MOTION Page 23

  Olivia shrugged, her pale blue eyes watching me a little too closely. “Keira said he’s called for you, like, three times today, and you haven’t taken any of his calls. Anyone else would be fired.”

  When I’d gotten home earlier this morning, I had turned off my cell phone without looking at it. I tried not to obsess about how oblivious I’d been or about how obvious my obliviousness must have been to him. I didn’t want to think about it, so I didn’t.

  Likewise, when I arrived at work this morning, I set my phone to automatic voicemail. When Keira appeared at my door, indicating that Mr. Sullivan was on the phone, calling from New York, and needed to speak with me, I told her I was just about to go into a meeting and promised to call him back. I’d done this three times.

  It was true; I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t know how to talk to him. In my sleepless examining last night, I realized that he’d never exactly lied to me about being my boss. But now I knew that he was the boss, and everything was different.

  I ignored the implication that I’d been dodging Quinn’s calls, and I thought about how to answer Olivia’s question truthfully without including real details. “I met Mr. Sullivan at my old job.”

  “Did he recruit you away from there?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm.” Olivia seemed to contemplate me for a moment with a sideways glance before she said, “Carlos hired me. I’m the only person at the company who wasn’t recruited by Quinn.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know that.” I was distracted by all the revelations of the past week, and thus was tempted to succumb to the pleasant void of apathetic numbness, but I just couldn’t seem to muster enough energy to feign interest in what she was saying.

  “I think…” She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think I make him uncomfortable.”

  My brow lifted of its own accord, and I regarded her with open confusion. “Who? Carlos?”

  Olivia laughed lightly and flipped rolling sheets of chocolate brown hair over her shoulder. “Quinn, of course!”

  I tried not to grimace when she used Quinn instead of Mr. Sullivan. “Why do you think that?”

  “Well, other than Carlos, haven’t you noticed that everyone Quinn hires is so…so…” She looked upward as though trying to search for the right word. “Everyone is…you know, so plain; or they’re odd.” She paused, her eyes settled on the top of my head. “You’re very big for a girl.”

  I didn’t miss her meaning; in fact, her words hit the bull’s-eye in my stomach. I was discovering that I was not as immune to the scorn of pretty people as I thought. I blinked at her and said nothing, but in my thoughts I retorted, You are a twatwaffle.

  Twatwaffle being a new word I’d found on Urban Dictionary. I hadn’t yet said it out loud but I found myself liking the way it sounded in my head.

  She continued. “Carlos has insinuated that Quinn is really a terrible flirt.” Her pretty mouth curved into a knowing smile. “I think Quinn purposefully hires women who are plain or odd looking, so he’s not distracted at work. At this point, he must be desperate. I bet he’s even flirted with you.”

  I gave her my best imitation of a smile, but I was pretty sure it looked like a dog baring its teeth. “That’s an interesting theory.”

  “Hmm,” she said again, leaning back. “Has he flirted with you?”

  I shook my head and looked at the portfolio on my lap. “Not unless you call kissing flirting.”

  Olivia’s eyes opened very wide for a split second; then she laughed. “You’re funny!” She tapped my leg with manicured nails, then flipped her long, shiny, straight hair over a slim shoulder. “Well,” Olivia said on an audible sigh, “it’s a good thing he’s not attracted to you; otherwise, he likely wouldn’t have hired you in the first place.”

  I kind of wanted to stab her in the neck.

  “Janie, are you two finished yet?” Steven’s form appeared at my door, and I immediately jumped up from my seat, thankful for the murder-attempt-distraction and the chance to escape. I crossed to my expansive desk in order to improve the distance between Olivia and the pen in my hand.

  “Yep, all done. I think Olivia has what she needs.”

  “If I have any questions, I’ll just stop by later and ask.” She stood and gave Steven a wide, friendly smile.

  Steven shook his head; his lips were pursed. “Olivia, Janie doesn’t have any more time to work on this with you. She needs to get ready for next week, and that report needs to be done by tonight. You better have all you need from her.”

