“Towels are here,” she says. “My cleaning service keeps the bathrooms stocked with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but if you don’t like any of it, let me know and I’ll have them replace it with your brand. There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. I’ll get you some of my things to wear once you’re out.”
I can already feel the tension of the day leaving my shoulders, and I haven’t even stepped into the shower yet.
Carolyn bustles toward the door, then turns back. “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you having other clothes sent? Or was everything in your suitcase?”
I let out a little sigh. “I wasn’t going to send anything else.”
She nods once. “If you don’t mind—while you’re in here, I’ll separate the clothes and set them aside for the cleaner. We can shop tomorrow, if you want—there’s plenty of my stuff to borrow from in the meantime.”
“Fine by me. I always wanted to go on a New York City shopping spree.” This isn’t exactly true. I’ve never thought about going on a New York City shopping spree until this moment, but Carolyn brightens at the idea.
“Enjoy,” she says, then pulls the bathroom door shut behind her.
Thirty minutes later, I emerge clean and fresh, my hair dried and brushed out into shining dark waves. It feels great to not have it pulled into a bun, weighted down with water.
Carolyn has stocked the closet in my bedroom with several outfits. On the bed, she laid out a plain pink tank with matching lounge pants.
She gets me.
I wander out into the living room to find her curled up on the couch, a mug of tea in her hand.
“You look nice,” she says when she sees me, then holds up the mug. “Want some?”
“I’m all right,” I say, then flop down across from her. Her air conditioning is running full-blast against the July heat, but there are soft blankets placed strategically on the arms of the couch and across the back. I pull one over my legs as Carolyn considers me.
“You’ve had a day,” she says finally, and I hear the invitation to talk in her voice.
“I’ve had a month.”
“Ugh,” Carolyn says, looking down. “I’m sorry about all that with Derek. That’s…awful. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“It’s just—” A lump comes to my throat. The betrayal is still so fresh and raw. “He’s just a dick. I’m better off without him.”
“You so are!” Carolyn looks back at me, then changes the subject. “Looks like New York City gave you quite the welcome.”
“It definitely was not what I was expecting when I got on the plane this morning,” I say, then cover my eyes with my hands. “My suitcase got run over by a car! And the driver didn’t even stop! Tell me not everyone in New York City is that crazy.”
“Not everyone in New York City is that crazy.”
“Not if the cab driver is any indication.”
“What was his problem?” Carolyn stretches out her legs onto the matching ottoman. “I haven’t heard too many cab horror stories since I moved here. Then again—”
“Your friends have drivers?” I laugh at the thought of having a driver. Like Christian Pierce, the smoking hot guy in the tuxedo who appeared out of nowhere when my suitcase exploded. “I met a guy with a driver today.”
“Did you?” Carolyn’s brow wrinkles. “Where?”
“On the street corner. Wait. That doesn’t sound right.” We both laugh, and then I tell her the story of the man in the tuxedo rushing to my aid, only it was too late. I leave out the fact that looking into his eyes made my entire body heat up. I leave out the fact that when I turned away from him, I wanted to march right back and ask him for a date.
What was stopping you? The thought rises in the back of my mind, but I swat it away. Remember Derek? No way are you jumping headfirst into dating on your first day.
“—wearing a tux, Car,” I finish.
“Did you get his number?”
“No,” I say, then laugh. “No way. I am not on the market. I got his name though. Christian.”
“Christian Pierce?” Carolyn shrieks.
“Yes?” How the hell does she know him?
My friend laughs so hard tears come to the corners of her eyes.
“Carolyn, what—”
“Oh, my God, this is too much. Remember back in college, how we used to talk about our friends from school? You know who Jess is, but Chris—that’s short for Christian. Christian Pierce and I have been friends for a long time.”
It all hits me at once. Carolyn knows the mystery man with the stunning blue eyes. My guess is, they run in the same social circle.
The truth is that when I walked away from him, I thought I’d never see him again. Why would I run into a guy like that at work, or at my apartment? Why would I run into him in a city this big, when I’m just a regular girl running away from Colorado?
Looks like the city just got smaller.
Chapter 6
Christian
I can’t stop thinking about her.
Friday morning at the Pierce Industries building, and it’s time to move into my new corner office on the eighteenth floor, where the entertainment division is headquartered. My assistant brought down most of my things yesterday before she left for the day, so all there is to do now is to look through my desk and make sure I haven’t left anything behind.
I pull open all of the drawers.
All empty.
Not a single trace of me remains in this office.
“Feeling sentimental?”
My father leans against the doorway, his Italian suit tailored perfectly to his lean frame.
“For this old place?” I say with a grin, standing up from behind the desk. “Not at all. Bigger and better things.”
“That’s my boy,” he says wryly, but there’s an undercurrent of approval there. A hot spike of resentment burns through my chest. All those years that he thought my brother walked on water…
To cover it up, I smile even wider, meeting him at the doorway. “Monthly board meeting?”
“Business as usual,” he says with a little sigh, even though I know he fucking loves board meetings. The board of directors at Pierce Industries is largely decorative. It’s a private company, but my father thought it would give his decisions more legitimacy if he could collect opinions from the board before he announced them.
Not that they ever sway him. He just likes to throw his weight around. Dear old dad is a devious bastard like that.
You’re not much better.
And then another thought, hard on its heels:
What would Quinn Campbell think?
To cover it, I smile wider at my father, let him clap me on the back, and then walk with him to the elevators. “Meetings of my own,” I say, and just then a car arrives, going down. I step in, but my father steps back. He’s going up.
Isn’t that always how it is?
The door slides shut behind me, and I put a hand to my head.
Why the hell would I possibly care what Quinn Campbell thinks? She’s some woman I met for twenty minutes in the rain yesterday, not the goddamn love of my life.