Chapter 6
Quinn
When I arrive for work the next morning, the sun’s shining and the air crisp.
I park in front of the mansion and take a moment to survey the property.
All the scaffolding is down and the driveway is finally complete.
It’ll take time for Jason to establish the gardens, and the work on the interior might push us slightly over the deadline, but on the whole, it’s looking good.
In another life, Jade would be proud of the project she’s on course to deliver.
I just hope Barrett doesn’t find fault with my work.
He’d promised to keep me on for at least six months in an adapted role as estate manager if I proved my worth, and I’m about to find out if I have.
He messaged this morning from New York to say he’s dropping by to assess progress.
When you have a private jet at your disposal, and an estate big enough for a landing strip, you can do that.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and will my head to clear.
It’s not last night’s wine at Clara’s that’s responsible for my headache.
My hangover is all Reid. He hurts my brain, and makes other parts of my body throb.
I can’t believe I told him about Blake. Alcohol loosened my lips, and after my chat with Strider, I fooled myself into believing the Griffins could be the good guys.
But there are no good guys in the world he moves in.
Reid went from persistent puppy to prowling wolf in the blink of an eye.
The problem with possessive men is they’re not satisfied until they take full control.
Choose the wrong man, and that control turns into abuse.
It’s what happened to Blake. It took just six months for Ilya to turn her into someone I didn’t recognize.
I haven’t seen or heard from her in a year.
My heels click against marble as I enter the foyer to find it littered with crates and dust sheets from the decorators.
With so many rooms, I’m hoping Barrett will appreciate how there’s still plenty to do before the end of the month, but first impressions count.
I’m going to grab a coffee then get help tidying the place up to give the illusion that we’re almost done.
It shouldn’t be hard since my entire life is one big illusion.
A couple of hours later, the main rooms are ready for inspection thanks to Clara and Tandy’s help. I straighten my pencil skirt and tuck in my blouse, and as I admire the gleaming marble floor, a shadow stretches across the foyer. I spin around to find someone standing just outside the entrance.
“Jason, if you put a foot over the threshold, I swear I’ll…” I glance around for a weapon and settle on the mop. “I’ll use that mop as a javelin and hit you right between the eyes.”
He leans against the door frame, muddy boots crossed at the ankles as he offers me a wide grin. “Rumor has it you’re a good a shot.”
“I heard that too,” sniggers Tandy. She pushes the mop and bucket towards me with her foot. “Come on, Quinn. Let’s test your aim.”
News about my paint fight with Reid has traveled fast. I glance at Clara as she places a vase of flowers in one of the built-in alcoves. She’s the only one who doesn’t get the joke. I need to tell her, but not now.
“No one’s making any mess,” she says. “Barrett’s plane is in the air. He could be here any minute.”
“I wasn’t going to come in,” Jason says. “I only wanted to show you what I’ve been doing out front.”
I can almost forgive the clumps of drying mud he leaves on the entrance steps when I see the flowerbeds that run along the front of the house.
I’d assumed it was too early for blooms, but there are crowds of snowdrops, crocus and grape hyacinths to add splashes of color amongst the evergreen shrubs.
“Jason, you’re a miracle worker!” Clara says, clasping her hands.
“I am,” he agrees with a smirk. “And now we just have to hope that the big boss appreciates all our hard work.”
“We’re about to find out,” Tandy says, peering up at the sky. The Emerson jet glints in the sunshine. Barrett’s Aston Martin has been parked at the side of the landing strip as per his instructions, and he’s going to be here in a matter of minutes.
While Clara grabs a broom to sweep away the trail of mud Jason left, I race inside to hide the mop and bucket.
When I return, Barrett’s housekeeper is still sweeping away the last of the debris and it’s the first thing our boss notices when he gets out of his sports car. Clara bears the brunt of his scowl.
“Let Tandy finish that,” he says. “I’d like to speak to you and Quinn.”
Barrett doesn’t bother looking at me. Nor does he notice the flowerbeds as he sweeps into the house. Clara and I follow.
“Do I have a desk yet?” he asks.
“Not yet, no,” I say. “But the decorators have finished the ground floor rooms, and your interior designer has all the furniture on order.” I glance at Clara who Barrett tasked with making all the final decisions on décor.
