Chapter 23 Quentin
TWENTY-THREE
QUENTIN
Quentin watched with mild horror as the nail technician powered up a tiny drill, the thing whirring like it was about to perform micro-surgery.
He owned tools that made that exact noise. None of them were pink. And all of them were used for things like fence posts and livestock, not whatever crimes against keratin were happening inches from Sadie’s fingertips.
He shifted in his seat, arms crossed, wondering how the hell he had ended up here in the first place.
Oh, right. He was powerless against a five-foot-three menace with big eyes and bigger demands.
This morning, he’d been on set, teeth full of dust, pretending to be a haunted cowboy in a supernatural western.
Now he was marinating in acetone and floral lotion inside a pastel nail salon that looked like a cupcake exploded. Life came at you fast.
The drive to the salon had taken just under an hour, mostly because they’d spent half of it arguing over the aux cord.
Quentin had insisted on his country playlist, only for Sadie to threaten violence if she had to endure one more twangy song about beer, trucks, or a lost love named Jolene.
Eventually, they compromised on some indie folk, which Sadie begrudgingly accepted.
Now, as they settled into their plush chairs, Quentin leaned in, watching the tiny drill work away at Sadie’s nails like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
“That little thing really gets the job done, huh?” he mused, thoroughly impressed.
Sadie didn’t glance up. “That what your exes said when they were trying to be nice?” she quipped. “Don’t stress it. Word on the street is it's not the size, it’s the skill.”
She finally looked at him, eyes glinting as she gave him a wicked grin. He didn’t flinch. Just leaned back, slow and smug, his gaze sliding over her.
“Sweetheart,” he drawled, lips curling, “lucky for you, I’m well-equipped in both.”
The nail tech snorted so hard she had to pretend it was a cough. Another one walking past nearly face-planted.
Quentin waved over another nail tech. “Hey, can I get a buff and a clear coat please?” he asked, flashing a smile. Sadie raised an eyebrow.
“Why does it sound like you’ve asked for that a thousand times?” she asked, giving him a suspicious side-eye.
“You think I woke up looking this good? This,” he gestured to himself with a sweep of his hand, “takes upkeep.”
Sadie scoffed. “I didn’t realize ‘Hollywood rugged’ required regular manicures.”
“It’s called versatility. One minute I’m shoveling manure on the ranch, the next, I’m on set. Gotta keep the hands camera-ready.” He held out his own, wiggling his fingers.
“The world’s most high-maintenance cowboy,” she let out a laugh, shaking her head.
“It’s just a clear coat,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “You, on the other hand, have talons that require motorized buffing.” He gestured to the tiny drill that was buzzing over Sadie’s long nails, the hum filling the small salon.
She always had her nails long and painted ridiculous colors with gems and glitter on them.
“What color are we going with?” Quentin asked, flipping through the catalog. “Maybe vomit green?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, red and angry like you?” Quentin said, pointing to a bright red polish before his gaze flicked to her auburn hair.
Sadie choked on nothing, barely suppressing a laugh. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“And yet, here you are. Still choosing to breathe the same air as me.”
“Trapped,” she corrected, flopping her head back dramatically. “Imprisoned by the cruel, unyielding confines of my manicure chair.”
Her mouth twitched.
“Blink twice if you need help,” Quentin said with a laugh, leaning forward. “I was going to give you some good news, but since you’re being such a brat, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t.”
Her head snapped up. “What? No. Tell me immediately.” She leaned forward. “Is Mercury finally out of retrograde, or am I still allowed to blame it for everything?”
“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “But I did get you a meeting with the CEO of Radiance Cosmetics. It’s scheduled for three weeks from now.”
Sadie froze, her eyes widening as though she hadn’t fully processed the words. For a moment, she just stared at him, her brain catching up. Then, as the realization hit, she let out a shriek so loud that the elderly woman getting her nails done across the salon nearly dropped her purse.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” she shrieked, grabbing Quentin’s arm with both hands and shaking it.
“Whoa! Easy there, muscles,” he said with a breathless laugh.
“Oh my god, Quentin! Are you actually serious right now?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, attempting to play it cool despite the way his face split into a huge grin. “I’m basically a miracle worker.”