  Olivia’s eyes met mine, and her smile widened. “Yeah, I think I got everything I need.”

  I worked in the office over the weekend, enjoying the solitude. It allowed me the space I needed to avoid thinking about anything confusing and/or unpleasant.

  I didn’t really need to go into the office over the weekend. I could have accomplished just as much on my laptop in the comfort of my slippers at home. However, in all honesty, avoiding Elizabeth was the intentional byproduct of my industrious two days away from the apartment. I hadn’t yet told her about Kat’s knit-night revelations, or finding out that Quinn was the boss, or that Jem and Jon had engaged in coitus extremeous. I didn’t know how to tell her, and it just felt like too much to deal with right now. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I knew she would make me talk about it.

  I justified my absence by insisting to myself that I needed to finish the billing presentation that I hoped the boss would adopt as the new business practice for Guard Security. However, now that I knew I would be making my pitch to Quinn instead of some unknown entity, I was beginning to have second thoughts about the initiative. I’d discussed it with Quinn previously, on the day he’d met me at Smith’s Take-away and Grocery, not knowing he would be making the decision regarding whether it moved forward.

  Now I felt like I needed to prove myself. My job didn’t seem like it was really mine, or like I deserved it. The combined pressure of performing at the client meeting and proving I deserved to work at Cypher Systems, along with the thought of seeing Quinn for the first time in a week, now knowing him as the boss, caused my stomach to become like hair trapped in bubblegum—a massive tangle of heinous, untenable knots. I spent my time working tirelessly on the billing presentation. I finally went home and lost myself in comic books until 1:00 a.m., and then I woke up early and buried myself in work once more.

  I didn’t know how I was going to face him. What would I say? What would he say? I had no roadmap for this situation. We’d held hands, we’d kissed, and I liked it—a lot.

  On the Monday morning of the trip, I was so exhausted that Elizabeth had to shake me awake; she informed me that my alarm had been going off for seven minutes without me so much as reaching for the snooze button. I showered, braided my hair then twisted it into a bun on the crown of my head, and dressed in my black pantsuit in a haze.

  At the last minute, I decided to wear my glasses instead of contacts; I told myself this was because my hands were shaking too much to put them in. I went through my head-box-closet coping exercises several times in the taxi on the way to the airport, thankful to find myself almost detached by the time I arrived.

  Steven met me at a prearranged spot with coffee, a blueberry scone, and a reassuring smile. He guided me to the private airstrip, all while telling me about a disastrous date from the weekend with a lawyer named Deloogle—at least, that’s how the name sounded. It seemed all his dates’ names rhymed with Google or Bing. It was not unusual for him to regale me with stories on Mondays regarding his weekend exploits. Typically, the evenings ended with some hysterical calamity.

  I was so wrapped up in his story that I didn’t really notice where we were going. When we boarded the plane, he handed my bag to an attendant and we took seats next to each other.

  He reached the end of his story. “It was so disgusting that I had to arrange for the carpet cleaners to come fix the spot on Sunday.” He shook his head. “That’s the la
st time I go out with someone who wears a live ferret as an accessory.”

  I smiled and laughed then abruptly realized where I was. The calm numb from before was pierced by a pang of awareness. We were seated near the front of the corporate jet, and I fought the urge to crane my head around to see the rest of the aircraft. Instead of attempting to discern the occupants, I concentrated on the interior of the jet.

  I had no comparison, as I’d never traveled via private plane, but my surroundings were impressive; everything looked new and shiny. The seats were beige leather, the trim and carpet were navy blue, and the bulkhead was lined with elaborate wood paneling. Seats were clustered in groups of four facing each other: two facing forward, two facing backward. I assumed this was to facilitate conversation during the flight.

  An attendant walked over to us; she was very pretty and, I guessed, in her mid-forties.

  “Can I get you two something to drink before we depart?”

  I cleared my throat. “No thanks, I’m good. But…uh…do I have time to use the restroom before we leave?”

