Eight
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Charlie glares at the all-too-familiar building.
Avalon Place.
She glares at Wes, who’s standing next to her. “Of course you live here, too.”
He arches a brow. “Is that a problem?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pushes through the main doors. Charlie huffs, following him inside.
Waving to the security guard—a middle-aged woman with short brown hair, not the man who was here last time she visited—Wes leads her through the lobby to the bank of elevators. When the doors close, he presses the button for floor six.
Nash lives on three.
“Do you ever see Nash?” she asks.
He huffs out a dry laugh. “Not if I can help it.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what the deal is between you two?”
He glances at her sidelong, his lips twitching. “Not if I can help it.”
She scowls. “You’re so aggravating.”
“That’s not what you said three hours ago,” he quips.
She doesn’t respond, her face flushing at the memory of his lips on her skin.
After concluding their experiment, she insisted he finish the practice test.
“You asked me to tutor you, so I’m tutoring you.” Hovering next to the fridge, she clutched a glass of water as she willed her heart rate to slow and tried to regain control of her urge to take him up on the filthy things he whispered in her ear. “This is what worked for me.”
Wes skulked back to the table. “I forgot how bossy you are.”
“Like I said, you can always have Daddy Quinn hire someone else,” she replied lightly.
He shot her a dark look. “Start the timer, Rogers.”
She bit her lip, hiding her smile, and reset the clock.
Since Theo was heading back to New York the next day, Wes suggested she come over that night and present her case to him.
“I’m assuming you have an eight-hundred-slide PowerPoint presentation highlighting the benefits of having Dr. Angelo on Theo’s show.” He frowned at the paper in his hand, a list of LSAT topics for him to study on his own that Charlie had compiled as they’d reviewed his practice test.
“It’s not eight hundred slides.” She zipped her laptop in her backpack and swung it over her shoulder. “It’s five hundred.”
When he laughed, she ignored the pleasant fizz that burst across her skin.
Now, stepping out of the elevator, she follows him down the hall. It’s not until he scans his key and the lock blinks green that it hits her.
She’s about to enter Wesley Quinn’s apartment.
It’s just an apartment, she chides herself.
“Welcome, welcome.” He holds the door open for her. “To my humble abode.”
The layout is identical to Nash’s—open concept with modern appliances—but the apartment overall is warmer.
A black leather sofa with matching ottoman takes up much of the living room, and a random assortment of black-and-white photographs hang on the soft gray walls.
Several succulents are scattered around the kitchen, and Charlie spies a bookshelf in the corner next to the flat-screen TV, which is playing ESPN on mute.
A familiar scent—something distinctly Wes—assaults her senses, flinging her back to a time when it was a comfort more than anything.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Wes opens the fridge, disappearing for a moment behind the door. “Water? Seltzer? Wine?”
“Water is fine.” She shucks off her shoes and edges farther into the room.
She certainly doesn’t need to lower her inhibitions; she’s already feeling on edge, and she needs every bit of brain power.
Sinking into a chair at the simple glass kitchen table, she’s about to ask whether Theo is actually there when a soft meow comes from her feet.
When she glances down, the bright yellow eyes of a black cat peer up at her. Upon closer inspection, its paws are white with a white blaze above its nose. It flicks its tail, observing her.
“Hello there.” She extends a hand, and the cat stands on its hind legs, giving her fingers a thoughtful sniff. Charlie scratches between its ears, and it purrs quietly. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”
Wes sets a glass of water in front of her. The cat abandons her to rub itself against his ankles.
“Teddie.” He crouches, and the cat rolls to his back, baring his belly. “He’s my little baby. Been with me for fifteen years now.”
Charlie’s insides swirl at the note of admiration in his voice. “Teddie? Is that because of—”
“Me, of course.”
Charlie jumps, though of course she knew they weren’t alone. She flushes at the appearance of the immediately recognizable and astoundingly attractive man sauntering into the room.
Wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans, his thick, dark hair perfectly tousled, Theo Fox comes to stand in front of her.
His pouty lips are curved in the same smirk she recognizes from the Hugo Boss ad plastered across social media in which he stares out at the camera with smoldering eyes while modeling an impeccably tailored gray suit.
