MOTION Read online

  “Sure thing.” Carlos leaned forward to extract my case.

  “It’s an interesting idea.” Quinn’s voice sounded thoughtful, and I sensed him shift next to me, leaning closer as I opened the iPad to the bulleted list I had prepared on the impact of implementing the software.

  “We won’t be able to use the open source product, but we could have our team develop something similar in house,” Carlos commented.

  “It’s actually a really great product.” I scrolled down to a description of the system. “I checked last week, and they just pushed a new release.”

  Quinn’s voice was very close to my ear as he spoke, and I could feel the air around me change as he leaned over my shoulder. “That’s not the point. I’m sure it’s a great product, but we can’t use open source software.”

  “We also couldn’t apply it to the Infinite Systems group.” Steven sounded matter-of-fact as he chimed in and shrugged his shoulders. “But, for our corporate partners, it would answer a lot of their questions on the billing structure.”

  I frowned, looking from Carlos to Steven. “What am I missing here? Why can’t we use open source?”

  Quinn placed his hand over mine and pulled the iPad between us, forcing me to turn toward him. He wasn’t looking at me but rather at the screen as he mumbled, “Data security issues.”

  My voice was slightly unsteady as I tried to focus on something other than the feeling of his hand covering mine and holding me in place. “Well, why can’t we use it for the Infinite Systems group?”

  Quinn lifted his gaze to me abruptly, his eyes narrowed, and silence stretched. I thought he wasn’t going to answer. His jaw seemed to be set, and his mouth was drawn in a particularly thin line as though he were considering something unpleasant. I took the opportunity to look at him, really look at him. A twisting pain originating just under the left side of my rib cage made my breath catch; I missed looking at Quinn, and I missed talking to Quinn.

  But he wasn’t Quinn. He was Mr. Sullivan, The Boss.

  I licked my lips and broke the silence. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, I just thought…I just thought it would be good to keep things consistent.”

  A momentary flash of something that looked almost like alarm crossed Quinn’s features, and he turned to Steven; his voice sounded accusatory. “I thought Janie only worked on the public accounts.”

  Steven lifted his hands slightly as though he were defending himself. “She does. We split the two. I handle all the private clients on the back end, but…” Steven’s eyes met mine for a brief moment before he continued. “But Carlos and I were thinking that some of the Infinite Systems clients might respond well to her.”

  “I thought I was very clear.” Quinn’s voice, although quiet, had the cadence of a growl, and he pulled the iPad completely out of my grip, arranged it on his lap, and turned his attention to the figures on the screen.

  Carlos cleared his throat, and I could only watch the strange exchange with wide, confused eyes. “Mr. Sullivan, Janie is very talented. Please consider—”

  Quinn huffed. “I won’t. Don’t bring it up again.”

  He was angry. Quinn looked even more amazing when he was angry. The silliness of my priority in thought process dawned on me sluggishly as I watched him review the information I had prepared. I knew that instead of focusing on his good looks I should be focusing on why I was being purposefully excluded from participation in Infinite Systems. Maybe it had something to do with my suspicion that I didn’t deserve my job—that I’d been hired based on a whim, not on ability.

  I pulled my attention from him and swallowed; my throat felt thick and tight. I surveyed the group. Steven briefly met my gaze and gave me a strained, apologetic smile. Carlos’s expression was one of stormy frustration directed at his hands on his lap. Olivia seemed to regard me with something resembling displeasure and suspicion.

  Before my mind could wander, Quinn abruptly dropped the iPad in my lap and his voice was aloof when he spoke. “Send the web link to the development group and have them use the open source product to start drawing up requirements. Now, before we touch down I want to review the invoices for Club Outrageous and the scope of work for the Las Vegas properties.”

  With the subject of my involvement with Infinite Systems now closed, we turned to the subject of the upcoming meeting.

  Throughout the two-hour gauntlet that followed, I did my best to stay focused on Quinn’s questions, and where he pointed, and not on his mouth and hands. I swear, whatever pheromones Quinn Sullivan secreted were the equivalent of Janie catnip.

