn’t even deserve consideration. The evidence is clear; the timeline matches perfectly. My certainty hasn’t wavered in a year, and it’s not going to start now just because she’s back with her rehearsed denials and wounded expressions.
“I thought you were on my side,” I argue.
Jonathan’s expression softens. “I am. Always. But I’m also on the side of the truth, whatever that might be.”
I shake my head, desperate to escape the doubt his words have sparked. “You weren’t there when it happened. You didn’t feel that betrayal.”
“No,” he agrees. “But I saw what it did to you. And sometimes I wonder if you ever really recovered.”
The compassion in his voice grates on my nerves. I don’t need understanding. I need him to trust my judgment on this.
“I need to make a call.” I pull out my phone, already dialing Scott from Knight Industries’ security department. I need a concrete action to distract from the emotional quicksand threatening to pull me under.
Scott answers after the second ring. “This is Scott.”
“I want a complete background check on a Quinn Sanders. Every client she’s worked with since our…since the NorthStar leak a year ago. Every contract, every business associate, especially that partner she just split from.”
“You got it,” Scott responds.
Jonathan sighs. “Nathan?—”
“No.” I cut my brother off, my voice sharp with desperation barely disguised as authority. “If she’s going to be involved with this wedding, with our family, I need to know everything. Who she’s working with, what she’s been doing. You keep insisting there might be something I’ve missed, so let me put your mind at ease by proving you wrong.”
There’s no way there can be, because the alternative—that I’ve spent a year punishing an innocent woman—is unthinkable, impossible to fathom.
“This isn’t about the wedding for you, is it?” Jake asks softly.
I ignore him, turning my attention back to the phone. “Be sure to run a comprehensive background check. This is priority level one.”
Why would I sacrifice my relationship with you for money? I loved you, Nathan. Her words replay in my mind, stirring up frustration. What gives her the right to play innocent after all this time. As if she could just walk back into my life, look at me with those eyes, and make me forget everything?
Then I think of those leaked details, the shame and humiliation of facing Jonathan and Jake after the NorthStar deal collapsed, the career setback that took months to overcome.
My resolve hardens, protected by the familiar armor of anger and suspicion.
“Text me the results when you’re done,” I tell Scott, ending the call.
Both my brother and Jake watch me with an expression that looks too similar to pity.
“You know, sometimes I think you’re more afraid she’s innocent than guilty,” Jake says.
Jake is being naive, always trying to see the best in people. That’s his weakness, not mine. I’m the only one who sees people for who they really are.
“Bullshit,” I counter.
I grab my keys from the table, needing to escape. “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
“Nathan,” Jonathan calls as I reach the door. “Give her a chance to prove herself.”
I don’t bother responding as I slam the door behind me, echoing Quinn’s exit from minutes before.
In my car, I grip the steering wheel, fighting the urge to show up at her place. To demand answers.
Instead, I start the engine and head in the opposite direction. Away from Quinn. Away from doubt. Away from the uncomfortable truth that seeing her twice this week has turned me into a mess all over again.
I refuse to acknowledge the tension I felt when I had her cornered against that chair.
It was just adrenaline, just anger. Nothing more
Every sharp turn and acceleration fuel my anger as I drive to my apartment. The confrontation with Quinn replays in my mind—not her words but the calculated way she delivered them.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve reconstructed my defenses and reinforced the walls around the dangerous doubts Jonathan’s words inspired.
I pour myself two fingers of vodka and down it in one burning gulp, welcoming the distraction of physical sensation.
One thing is certain—working alongside Quinn day after day, fighting not just her arguments but my own unwanted response to her presence, is going to be hell. I pour myself another drink.
Jonathan is wrong about this. It’s not about fear or feelings. It’s about principles, consequences, and making sure Quinn Sanders can’t hurt my family again. I’ll keep her at arm’s length, watch her every move, and be ready to step in at a moment’s notice when she eventually shows her true colors.
My phone buzzes with a text from Scott:
Initial background check on Sanders underway. Prelim report by morning.
Good. Facts and data—that’s what I need. Not emotions, memories, or the treacherous hope that flared when Quinn looked up at me with those eyes.
I set an early alarm. Tomorrow, I’ll face her with professional distance and all the evidence I need to keep my defenses intact. Soon, she’ll realize I can see her coming from a mile away.
Knight Industries
Thursday, eight A.M.
Nathan
“Mornin’, boss.” Kami Hernandez comes into my office with all smiles—a tall cup of coffee in hand. As my senior manager in the social media division, she knows exactly how to bribe me. Yet I can’t help but recall the last time she pulled this stunt she was bribing me to get out of her own personal shit. And this time, like before, the answer is going to be the same.
“No,” I say bluntly.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, c’mon, it’s just coffee.”
“Nothing is ‘just coffee’ with you. Your fiancé will back me up on that one.”
“Ian will do nothing of the sort. Besides, he likes what I have to say and vice versa.”
“Oh, so you liked it when he told your mother behind your back you were in a relationship with him when you weren’t and then forced you to bring him to your childhood home last Thanksgiving?”
“Okay, that was—Wait, you’re getting me sidetracked.”
“Really? How did you guess?” I say sarcastically.
“I’m trying to talk with you about?—”
I glare at the spreadsheets on my screen, trying to focus on anything except the conversation Kami seems desperate to start. “Whatever you want, the answer is no.”
