Chapter 40 Quentin
FORTY
QUENTIN
Quentin was already in a bad mood. All he wanted was a damn coffee, but of course, he was out of milk.
Then, while tearing apart his cabin in search of his car keys, he stubbed his toe on the coffee table so hard on the table leg that he saw his ancestors filing a class-action lawsuit against furniture design.
As he hopped in place, gripping his foot, his phone lit up. Todd.
Of course his annoying-ass manager would call now before caffeine, before his soul had even fully re-entered his body.
He answered with a groan. “This better be life or death.”
“Babe!” Todd drawled, as if he weren’t the human equivalent of a popped collar. “You know I don’t call before noon unless there’s an opportunity.”
“I haven’t had coffee yet, Todd. I’m one more inconvenience away from joining a silent retreat.”
“Perfect! Tortured and miserable? That’s great for press.
So there’s this podcast—‘Reel Talk Confidential,’ hosted by two guys in their thirties who still live in their parents' basements and think the Paragon Cinematic Universe peaked with World War Three. But listen, they have reach. You call in, toss out some buzzwords like ‘character-driven’ and ‘found family,’ boom…promo gold.”
“I need caffeine before I can fake caring about any of this.”
“Fine, fine,” Todd said. “We’ll loop in your agent, your PR person, your stylist’s emotional support dog, whoever. But—”
“Listen Todd,” Quentin interrupted, “I’m seeing someone.”
There was a beat of silence, and then: “Ooh, spill. Is she famous? Is she messy? Please tell me she has a scandalous past, ideally involving a reality show and a mugshot.”
“She’s not in the spotlight. She’s the makeup artist on set.”
Todd practically gagged. “A workplace hookup? Quentin, no. That is dangerously close to a real relationship. You’re dating a normie? What if she wears flats on a red carpet? What if she doesn’t know what ‘seamless shapewear’ is?”
“I don't really give a shit. She’s smart. And kind. And doesn’t treat me like a walking ATM with abs,” Quentin deadpanned.
Todd groaned like he was physically in pain.
“God, you’re already using the K-word. Next thing I know, you’re gonna be monogamous on purpose and quoting her in interviews.
This is a PR minefield. Can I at least spin it?
‘Brooding A-lister finds love in unlikely place.’ Boomers and morning talk shows will eat that up with a spoon. ”
“No spin,” Quentin said firmly. “I want to protect her. No leaks. No paparazzi stakeouts. No blurry photos with headlines calling her ‘mystery redhead’ like she’s Bigfoot in a sundress. She didn’t sign up for this circus.”
Todd paused for a beat, then sighed. “Quentin, you know how this goes. You so much as blink next to a woman and Twitter’s got her blood type and credit score. I can’t babysit every blogger with a zoom lens and an inferiority complex.”
“I’m not asking you to babysit,” Quentin snapped. “I’m asking you to help. Strategize. Coordinate. Run interference. I need to know she’s safe.”
“Okay, you need to chill,” Todd said, his voice going flat. “You’re getting emotional and it’s... not on-brand. You’re supposed to be the hot, mysterious one, not the protective boyfriend from a teen drama show.”
“Don’t,” Quentin growled. “Don’t do that patronizing tone like I’m spiraling over a hookup. She’s not up for debate. I want her in my life. Preferably forever. That’s non-negotiable.”
Todd exhaled dramatically. “And what, you’ll walk if I don’t bend the knee to your little cabin-dwelling goddess?”
“If I have to,” Quentin said, calm and cold. “I’ll walk. Don’t think I won’t. I’d trade all the PR junkets in the world for one quiet night where no one’s watching her brush her damn teeth.”
There was a long pause. Then a muttered, “God, you actors and your feelings. Fine. I’ll put the team on it. But if she starts a candle company, I’m charging extra. I—”
Quentin hung up mid-sentence.
Still muttering under his breath about the state of humanity, he shoved the phone in his pocket and decided to check Sadie’s place. Maybe he’d left his keys there last night, somewhere between making out on her couch and absolutely losing his mind over the way she laughed when he burned the toast.
He trudged down the dirt path toward her cabin, still half-asleep. Just as he reached the porch, music blasted from somewhere nearby. Was that… a cowbell? Britney Spears? He turned, following the noise to the dirt parking lot. It was coming from his truck.
“What the hell—” He picked up his pace, rounding the vehicle just as Sadie’s head popped out of the driver’s seat. Wow, total shocker. She looked completely unbothered, like she wasn’t currently committing grand theft auto with a pop soundtrack.
“What the hell are you doing? And how did you even get my keys?” he yelled over the painfully loud chorus of "You Drive Me Crazy".
