Chapter 3
Xander
A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE
Earlier…
Light filters through the bedroom windows, but it’s fading as I open my eyes. My gaze lands on my nightstand, where my phone rests. After reaching for it, I check the time. Damn, almost four in the afternoon. I slept all day, but I still feel like shit.
I scan my messages, seeing that Shirley texted me at seven this morning to tell me her daughter was in labor and that she’d be off for the next week.
It’s not a total surprise since we discussed her taking time off when she told me about being an expectant grandma.
At least she’s prepared me a bunch of meals and stuck them in the freezer so I won’t starve to death while she’s away.
Apparently, she thinks I can’t fend for myself.
I can make toast. I would need her to tell me where the bread and butter are.
And the toaster. I can handle finding a knife.
Though I’m not sure if I’m supposed to use a certain one for toast. Eh.
Fuck it. I can order takeout. I’ll be fine.
One thing I do need is some fucking aspirin. I push myself up and get out of bed, then trudge to the bathroom. Is it too soon to start drinking?
When I locate an unopened bottle of pain reliever, I swallow it dry, then turn on the shower and start to strip. This will bring me back to life. Then food. Then a drink and work.
As soon as I step under the hot spray, my muscles slowly begin to relax. I let my head fall forward, stretching my neck as far as I can. It feels amazing, and by the time I step out and wrap a towel around my waist, I’m halfway human again.
I spend the next few minutes in front of the steamed-up mirror, trimming my beard, glaring at the few silver hairs starting to appear at my temples.
Fuck.
Cash will have a fucking field day if he notices me getting gray before him. He keeps making comments about his wife keeping him young. Probably by dyeing his hair for him. Asshole.
Once I slick my hair back, I dress in a pair of clean slacks, a fresh dark gray button-down shirt, and a pair of shiny Italian dress shoes.
Then, I take a minute to pick out a watch from my collection before I head toward the kitchen to find something to heat up.
Eating will help. As I pass one of the gleaming black counters, I notice the check I left for Shirley to take to the right apartment.
Shit. She won’t be here for a week or so.
I can drop it off at the front desk when I leave for work. They’ll get it to the right box. It’s been on the foyer table for days already. What’s a few more?
Except it’s a check. And it was supposed to be delivered to the fourth floor. This money might be urgent for whoever is supposed to receive it.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
With the paper in my hand, I stride out of my apartment to the general elevator and jab the button, irritation prickling at the back of my neck.
I never should have insisted that Shirley take a full week off for the arrival of her new grandchild.
Then she’d be here and could deal with this.
The last thing I want right now is to deal with anyone.
I’m already in a foul mood, and after Cash’s visit this morning, I don’t want to have to talk to people.
The elevator slides down two floors before it stops, and a couple with a child walks on, nodding at me in greeting.
I keep my gaze forward, ignoring them completely.
This is why I always use my private elevator.
I used to be more sociable, but as I’ve gotten older, I want to avoid everyone except my family.
And lately, I’ve even been dodging them.
Three stops later, I get out on the fourth floor and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
I need a fucking drink.
After glancing at the paper again to make sure I remembered the correct apartment, I only take a few steps before I reach the right door and knock.
“Come in!” a sweet, feminine voice sings out.
Instead of entering, I glare at the door like it’s offended me and wait, hoping I misheard the occupant.
When that same voice calls out again for me to come in, I grab the knob and swing the door open, scowling into the entryway as it’s revealed.
The aroma of food wafts through the air, but I can’t tell what it is other than maybe something with garlic.
Either way, it smells delicious to my empty stomach.
My attention is quickly pulled from the bare apartment to a set of soft brown eyes that make me go completely still.
She stares up at me, her mouth open slightly, as we size each other up.
Two French braids, a smattering of freckles, glowing skin, and innocent doe eyes gaze back at me, and holy shit, my entire world shifts.
A ray of the most beautiful sunshine.
I’ve seen beauty before, but this is more than that. She looks pure. Like an angel. Too good for this fucked-up world. And inviting people to waltz right into her fucking apartment.
What the hell is she thinking?
Then, as if she realizes she just let in a monster, she gasps and takes a step back.
“Your door shouldn’t be unlocked. That’s not safe.”
I should put her over my knee and make sure she knows how unsafe it is.
My dick stirs. For the first time in over a year.
Jesus Christ.
Instead of answering me, she continues to stare like she’s not sure how to reply, so I keep going. While I might not be able to spank her, I’m going to make damn sure she understands me.
“You shouldn’t just invite people to walk into your apartment. The door should be locked at all times.”
Her glossy pink lips spread into a bright smile that I suspect might be forced. “Oh, uh, I thought you were Mrs. Cooley. She lives down the hall. Can I help you with something?”
I glance over her head, scanning her living room.
It’s empty of furniture. There are shelves and décor on the walls, but no couch or TV, or anything to sit on, for that matter.
I’ve never seen her around before, but I rarely run into the other residents, and when I do, I ignore them.
Though I can guarantee that if I’d run into her before, that wouldn’t have happened.
“Did you just move in?” Why am I asking her personal shit? That’s none of my business. I don’t care what her story is.
Her cheeks turn a rosy pink, and she drops her gaze, stirring something inside of me. Is she embarrassed about something? I can’t imagine this beautiful being could have anything in her life to be embarrassed about. She’s a goddess.
And I need to get far away from her. Quickly.
Then she looks up at me and smiles again, but it doesn’t reach those warm brown eyes that could bring a man to his knees. “No, I’ve lived here for a couple of years.”