“Now, is that any way to treat your favorite almost-sister-in-law?” She settles into the chair across from my desk, crossing her legs. I have a pretty good idea what she wants, but I have zero interest in letting the woman try to psychoanalyze me right now. “Especially one bearing your favorite brew from Carlo’s?”
I take the coffee but maintain my scowl. The rich aroma fills my nostrils, the familiar warmth of the cup against my palm momentarily grounding me. The first sip has me slightly more awake, but I don’t dare admit that to her. “First of all, Kiera is my almost-sister-in-law, not you. Second, don’t you have wedding details to help coordinate or a fiancé to annoy?”
“I’m going to be on a call with Lyla after work, Ian doesn’t make it easy, and you are much more interesting.” She leans forward, eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I’ve learned to dread.
“Believe me, I’m not.”
“Our friend group, and Jonathan’s dining room, would disagree. So…Quinn Sanders.”
I close my eyes at the name, a pulse of tension radiating from my temples.
Not this. Not now.
“We’re not talking about this.”
Not today, sweetheart. Not today.
“Oh, we absolutely are. I know what happened between you two yesterday.” She pauses, then adds with deliberate casualness, “You know, where you had her pinned to the chair and underneath you?”
The memory hits me like a slap to the face—Quinn’s defiant eyes meeting mine, the slight tremor in her voice when she argued with me, her plump pink lips silently calling to me to move in closer. The smell of lilies and something that’s distinctly her own musk mixed in. Heat crawls up my neck, but it’s rage, not desire. My cock hardening only fuels my anger further. Just another betrayal, this time by my own physiology. “I was making a point. And where I come from, that’s none of your business.”
“Ooo, on the defensive now. I think I hit a nerve,” she teases.
Of course, she eavesdropped. I wouldn’t put it past her. Everyone that was there probably knows, whether they were witnesses or otherwise. “Again, I was making a point. You keep pushing, Ms. Hernandez…” I threaten.
She seems unbothered and more intrigued. “What point was that? The ‘I’m still insanely attracted to you but pretending to hate you’ point?”
“She betrayed me, Kami—” The words, like they always do, taste bitter on my tongue, metallic and sharp.
“Whatever you say. I listen; I don’t judge.” She holds up a hand when I start to protest. “Kiera told me the whole story. And from what I’ve heard and seen about this girl, I don’t think she?—”
“She conned me. End of story.” My voice comes out rougher than intended, scraping against my throat. The memories I’ve fought to suppress try to surface—moments of what I thought was happiness, all built on lies. The rage burns fresh when I think about how completely I’d fallen for her act. “She wasn’t real. And I stopped loving what wasn’t a long time ago.”
“You say that, but the body language from both of you suggested otherwise. And don’t think I didn’t see how you positioned yourself between her and the door, either. Last I checked, those weren’t intimidation tactics.”
I think back on her slight shiver when I blocked her path and made myself the only thing she could see. The way her eyes darkened despite her anger. The soft curve of her neck when she tilted her head back to meet my gaze. My fingers twitch.
I shift in my chair, cursing myself for the way my body responds to the memory. “As much as I love your little play-by-play on me”—which I don’t—“I have a virtual meeting with the Robson clients in ten minutes.” I shuffle papers on my desk, a transparent attempt to look busy.
She groans. “You Knight men and your running away from your feelings. So stubborn.”
“Like I said, we’re done here.” I gesture toward the door, hoping she’ll take the hint.
“I don’t know if you noticed, but underneath all that anger, she still looked at you the way every woman looks at her man.”
I scoff, ignoring the unexpected twist in my gut at her words. “You’re delusional.”
“You probably know better than me, but don’t you find it funny how that line between rage and passion gets blurry real quick and easy?”
I turn my chair to the large window adjacent to me and watch the city view without really seeing it. All I can see and think about is Quinn. The hurt in her eyes. Her questions. Why would you choose to blame me instead of believing me ? But she chose her path. And all the memories, the fantasies, and the dreams about her don’t matter anymore.
“Fine.” Kami stands, smoothing her skirt. “I’d recommend you figure out how to handle this…tension before your first meeting with her.” She pauses. “That is, unless…” Her grin widens. “ Handling the tension is what you plan to do?”
I level a glare at her that would send most employees running. “My strategy is simple—keep it strictly business. I’ll control the meeting, set firm boundaries, no rehashing the past. Just the work and nothing else.”
“So a wall of ice and passive-aggressive resentment.” Kami raises an eyebrow. “That’s your big plan?”
Quinn has always had a way of getting under people’s defenses, of making them confess more to her than they intend to. But not me. I’m not taking the bait. Not this time.
Kami puts her hands up in surrender and heads for the door, then pauses. “I’m just pointing out that despite your ‘hatred’ for her, you sure let her get to you.”
“Get out,” I growl.
Kami’s laughter echoes down the hall as she leaves. I turn my attention back to my work, but the numbers on the screen blur together. I loved you. Those words in that broken whisper are one of the many things she’d said that I can’t get out of my head. They loop endlessly, undermining my concentration.
I drain my coffee in one hot gulp, welcoming the burn sliding down my throat. But this is nothing compared to what I’ll be facing. The prospect of seeing her regularly, of working alongside her, sends a jolt of rage through me. I’ll need to master not just my temper but also the treacherous physical responses my body still has to her—a problem I’d thought was solved forever ago, buried under meaningless encounters with women whose names I don’t remember and don’t care to know.
And if Jonathan thinks he can change my mind about her by putting us together, he’s naiver than I thought.
Doesn’t he know some betrayals can’t be undone, no matter how much you might want to forget them ?