  She nodded. “Sure do, hun. The head is at the back of the plane.” I smiled my thanks and stood to walk toward the back when I came face to face, or rather, chest to chest, with a solid man wall.

  “Oh, sorry.” I backed up a step and grabbed the seat to maintain my balance, my eyes automatically lifting to the face of the barrier.

  I immediately regretted the movement when my gaze met that of Quinn McHotpants Sullivan.

  By the power of Thor!

  Chapter Seventeen

  His hands reached out to my upper arms, presumably to steady me, and we stood looking at each other for a long minute, me gaping, him steadily watching me with an impassive mask and fiery blue eyes. He was even more devastatingly and unfairly handsome than I remembered. It didn’t help that he was wearing a nicely cut black suit, obviously custom, and a white shirt with a stunning blue silk tie.

  I was the first to break the gaze.

  I stepped back and out of his grip, letting my attention drop to the navy carpet as I fiddled unnecessarily with my glasses. I mostly succeeded gathering my wits, finding it helped to focus on how annoyed I was that, once again, the man’s mere presence turned me into a complete flustering kerfuffle of hormones.

  I thrust my hand forward in an offer to shake his hand. “Mr. Sullivan. It’s very nice to see you again.” I glanced up at him as he fit his hand into mine, ignoring how nice his skin felt against mine and that stupid—yes, stupid, because it was inconvenient, and my vocabulary was suffering due to his mere presence—stupid shock of something like delightful pain when we touched. I tried to give him a professional, firm handshake.

  “Ms. Morris.” Even though I felt a small twist of sadness at the formality of his greeting, his voice sent little shivers down my back, and I was further set off-kilter. His eyes moved over me in the same open, plain assessment that he always seemed to employ: lips, neck, shoulders, lower.

  Our hands hung suspended between us, no longer moving, and I battled to keep myself from turning completely scarlet under his attention. I didn’t move to withdraw, nor did I have any desire to break the contact. I felt certain this man had no idea what he did to me just by looking at me and holding my hand. For a split second, I imagined that hand elsewhere on my body, and I lost the battle against my blush.

  I tried to cover my heated embarrassment and, as usual, started speaking without thinking. “This is a nice plane you have here.” His eyes lifted to mine abruptly. “I don’t know much about corporate or private jets. It seems like fuel efficiency is a real problem, though, as planes are just about the least fuel efficient means of transportation.”

  Quinn tipped his head to the side, arresting my attention with his intense stare. “Are you saying you’d prefer to drive to Las Vegas?”

  “Well, trains can be very nice. Maybe you should invest in a corporate train. There was a study conducted by AEA Technology comparing a Eurostar train and an airline journey between London and Paris. It demonstrated the trains emitted ten times less CO2 on average per traveler than planes. Don’t forget, trains also have sleeping cars for…sleeping.”

  Quinn’s mouth curved in an almost nonexistent smile, and the shade of his eyes seemed to darken. “Planes can have beds, too. Maybe I could have one installed on this plane for the next time we travel.”

  “How would you decide who gets the bed and who has to sit in a seat?” I blinked at him.

  He opened his mouth as though to respond but then suddenly shut it and withdrew his hand from mine, frowning at me. “Good point.”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled my attention away from Quinn. Olivia Merchant and Carlos Davies were standing to the side of us, watching our exchange. Carlos gave me a small smile as his eyes narrowed and moved between Quinn and me. But Olivia, who had been the one to clear her throat, was frowning. I hadn’t noticed as they’d approached. In fact, I hadn’t noticed anything but Quinn from the moment I collided into his chest.

  “Excuse us, Janie. We’re trying to get through to our seats.” Olivia motioned with her hand toward the empty seats across from Steven and me.

  “Oh, sorry.” I stepped to the other side to let them pass then ducked around Quinn, careful to avoid further eye or physical contact, as I sprinted toward the bathroom at the back of the plane.

  Once in the safety of the onboard toilet, I let my head thump against the wall behind me and caught my reflection in the mirror. I admit it; I am not above talking to myself in the mirror. In fact, I do it quite often. The image I found looking back at me was covered with splotchy red remains of an impressive blush, and a grim expression.