“This is—” She cut herself off, hands dropping as the excitement settled into something softer. Her eyes searched his face. “I’ve been trying to get in front of them for months. This is huge.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Because you’re ridiculously talented. Anyone with eyes can see that.”
Her voice dipped, stripped of its usual bite. “Thank you,” she said, sincere and a little stunned. “Really. You didn’t have to do this.”
He gave another shrug, but there was nothing casual in the way his gaze lingered on her. “I wanted to.”
Sadie ultimately chose the red nail polish, which earned a quiet smirk from Quentin. That smirk vanished the second she confirmed he was paying, her eyes lighting up like she’d just discovered money grew on men.
“Oh, we’re doing crystals,” she declared, already pointing to the most expensive ones on the menu. “Yes, those. And maybe a few more. Let’s bedazzle my entire soul.”
Quentin raised an eyebrow as she pointed to every sparkly upgrade like a kid in a candy store with the added thrill of not footing the bill.
“She’s absolutely possessed,” he muttered, watching in disbelief as rhinestones seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
She grinned at him over her shoulder. “You said, ‘Whatever you want.’ This is what I want. Sparkle. Excess. Financial irresponsibility.”
Quentin laughed, fully aware he was being hustled and fully fine with it. He was the poor sucker gleefully handing over his wallet. A willing victim. Sugar daddy for the day, and proud of it.
“Should I alert my accountant?” he asked.
“And maybe the credit card company. With the way I’m spending, they’ll think you have lost your mind.”
The nail tech, who had been chatting away without a clue, paused and really looked at him. Her gaze dropped to the boots, the jawline, the cowboy hat and then her eyes went wide like she’d just solved a celebrity-themed escape room.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, immediately grabbing her phone.
The next ten minutes were a blur of awkward poses, selfie lighting requests, and one employee asking if he could record a birthday message for her cousin. The final bill was two hundred dollars and whatever remained of his low-profile existence. Still, it was worth every penny.
Sadie was sitting under the salon lights, tilting her hands back and forth like she was trying to catch the sun. The crystals on her nails caught the light and threw it everywhere, glittering like they were showing off. Her smile was even brighter.
Quentin leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending he was very normal about all of this.
He wasn’t sure what was more unhinged, how good she looked right now or the fact that a small, serious part of his brain was doing the math on whether buying the entire nail salon was financially feasible if it meant keeping that look on her face.
As they stepped out of the nail salon, the sharp bite of winter air hit them like a slap. Sadie immediately pulled her coat closer.
“Does that happen a lot?” she asked, nodding back toward the salon. “People just… recognizing you like that?”
It had been easy to forget on set, where everyone treated him like a coworker, not a headline. Out here, though, in the open air and fluorescent lights of real life, he was fair game. No trailers to duck into. No call sheets to hide behind.
He shrugged, zipping up his jacket a little higher.
“Depends where I am and what I’m wearing.
In Montana, people either don’t care or try really hard to pretend they don’t.
But L.A. or New York? I can’t go five feet without someone pulling out their phone or asking for a selfie.
That’s why I split my time between places. Keeps me sane. Or, saner.”
She glanced at him, squinting into the wind, cheeks pink, hair sticking slightly to her lip gloss. “You talk about fame like it’s a rash you’re not supposed to scratch.”
He laughed quietly. “That might be the most accurate description I’ve heard.”
The truth was, he did hate it, at least the part where strangers thought they owned a piece of him. But it felt like the most obnoxious, out-of-touch thing in the world to admit out loud.
“I never got into acting to be famous,” he said finally. “That part’s… noisy. Loud in a way that seeps into your bones. I’m grateful, obviously. But it complicates everything.”
They walked a few steps in silence, boots crunching over salted pavement.
Then Sadie said, quietly, “The industry’s not as glamorous as people think. Everyone assumes I got into makeup for the celebs and glam squads, but I just love creating. And the fact that I never stay in one place long. There’s always a new set, a new city waiting. That’s the real perk.”
He turned to look at her. “You like being a nomad?”