“You left them on the nightstand,” she shouted with a shrug. “And I really needed to hear this song full blast.”
Quentin stared at her, slack-jawed. “Are you serious?”
“Come on, let’s go somewhere.” She shot him a wink, completely unfazed.
He rubbed a hand down his face then sighed in utter defeat. With the solemnity of a man who had clearly lost control of his own life, he yanked open the passenger door and got in.
“Where? To steal someone else’s car?” he rumbled.
“No way. I don’t want to add to my criminal record,” she said casually, throwing the truck into gear.
And now she was driving his car again, despite the very clear, very dramatic vow he had made to never let her behind the wheel of one of his vehicles ever again.
Something about her treating the road like a video game and driving like they had extra lives.
Before he could argue, she peeled out of the parking spot, flying down the dirt trail toward the road, kicking up dust in her wake.
Quentin exhaled sharply. This woman was going to kill him. Then she could add that to her criminal record.
"Add?" Quentin asked, arching a brow.
Sadie hummed, like she was debating how much to tell him. “Well… there might have been a breaking and entering charge against me.”
His head whipped toward her. "What?"
“The charges were dropped!” she said quickly, lifting her hands. She seemed to forget she was still driving and his truck veered toward a ditch.
Quentin cursed, grabbing the wheel to steady it. “Can you keep both hands on the damn wheel while you confess your crimes?”
Sadie just giggled.
“Elaborate, please," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "I need to know exactly what I’m getting into.”
She flashed him a wicked grin. “Well, remember when I told you my ex cheated on me? Rebecca and I broke into his house.”
“His house,” Quentin repeated slowly.
“Well… his mom’s house,” she corrected. “Because he lived in her basement like the troll he is.”
Quentin let out a low whistle as she took a turn way too fast. Thank god the roads were empty. “And what, exactly, did you do?”
Sadie’s grin widened. “The most diabolical thing we could think of.”
“Put a dead fish under his bed?”
“Worse.” She let out an evil little laugh. “We threw glitter over everything. His bed, his clothes. In. His. Shoes.”
Quentin stared at her for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Jesus. That’s not revenge. That’s psychological warfare.”
“The only way to get rid of all of it would’ve been to burn the house down,” she said, utterly serene.
Quentin shook his head, still grinning. “Damn. You are wicked.” He leaned back in his seat, smirking. “I love it.”
Sadie beamed and, with a flick of her fingers, changed the song to Criminal by Britney Spears.
Sadie cranked up the volume and belted out, Mama, I'm in love with a criminal! completely drowning him out.
Quentin exhaled sharply, slumping against the passenger seat. This was divine punishment. Some past-life sin, and now the universe had handed him a woman who drove like she was fleeing a bank robbery and casually confessed to felonies between speed-limit violations.
"Sadie," he tried again, rubbing his temples. "Can we—"
"Wait!" She gasped dramatically, gripping the wheel like they were in a high-speed chase.
Quentin tensed. "What?"
"Do you think he still finds glitter in his socks?" she mused, eyes twinkling with pure chaos.
Quentin let out a strangled laugh. "Sadie, you terrorized that man."
"Deserved." She shrugged, then threw him a mischievous glance. "Bet he still thinks of me every time he finds a sparkle on his skin."
Quentin snorted. He should’ve been appalled. Should’ve been talking her out of future crimes, not mentally cataloging the best ones for later use. She was an agent of chaos. A menace to society. A walking, talking threat to his blood pressure.
And God help him, he was completely in love with her.
The realization hit like a freight train, knocking the air straight out of his lungs. Something warm and terrifying unfurled in his chest, a feeling he had no business having in the middle of whatever this was.
The movie would wrap soon. And when it did, she’d leave. Pack up, move on to the next adventure, the next city, the next life.
So what was he supposed to do, exactly? Let this be some ridiculous, crime-adjacent fling? Just shrug and wave her off like she hadn’t single-handedly infiltrated his entire goddamn heart?
No. Hell no. He wasn’t letting her say goodbye.
“Sadie, I need to talk to you about—”
Before he could say another word, something caught his eye. A white van parked awkwardly on the side of the road and a man standing next to it, holding a massive camera with a zoom lens that could probably spot Saturn’s rings. Quentin’s stomach dropped.
Then—clickclickclickclickclick.
Sadie’s head snapped toward the window. “What the hell?”
Quentin swore under his breath. “Paparazzi.”
Sadie gawked at him. “In the middle of bumblefuck?”
“Looks like it.”
“There’s never paparazzi out here!” she practically shrieked. “Why the hell is he here?”