  The most difficult and dangerous moments were when he would shift close to me and lean over my shoulder. I found myself resisting the urge to lean into his coat lapel and smell him. At one point, I became slightly fixated on the pulse point at the base of Quinn’s neck and nearly missed one of Carlos’s questions.

  Carlos seemed to take my distracted response as a sign of fatigue; he suggested we take a break. Everyone agreed immediately. Thankfully, Quinn excused himself, and he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and walked to the back of the plane to make a call.

  I didn’t allow my gaze to linger on his backside as he walked away, even though I wanted to. Instead, I lifted my eyes to Steven’s, and he winked at me. His small gesture served to calm my nerves, and I forced my hands to relax on the case of the iPad.

  “You did really great.” Carlos was the first to speak; his tone was quiet. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be respectful of Quinn’s telephone call or if he just didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Is he always like this on trips?”

  Steven nodded. “It can be pretty brutal. But, you know, he’s the boss. He gets the job done, and so must we.”

  Olivia leaned over the aisle. “I don’t mind. I think he’s brilliant.”

  Steven muttered something under his breath, but I couldn’t hear it. I frowned at him and he mouthed, “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Looks like we’re almost there,” Carlos remarked absentmindedly as he glanced out the window.

  As if on cue, the attendant appeared and told us all to buckle up. We were about to land. As I buckled my seat belt, I noted that Quinn was taking a seat in one of the four-seat clusters at the back of the plane and hadn’t yet ended his call. His eyes briefly met mine, and I thought I saw him smile—one of his whisper-light, barely-there smiles. Then he looked away and frowned one of his serious, fiercely irritated frowns.

  The plane began its descent, and I was still firmly seated on my drama-coaster of uncertainty.

  Just… great.

  I opted to hide in the bathroom until I was certain everyone had deplaned.

  As soon as I stepped off the plane and into the dry heat of the Las Vegas private airport, I was immediately struck by how colorful and colorless the landscape was. The desert was rich hues of browns, reds, and oranges, but nothing else. It was an unholy blend of heat and sand and fire and gasoline and cigarettes. I was abruptly thirsty.

  When I finally descended the steps, I saw two black limos parked a short distance from the airplane. Steven, Carlos, and Olivia handed off their bags to one driver, and Quinn was standing next to the second limo engaged in a conversation on his cell phone. I pulled my roller bag after me and headed toward Steven and the first limo; however, before I could hand off my bag, I heard Quinn’s voice behind me.

  “Ms. Morris, you’ll be riding with me.”

  I turned just my head toward him and hesitated. I was having some difficulty comprehending that I wasn’t going to be taking limo #2 with Steven, Carlos, and Olivia. I would be taking limo #1 with Mr. Sullivan Boss McHotpants.

  Steven reached forward, squeezed my hand, and kept me in place for a brief moment. His voice was low enough to ensure the comment was not heard by the others. “He’s going to subject you to the silent twenty-minute car ride from hell. After the meeting this afternoon, we’ll order room service and have a slee
pover. We can commiserate, and you cry on my shoulder.”

  I lifted my eyebrows in alarm, remembering Steven’s story about riding alone with Quinn, and wondering if, now that it was established he was my boss, Quinn would stop speaking to me. He seemed so different on the plane; so distant and aloof. I imagined we would sit silently in the limo while his expression vacillated between stoic and apathetic.

  My stomach suddenly hurt.

  Driver #1 reached to take my bag, and I followed him dutifully. Quinn was still on his phone and pacing back and forth behind the limo when I reached the open passenger door. I slipped into the dark car; it took my eyes several seconds to adjust.

  This was the second time I’d been in a limo; the first time was on my worst day ever. I wondered what Vincent, my driver, was up to at this moment.