“I can go through the detail with you, if you’d like,” she offers.
He stops and turns. “I trust your judgement, Clara,” he says. To me, he adds, “Where do you propose we have our meeting since I don’t have a desk?”
He says it like I’d arranged the damn visit.
My high opinion of Barrett has been sinking by the day, and for Reid to suggest I’m fucking my boss has only stoked my irritation.
Twenty-six-year-old Barrett is an entitled prick.
So is Reid judging by last night. And there’s only one of the two I’d want to…
No. My mind was not supposed to go there. The correct answer to that question should be that I wouldn’t want to sleep with either of them.
“I still have the temporary furniture in my office,” I suggest.
“That’ll have to do then. I’ll speak to you first,” he says. “Clara, could you give us fifteen minutes? And if you have time, I’d appreciate a coffee.”
“I could make you a light lunch?”
“Coffee’s fine,” he tells her. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Barrett doesn’t speak again until he’s sitting behind my desk. The flatpack furniture is flimsy, and my boss looks incongruous in his custom-made suit as he rests his elbows on the teak-colored fiberboard.
Pulling up one of the two visitors chairs, I’m curious to know why he’s still scowling. He doesn’t keep me waiting.
“Care to explain why you assaulted Reid Griffin yesterday in what looked like an unprovoked attack?”
My cheeks scorch. It hadn’t crossed my mind that Barrett would have heard so soon. He doesn’t have that many connections with the town. Which means the news probably came from the Russians. It figures that they’d be tuning in to town gossip.
“It was hardly unprovoked. He’d already assaulted me in your office next door,” I remind him.
Barrett huffs out a breath. “I’m not saying it wasn’t deserved, Quinn.
In fact, you have my blessing to put any of the Griffins in their place, but public perception is everything, especially in a small town.
Especially in this town,” he explains. “You’re an Emerson employee, and as such you must appear to be a law-abiding citizen. ”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I unpick Barrett’s words.
The more I know about my new boss, the more inclined I am to believe what Reid told me about him.
Barrett couldn’t be further removed from the shiny persona I’d read about online.
He wants to appear law-abiding, just like he wants to appear like he’s a good person. That’s the sum total of his moral code.
“I apologize,” I say. “Reid was trailing me, and I reacted on impulse. I didn’t think how it would reflect on you.”
Barrett pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tell me what he said.”
I consider my next words carefully. I don’t just want Barrett to trust me. I need him to confide in me.
“He tried to convince me that he and his brothers are some latter-day heroes. They presume I don’t know they were responsible for the factory fire, and they’re trying to get me to help them.
Reid has asked me to keep him informed about Ilya’s arrival,” I say, opening up the conversation to the only topic I want to discuss.
“And to be clear, he did most of the talking when we spoke. I would never tell him anything about your private business.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Your future here depends on my ability to trust you,” he says.
“You’ve done a decent enough job so far, but if you’re to stay, I need someone who can blend into the background.
I’ve promised Ilya that we’ll keep out of his way if he keeps out of ours.
” He wrinkles his nose as if the deal he made has left a bitter taste in his mouth.
I hope it has. “You’re to be my buffer, Quinn.
I don’t want to be dealing with Ilya directly.
The less I’m associated with him, the better it is for all of us. ”
“I can do that.”
Barrett’s eyes rake over my body, his gaze lingering on the hem of my skirt and my exposed thighs. “I did think twice about hiring a woman for this role. You should know that Ilya likes his women, but I expect the utmost professionalism from you. He can find his own whores.”
My eye tics, but I manage to disguise the flinch. Blake is not a whore. She was young and impressionable kid who craved the love of a father figure.
“I can’t have divided loyalties, Quinn,” Barrett continues.
“That’s not going to be a problem,” I assure him. “And I think I’ve already demonstrated that I can handle myself.”
Barrett smiles for the first time. “True, but you’ll find that Ilya has more of a backbone than Reid. If you’d pulled that trick with him, you’d be in a shallow grave by now.”
He says it so casually, and he looks smug when he sees the color drain from my face. Barrett likes intimidating women, even if he has to rely on the threat of violence from another man. Could I be dealing with one monster, or two?