Thirteen #2
She feels compelled to ask more, but instead she returns to her own browsing.
He falls into step behind her, and she is attuned to his body, like she’s on a frequency broadcasting his every movement.
She wants it to last, but that’s the kind of thinking that led to disastrous consequences for her in the first place.
Holding a stack of three books to her chest, she leads him to the register.
She’s not sure how long they’ve spent there, but he hasn’t pushed her to hurry like others might have, aware of the delicate nature of bringing Charlie Rogers to a bookstore.
She’s grateful for it, but she doesn’t know how to tell him.
When she extends her credit card to the cashier, he snatches it from her fingers and exchanges it for his with a quick sleight of hand maneuver.
“Quinn, no.” She tries shoving him away. “You can’t pay for my books.”
“I can and I will.” He winks at the cashier. She looks to be around their age, hair black with pink and purple streaks down the center. “Feminism,” he quips playfully. “Am I right?”
The girl smiles, running the card.
Charlie scowls. “I’ll pay you back.” The cashier hands her the books in a brown paper bag.
“You won’t,” he replies.
“Watch me.”
“Gladly,” he purrs in her ear.
She snaps her mouth shut, heat engulfing her so swiftly she can only spin on her heel and march out the door, ignoring his amused chuckle.
Outside, the sun hangs lower in the sky. She releases her annoyance and sighs. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”
He beams, his dimple accentuated, but it’s the color of his cheeks that catch her attention. She wants to take that color and paint the walls of her heart with it, the truth of Wesley Quinn’s kindness.
“I wanted to give you a chance to get lost in your favorite kind of place.” He glances at his phone. “We have time for one more stop. Will you come with me?”
This time, she doesn’t ask where they’re going, nodding without hesitation.
He leads her away from the bookstore, turning left and strolling a few more blocks. After several minutes, they come to a shining revolving door lined in silver and gold. The exterior of the building is gray stone, and a bronze sign reads quinn & sons.
“Quinn—” she begins, but he’s already pushing through the door.
She hurries after him into a simple yet elegant lobby.
Several leather chairs cluster together in what appears to be a small waiting area, and a few large potted plants stand in the corners.
When they approach the mahogany desk in front of two gleaming elevators, the security guard glances up and grins.
“Mr. Quinn!” The middle-aged, graying white man stands and shakes Wes’s hand. “How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better, Willis. How’s your wife?”
Charlie observes the exchange with mute fascination, pieces coming together in her mind.
“She’s much better. Finished the last round of chemo, and the doctors say she has a high chance of remission. We have a checkup next week.”
Wes claps him on the shoulder. “Well, please tell her she’s in my thoughts, and I have my fingers crossed for good news next time I see you.” He glances to the elevators. “Is my dad here?”
Willis glances at Charlie for the first time, flashing her a friendly smile. “Not at the moment. I believe he left for the day a few hours ago. Said he had some meetings.”
Wes visibly relaxes. “Perfect.” He presses his hand to Charlie’s shoulder. “This is a friend from school, Charlie Rogers. She wants to practice law, too, so I wanted to show her around.”
Willis doesn’t question him. Smiling wider, he ushers them through to the elevators. “Good seeing you, Wesley.”
Wes smiles, punching the up button. “You too, Willis.”
The elevator doors slide open. Charlie stands next to Wes, and the doors close. He pushes the button for the fourteenth floor.
For a few moments, the only sound is the faint whoosh of the ascending elevator.
Wes is no longer smiling, his expression contemplative.
“This is your father’s firm.”
He glances at her, his mouth twitching. “What gave it away?”
The doors open on the fourteenth floor, and they enter another waiting area, this one with an unoccupied sleek obsidian desk at the front.
“I’m pretty sure most people have gone home for the day, which makes this the perfect time to show you around.
” He leads her down a long hallway lined with offices separated by glass walls.
A few people linger, simply glancing up or giving an occasional wave as they pass.
“The perk of being the owner’s son is that I can enter after hours. ”
Charlie knew his father owned his own firm, but she always pictured something small, more dusty and old-school and less shiny and modern. But it makes sense that Quinn & Sons would be sleek and corporate and rich, considering the clientele they defend.
At the end of the hall is an office she can already tell is the largest on the floor. Wes pushes open the door, and her gaze immediately snaps to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining two sides of the room.
She gasps. Hundreds of buildings extend for what looks like miles, the reflection of the setting sun hitting some of the glossy panels just right, orange globes on the mirrored surfaces.
In the distance, Charlie spies water and a few bridges, and past that, more buildings.
She’s never seen something so stunning in her life.
“This is one of my favorite views.” Wes stands beside her, so close his arm brushes hers.
She doesn’t pull away as she scans the city below.
“It’s mostly Lower Manhattan.” He points at one of the bridges out the east-facing wall.
“The Brooklyn Bridge and the East River.” He turns, facing west. “New Jersey is over there.”
“It’s incredible.” She blinks up at him. He watches her with a slight furrow between his brow. She has a sudden urge to press her thumb to the crease and smooth it.
Instead, she turns to the desk. The computer monitor is off, a pile of papers stacked neatly to one side. A photo catches her eye, and she lifts it without thinking.
“Oh my god.” She lets out a surprised laugh, turning the frame for him to see. “Is this you?”
Wes flushes. She does not think about how adorable it is, directing her attention back to the photo.
A young boy and girl, both with bright blond hair, stand in front of a large tree trunk, grinning toothily.
The boy is dressed as Woody from Toy Story, blond hair so light it’s nearly platinum peeking out from under a cowboy hat. He’s missing his two front teeth.
“Look how cute you are.” She looks at him. “What happened?”
He rolls his eyes and makes a halfhearted attempt to extract the photo from her grasp. She laughs, raising it above her head.