  This limo was significantly larger than the first one. Black leather benches stretched in long lines on either side of the car’s interior. What looked like a fully stocked bar sat just under the privacy window toward the front. The inside had that new car smell plus the thick, earthy scent of fine leather.

  In lieu of sitting in a bench facing forward, I opted for one of the side seats. I didn’t particularly want to sit next to Quinn. I felt distance in proximity might make the imminent car ride from hell a bit more bearable.

  Quinn entered the car on the same side I had. The door closed behind him and he glanced to his right, paused, and surveyed the interior. His eyes rested on me almost immediately. I did not return his gaze, but rather felt his stare as I concentrated on the crystal decanters at the front of the cabin.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  I shook my head no; even though I was thirsty, I was having difficulty swallowing. Instead, I folded and refolded my hands on my lap then clasped them over my knees. The car engine started and the limo moved forward. I glanced out the window directly in front of me, but the glass was so dark that it significantly dulled the landscape beyond.

  Several long moments passed in silence, and for once, I welcomed my mind’s wanderlust. I counted the lights along the wood panel of the ceiling and tried to imagine the robot on the manufacturing assembly line responsible for such detailed work. I liked the idea of robots and hoped I would live to see robots become assimilated into households as pets or companions. Rover would become Robo-rover and the elderly might own a Robo-panion.

  Quinn’s voice was quiet when he interrupted my musings. “What are you thinking about?”

  I cleared my throat and shrugged, and found myself answering with honesty before I could think to stop myself, “Robots.”

  “Robots.” I heard him shift on the bench then move to the seat directly across from me. Our knees and ankles touched, his long legs invaded my space. “Why are you thinking about robots?”

  My heart skipped then galloped at his closeness. I shrugged and focused my attention on the blue silk of his tie. It looked dark purple in the dim cabin. Despite my best intentions and attempts at self-control, the physical contact of our legs made my stomach erupt in an angry wasps’ nest of nerves. I remained silent because I found my mouth no longer functioned.

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees; his hands were clasped and hovering above my thighs. “Janie, why haven’t you returned my calls?” His voice sounded tightly controlled, as though he were struggling to keep his temper in check.

  I lifted my gaze to his, surprised by the use of my first name. I swallowed. “I—Mr. Sullivan—”

  “Don’t do that.” He half groaned, half growled and covered my hands with his.

  I studied him for a moment; a thick knot was in my throat, and the wasps’ nest was swirling furiously in my stomach, incited by his touch. I finally managed to choke out a reply. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  He narrowed his eyes in a slight outward indication of frustration, but then they flickered to my lips. “Why did you turn off your cell phone?”

  I ground my teeth; the buzzing wasps were turning into an angry Africanized bee colony. Their feelings of hostility spread through me and set my body humming with aggravated resentment. I was surprised by how angry I was when I responded. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were the boss?”

  His gaze met mine and pinned me in place. “I did.”

  I stiffened then pulled my hands from his and gripped the seat on either side of my legs. “Oh, was I asleep during that conversation?”

  He frowned. “Are you angry with me?”

  I blinked at him, maybe three times, possibly four, in stunned confusion. “I…I’m not—” I stuttered then finally managed to get out a complete sentence. “I’m not angry with you.”

  “Well, then you do a good impression of angry.”

  “Mr. Sullivan…”

  “Don’t call me that.” He interrupted me again but his voice was softer now. “Don’t call me that unless you want to.”

  “I do want to.”

  My statement was met with silence; his expression was hard, frustrated, determined. He watched me for what seemed like several minutes. I tried, but couldn’t quite meet his gaze. My anxiety increased with each passing second, and, therefore, my mind began darting in every direction. The car rolled along, and I thought to myself that it must have extremely good shocks because it felt like we were gliding. I imagined the car on ice skates gliding across a frozen lake, being pushed by robots.

  Finally, very quietly, he said, “Why?”