In person, he’s shorter than she expected but just as conventionally attractive, his light brown skin clear and almost glowing.
“And you must be Charlotte.”
Charlie blinks before snapping to attention. Holding out a hand, she says, “It’s Charlie.”
Theo slides his gaze to her hand before his dark eyes find hers again. One shapely eyebrow quirks before he slips into the chair opposite her.
A pang of unease tugs in her gut at his disregard, but she shoves past it, pulling out her laptop. Wes perches on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter, and Charlie tries to ignore how she suddenly feels like she’s under a microscope.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Opening her laptop, she clicks on her PowerPoint.
“I was under the impression I didn’t have a choice,” Theo drawls, scooping up the cat.
Charlie looks up. Theo and Wes exchange a look she can’t decipher, Wes’s eyes narrowed. Theo’s smile sharpens before his gaze flits back to her. Teddie is nestled in his arms, purring against his chest, and she can’t help thinking that Theo looks like an impeccably dressed Bond villain.
Turning her laptop screen toward him, she clears her throat.
“I’d like to start by providing some background information about the clinic. Established by Dr. Victoria Angelo a little over six years ago, The Wild Rue Sexual Wellness Clinic is an important staple of the community.”
The screen shows a series of photos: the building’s exterior, Victoria’s headshot, the mural on the second floor.
“Despite a loss of government funding, the clinic has expanded to include not only abortion and contraception services but important gender-affirming care and screening exams for low-income and underserved patients across Maryland—”
“Charlotte, let me stop you right there,” Theo interjects.
Charlie snaps her head up with surprise.
He looks at her, bored. “Why don’t you get to the part where you tell me how this will benefit me?”
“Theo,” Wes snaps from his barstool.
Charlie’s face flushes at the sudden authority in Wes’s tone, but she doesn’t look at him, holding Theo’s gaze steadily.
He waves a hand in her direction. “I like things quick and to the point.”
Charlie tries to maintain her patience and courage in the face of the condescension dripping off his words, ignoring the sharp, prickly return of her desire to flee. If this is how he wants to play it, then so can she.
Clicking open another file she created in the event that he was less than receptive to her formal presentation, she faces the screen toward him again. “I had a feeling you would say that.”
When his gaze slides back to the screen, his smile vanishes.
Charlie rests her chin on her fist. “Recognize this?”
She clicks the space bar, and a video clip begins playing.
Theo reclines on a red leather armchair on the screen, a microphone in hand, arrogant smirk in place.
He appears much as he does now: dark hair casually tousled, a five-o’clock shadow on his jaw, wearing a gray sweater with sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“I mean,” the Theo on-screen says, “vibrators were invented for single cat ladies who are too hideous to leave the house and find someone who will sleep with them. It’s the only way they’ll ever get off—”
Charlie pauses the video, Theo’s face frozen in a wide grin.
“I believe,” Charlie starts with a coy smile, “we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.” She gestures to the video.
“I discovered that after this little comment went viral, you lost not only a chunk of your listeners but also a massive sponsorship deal with the female-owned vibrator company, Vibes Come First. Obviously they couldn’t sponsor someone who was so flagrantly dismissive of sex toys.
What did they have to say about your comment?
” Charlie taps a finger to her chin. “I believe they called it ‘a tired, misogynistic take by a closed-minded android’?”
Wes coughs in what sounds like an attempt to hide a laugh.
Theo glares, his eyes transformed into icy dark shards of animosity. “I apologized.”
“Without actually saying you were sorry,” Charlie adds, having read the statement he released after the sponsorship fell through. “Which makes it…not an apology.”
Gently, Theo places Teddie on the floor, and the cat scampers three feet to the sofa, settling himself into a loaf on the cushion. Theo leans back in his chair, scowling. “You have two minutes to convince me.”
Charlie preens. “Wonderful.”
Despite her outward confidence, her heart is pounding, and if she weren’t sitting down, she suspects her legs would collapse.
Clasping her hands on the table, she leans forward.
“You want to know how this will benefit you? By proving to your audience—and to sponsors—that you’re not a misogynistic asshole.
Right now, you’re providing more fodder for the manosphere and giving off a sad incel vibe, which can be problematic if that’s not the direction you wish to go. ”
Theo says nothing.