What the fuck? Why doesn’t she have any furniture?
“Um,” she continues. “Who are you?”
Your Daddy.
Jesus.
Scowling, I hold out the check. “This got delivered to my apartment. I didn’t look at the address before I opened the envelope and realized it wasn’t for me.”
Her eyebrows pinch in confusion as she takes several steps toward me.
I try not to notice how her thick thighs move when her wide hips sway in a pair of light pink shorts that are so tiny they should be illegal.
And as she gets closer, her scent hits me like the first sip of my most expensive and favorite whiskey. Pure fucking dopamine.
Strawberries.
She smells like goddamn actual fruit. My favorite kind. So sweet it gives me a toothache.
Fuck me.
I have no idea how old this woman might be, but she looks young. Too fucking young for me. Too innocent. I would ruin her.
My cock thickens at the thought.
She takes the check from me and looks at it, her expression going from shock to relief in a flash. “Oh, thank God. I was about to march into The Ace Bar and tell my asshole ex-boss I wasn’t leaving until he paid me.”
Fuck. I should have been going through my mail. She’s been waiting for this, and it’s been sitting in my foyer all this time.
As she studies the check and the attached paper as if it holds some sort of lifeline, her shoulders drop as she blinks several times. “What the hell?” she mutters.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I stand a little taller. “What’s wrong?”
Whatever it is, I’ll fix it because I don’t like that look in her eyes.
She smiles up at me. Another forced one. “Nothing. Thank you so much for bringing this down to me… Uh…”
“Xander Savage.” I stare at her, wondering if she’ll recognize me, but if she does, it doesn’t show on her face. Now I wish I could remember the name on the check.
“Right. Thank you, Xander. I’m Quinn Summers.
” She smiles, her bright doe eyes sparkling up at me.
Even her cute name perfectly matches her bubbly sweetness.
If you ask me, she’s way too fucking happy.
A ray of sunshine that I don’t have the time or energy for.
“You probably already knew that, though.” She laughs nervously as she motions to the paper with her name and address on it.
I swear, my heart stops beating.
Sunshine.
Christ.
I didn’t know her name until just now, when she told me, because I was too damn drunk to remember anything other than it coming to the fortieth floor instead of apartment four hundred.
I didn’t think to look at the name again before I came down here.
Why doesn’t it surprise me that this little ray of damn sunshine has a last name like Summers?
“Of course it is,” I murmur to myself.
Shaking my head, I turn to leave, irritated with the entire situation. I should have checked my mail days ago.
“Wait!” she calls out. “Wait. Please, let me feed you to say thank you. Are you hungry? I just made dinner.”
Her voice and the way she says it, like she’s pleading with me to eat with her, makes me stop. When I look back at her, taking in her small, bare feet, short yet full legs, the sliver of her soft stomach between her shorts and crop top, I’m fucked. A dead man couldn’t say no to her right now.
Before I get the chance to answer, she walks over to me and grabs my elbow.
Quinn pulls me into her apartment like we’re old friends and I’m not some strange man she just met.
For all she knows, I could be a serial killer.
I have killed a number of people. She doesn’t know. God, this woman needs a spanking.
She closes the door behind us and hurries toward the kitchen. As she walks, my gaze lands on her round ass, and I’m glad she has her back to me so I can adjust my cock.
Once I take a few steps inside and get a glimpse of her kitchen and dining area, I become distracted by the sparse space. No table. No barstools at the counter bar.
“Why don’t you have any furniture?” It comes out blunt and commanding, but I want to know. Why is this woman living in an empty apartment?
Quinn moves around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, making a lot of noise. The only thing I’m focused on is her face as she avoids my eye contact. “I recently went through a breakup, and I haven’t bought any new stuff yet.”
I clench my teeth as I watch her scoop some pasta into a bowl. So, she and some asshole broke up, and he left her with nothing? Who is the piece of shit? Because I’d sure as hell like to meet him.
While she’s busy, I slowly take in the apartment.
What’s left of it. Feminine colors. Classy touches of gold here and there.
A shelf of small, sad-looking cacti near the windows.
This place is a lot smaller than mine. I could probably fit this entire apartment into my bedroom.
Yet, even without furniture, it’s homier and more comfortable than my designer penthouse.
“Do you like cheese?” she asks softly.
When I look down at her, meeting her wide, glittering eyes, I lose my breath for a second. Does she know how beautiful she is?
“Sure,” I mutter, not knowing or giving a fuck what I’m saying yes to.
Quinn grins and quirks an eyebrow at me, and that’s when my dumb ass realizes that, of course, she knows she’s gorgeous. She probably uses it to her advantage like Nicola did.
And just like that, my dick goes soft at the very idea of Quinn being the same as her.
She hands me a plastic bowl that looks like it’s been through the dishwasher a few hundred times and holds up a fork. “I wasn’t prepared for company, so I didn’t cook anything fancy. I hope pasta is okay.”
I glance down at the food, then meet those unsure eyes of hers and smile. “It’s good. Thanks.”
I’m human enough to know this whole situation is awkward as hell, but I’m also fucked up enough not to give a shit.
I should have gotten back in the elevator and gone back up to my apartment.
To my solitude. Where I’m safe. Yet here I am, eating surprisingly delicious cheesy noodles with the most beautiful, bubbly woman I’ve ever met, and damn, it’s nice being in her presence.
A man could get addicted to Quinn Summers.
Obsessed, even.