  “Because.” I swallowed; my chest felt impossibly tight. “Because I have a habit of saying some wildly inappropriate things, as you know. And you are not just my boss; you are the second B in B and B, which is Betty and the Boss. I can recall at least seventeen things I’ve said to you that I should never say to the boss. And, if I keep calling you—” I took a deep breath, my fingers dug into the leather seat. “And, if I keep calling you Quinn, I’ll say at least seventeen more, if not thirty-four more or two hundred-eighty-nine more.”

  “Then you should most definitely keep calling me Quinn.”

  I sighed and eyed him warily.

  Suddenly he leaned forward and gently lifted one of my hands from the bench. His thumb moved in slow motion over the back of my knuckles as he held it between both of his palms. “Look. I’ve really enjoyed all of the seventeen wildly inappropriate remarks you’ve made, and if you recall, I’ve said at least seventeen of them myself.”

  The sensation of his thumb moving over the back of my hand was doing something unexpected to the middle of my body. In an effort to mask the effect, I swallowed rigidly, firmed my lips into a stiff line, and said nothing. What I wanted to do was to unbutton my shirt and ask him to mimic that motion elsewhere.

  “I would be very disappointed if you started behaving differently around me.” His features and his tone were serious and imploring; his eyes were a dark, fiery shade of cobalt blue in the dimly lit limo, but his circling thumb was my undoing.

  I felt flustered and confused, which made my tone sound more accusatory than I intended when I asked the first question that came to mind. “Why did you hire me?”

  His thumb paused, just briefly, before he responded. “Because, despite your insistence to the contrary, you do have a photographic memory, you have an extremely analytical approach to business practice, you are a fantastic accountant, and your legs looked amazing in those shoes.”

  I pulled my hand out of his grip, and, for lack of knowing what to do with the trembling appendages known as my arms, I crossed them over my chest. “You can’t say things like that. You are my boss.”

  His jaw flexed, and he balled his empty hands into fists. “But I’m not just your boss, am I?”

  “You’re right; technically you’re my boss’s boss.”

  He ignored my comment. “We’re dating.”

  “Well, I don’t date my boss, so…” I closed my eyes and sighed. I wanted the car ride to be over. If I just closed my eyes, maybe all the drama would go away.

  I heard him sigh
; it was an angry sound. His legs were still pressed against mine, and I could feel the warmth of him through our layers of clothing.

  My eyes were still closed when I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “I did—more than once.”

  I released a slow breath before countering. “You know what I mean.” I lifted my lids and met his seething gaze. “You knew that I misunderstood. Why didn’t you correct me?”

  His eyes flashed with blinding intensity. When he spoke, his tone was severe. “Would you have stayed with me at the concert if I’d told you? Would you have let me kiss you? Would you have gone out to dinner with me? Stayed at the park?” His eyes were narrowed, and my stomach dropped to my feet when I saw his expression slide, with each word, deeper into a mask of indifference.

  I shook my head slowly and answered honestly. “No. No, I would not. But you knew I was going to find out eventually.”

  He looked away from me and straightened his tie, smoothing his hand down the blue silk, his tone sodden with superior sarcasm. “By then I’d hoped it wouldn’t make a difference.”

  The car slowed and stopped. I swallowed a giant lump in my throat. I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I needed to know; it was better to know. “What are you going to do now?”

  His voice and his face were devoid of emotion, and he almost sounded bored when he responded. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do I still have a job?”

  He flinched as though I’d slapped him; his lips parted and his dark brows lowered over eyes that seemed to be shooting fire in my direction. “What?” For a moment, he looked truly stunned.

  I lifted my chin and grabbed the leather bench to steady my hands. “Do I still have a job?”

  The car door opened and my eyes moved automatically to the light—my escape.

  When he didn’t move or respond, I reluctantly focused my attention on him again, he didn’t look quite so severe. Rather, his gaze had softened considerably. If possible, the quiet understanding of his expression troubled me more than the cold stoicism he’d employed earlier. I sighed and shifted along the seat toward the door, lying to myself that I wanted to forget this car ride and forget that Quinn was ever anything but my boss.