She nodded. “My parents are the most consistent people on the planet. Same house for thirty years. Same grocery store every Sunday. Every lightbulb in the house is labeled with the date it was last changed.”
“That’s oddly impressive.”
“It’s horrifying,” she said, laughing. “I love them to death, but it made me itch. I knew if I stayed, I’d turn into a sensible version of myself who got real excited about grout colors.”
“So you started running?”
“I started wandering,” she corrected. “City to city, job to job. I thought if I stayed anywhere too long, I’d get stuck and I wasn’t sure I’d know how to leave once I did.”
He said, quietly, “Maybe you just haven’t found the right place to stay yet.”
She let out a soft breath, nearly a laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just not built for staying. Maybe I’m better in motion.”
“I don’t think it’s about standing still,” he said, voice low. “I think you’re just waiting for someone who feels like home, no matter where you are.”
She shot him a look, dry as dust. “Wow. That’s dangerously close to a country song.”
There it was again, her retreat behind the punchline. Like anything too close to real needed to be laughed off before it got the chance to land. He just shook his head.
The snow had lightened while they were in the salon, but it still clung to the streets and cars. A few flakes landed on her jacket, earning a scowl like someone had cut her in line at the grocery store.
She flicked one off her sleeve, mouth set in that stubborn little line he was starting to recognize. She was irritated, dramatically so.
Quentin smirked as she glared at the sky like the weather had personally offended her. “You look like you’re about to ask for nature’s manager.”
“I strongly dislike the outdoors,” Sadie said, deadly serious. “Snow is unnecessary. Pollen is a biological weapon. Temperature is unstable at best and a personal attack at worst.”
He chuckled, studying her. “God, I think I love whatever brand of crazy you are.”
“Love?” She recoiled. “Wow. Straight to red flag. What’s next? Promise rings? Coordinated outfits?”
Quentin shrugged, grinning. “I’m just saying, that snow rant had Oscar potential. You looked ready to fight a cloud.”
“I am,” she said. “And I’d win.”
“You just haven’t seen the good parts of nature.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, cult leader. Should I expect pamphlets? Is this the part where you offer me herbal tea and a robe?”
“You sound like someone who desperately needs to touch grass.”
“I have. It was itchy, and I didn’t care for it.”
Quentin snorted. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets, hesitating.
He wasn’t ready to drop her off yet. If he did, she’d vanish into her cabin, burrito herself in a blanket, and he wouldn’t see her again until call time.
And he needed more than that. Daily at minimum.
Hourly if he was being honest with himself.
“You need to get back?” he asked, casual, like a man not already plotting how to keep her hostage. Even though he was.
Sadie gave him a look. “Unless my plans to scroll Netflix, hate everything, and rewatch a show I know by heart while demolishing popcorn count as urgent, no.”
He grinned. That was all he needed. “Perfect. Get in the car. I’m taking you somewhere that’ll make you love nature.”
“If this ends at a park, I will litter,” Sadie said, deadpan. “And I won’t even pretend to feel bad about it.”
Quentin laughed, completely unbothered. “We’ll see about that, Roja.”
“Roja? Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “First Firecracker, now Red? What’s next, Firecrotch?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’m not tempting you. I’m warning you.”
“Well, the first two fit,” he said, shrugging. “The temper. Fiery hair. General chaos vibe.”
“You sound like a man who’s never been hit with a purse.”
“Not yet,” Quentin said cheerfully. “But the day is young.”
He opened the truck door for her with a little bow. She didn’t move. Just stared at the seat like it might swallow her whole.
“I swear to God,” she muttered, “if there’s hiking involved, I will fake an injury and make you carry me.”
“It would be an honor,” Quentin said without missing a beat. “Preferably bridal style.”
She stood, fingers drumming on the frame like she was calculating her odds of survival. “If I get mauled by a squirrel or step in something tragic, I want it on record that you lured me.”
“I’ll lie to make you sound way cooler.”
Before she could argue, he set a hand at her elbow and the other on her lower back, boosting her up. She landed on the seat with a small huff, legs dangling for a second before she found the floorboard.
She shot him a look, muttering, “You better.”
And with that, Quentin shut the door, grinning like he’d already won.