  I wanted—no, I needed to find some way to turn off my intense involuntary reaction to Quinn. He’d only been gone one week, and all the progress I’d made toward comfort and ease in his presence had dissipated. I was acting like a ridiculous teenager.

  Ok, Janie, remember: Quinn is your boss—the boss.

  The Boss.

  I groaned.

  I took a couple of deep breaths and attempted to calm the momentous beating of my heart. Why was it that I felt so painfully self-aware? Was it that I now fully understood how off-limits he was, and how wretchedly doomed I was to live in a state of perpetual unrequitedness? To my utter despair, his presence seemed to make the invisible box in my head explode instantly on eye contact, scattering my once neatly folded thoughts and feelings all over my pretend closet of calm.

  It wasn’t just his physical superiority that flustered me, not anymore. Undeniably, as demonstrated during our initial elevator encounter, the magnificence of his features seemed to render me painfully inept at normal conversation. Now I knew him. Now I had memories attached to him. I could recall with vivid detail the way he tilted his head when he listened; the sound of his voice; the sound of his laugh; his ready responses to my hypothetical questions; the way he teased me; the touch of his fingers brushing my hair over my shoulders; the heat of his gaze as it moved over my body; what his chest looked like after a shower.

  The last thought made me groan again as a new tidal wave of tingling embarrassment rushed from my stomach to the tips of my fingers.

  I glanced around the small bathroom and wondered how much longer I could remain without raising suspicions as to the state of my physical or mental health. It was the second time in two months I’d considered taking up residence in a bathroom stall. I glanced at my watch; we were scheduled to depart in less than ten minutes. I needed to pull myself together.

  I closed my eyes and I went through the normal coping exercises of folding up my reckless feelings, but they all seemed to take the shape of black and red lacy lingerie. Frustrated, I bit my bottom lip, hard, and resolved to wash my hands. If I could focus on something as simple as washing and drying my hands, I might make it through the next four hours on Quinn Sullivan’s private jet.

  I took one last significant breath, then exited the safe confines of the toilet stall, smoo
thing my hands over my thighs to ease my nerves. I walked with measured steps to the front of the plane and tried to look unconcerned like a normal, capable, confident human being instead of the awkward, bigheaded Neanderthal I was.

  I nearly ran back to the bathroom when I saw that Carlos had taken the seat I had previously occupied next to Steven, and Quinn was seated opposite Carlos. This left one vacancy in the four-seat cluster: the one next to Quinn. I swallowed with effort and hesitated. The men hadn’t yet noticed me. My eyes moved over the cabin and fell on the back of Olivia’s head; she was by herself in the adjacent cluster. The seat across from her might as well have been labeled Janie’s best option.

  Making up my mind, I closed the distance and moved to take my best option, but Steven—damn Steven!—foiled my plan.

  “Janie, sit here.” He motioned to the seat next to Quinn. “Olivia will take notes. Mr. Sullivan needs you to review the latest invoices. I was also just telling him about your thoughts on managing Guard Security’s expenditures using the billable tracking software.”

  “Oh. Ok.” I looked from Steven’s smile to Olivia’s frown, which, if possible, seemed to deepen as I slipped into the seat next to Quinn. I didn’t look at Quinn, however. I didn’t look at him as I explained the purpose of the software, how I’d come across the open source project when I was in graduate school, and how I’d used it as an effective way to track time spent on tasks and to assign effort to each task.

  The plane taxied and took off. Steven’s encouraging grin, Carlos’s warm brown eyes, and even Olivia’s somewhat hostile stare settled my nerves. When I finished explaining how the system could be tailored to improve the efficiency and profitability of billings and collections over the current time-based system they were using, I was almost calm.

  “Based on historical data, I ran an analysis which, even though hypothetical, demonstrates that we could increase revenues even in the short term. Carlos, will you please hand me my iPad? I think it’s under your seat.” I shifted and pointed to my bag.