He studied me, his stare turning hawkish; “You could move in with me.”

I smiled even though my heart felt heavy, “We’ve been dating less than a month and, besides, I can’t afford even one tenth of the rent on this penthouse.”

“I own this place. There is no rent.”

“Quinn-”

He cut me off with a kiss, turning me- us- until I was lying under him on the bed.

“Just- don’t say no.” He kissed me again, “Not yet.” He kissed my neck, his words and breath were hot and urgent, “I’ll give you the key and the code to the building. Promise me you’ll show Elizabeth the apartment.” He nibbled on my ear and whispered, “And promise me you’ll think about moving in with me.”

I nodded but not mindlessly. I wanted to pacify him so we could get to the good stuff.

He pulled away and his eyes surveyed me, moved between mine, “Promise me.”

I nodded again and lifted my hand to tousle his hair, “I promise.”

At some point in the last forty-eight hours Quinn had brought my bag from the Vegas trip to his apartment. Therefore, and thankfully, I was able to dress in fresh clothes, ones with buttons, before heading to work.

I learned a bit more about Quinn as a consequence of spending the night at his place; he doesn’t really sleep, he exercises every morning, he eats pastries for breakfast. Quinn was up by five and back from a long run by six thirty.

After his shower he woke me up in the most pleasant way imaginable.

Yes. That way.

I was standing at his kitchen counter, drinking a really delicious latte from one of those marvels of modern mechanics one-touch espresso makers and eating a cherry and cheese Danish by seven twenty. At seven forty we were walking to work, a short six block stroll, holding hands and talking about the day ahead.

Since I had tutoring on Thursdays, we made arrangements to go out again Friday night. He kissed me goodbye at the entrance to the building, leaving me wobbly headed and kneed, at seven fifty eight. I was in the elevator at eight on the dot.

What a difference a day makes.

I was still smiling dazedly as I walked down the hall to my office, not really noticing anyone or anything. I sat behind my desk and mindlessly shuffled through the folders. I didn’t yet want to lose myself in spreadsheets so I opted to read through the pile of memos threatening to spill off my desk. It would allow me to continue to revel in all the warm and silky feelings from the previous night and morning.

The first ten or so were actually about my new billing software. The last memo suggested moving the conversation to email. This was typical. Most conversations were initiated via hard-copy memo. After they were determined to be benign in nature, they would move to email. All memos were to be shredded after they were read.

As he was responsible for the private clients, most of Steven’s internal correspondence was hard-copy. Since I was responsible for the corporate clients, most of mine was electronic.

I sifted through the correspondence quickly but then my attention was abruptly ensnared when I spied both my name and Quinn’s listed together in a printed copy of an email. I’d never received a printed copy of an email before and my gaze moved to the email address of the sender. I recognized it as one of the French Tweedle Dee lawyers I’d met on my second day. At first I skimmed the email but then, after the second sentence, forced myself to start at the beginning and really, truly read it:

Hi Betty,

Per Mr. Sullivan’s request and as discussed during our phone conversation, Jean and I have consulted on the matter of Ms. Morris at length. It is our opinion that Mr. Sullivan’s best course of action would be to terminate Ms. Morris’ employment as soon as is feasible (without interrupting operations). In such cases as these, it is not unusual or unwarranted to offer a large severance package and release her from the non-compete agreement she signed upon initiation of the position.

The reason for termination should not be stated explicitly to Ms. Morris nor inferred/alluded to in any documentation in order to mitigate risk for future recompense. Furthermore, we advise that Mr. Sullivan not be charged with conducting the dismissal interview. I’ve taken the liberty of cc-ing Mr. Davies and his administrator to this email as it is our recommendation that he handle the matter as Mr. Sullivan’s designee.

The other option is for Ms. Morris to resign her position. In either case, we’ve drafted a release form which Ms. Morris should sign and which, regardless of future outcomes, should, as much as is feasible or possible and to the extent allowable by law, absolve Cypher Systems from any related future litigation. I recommend that she sign the release as a condition for receiving the severance.

Please let us know if Mr. Sullivan decides to proceed so that we may move to nullify the non-compete agreement. Likely, Ms. Morris will have great difficulty finding new employment until it is expunged.

Henry LeDuc, J.D.

CHAPTER 27

“Have you shown this to him? Asked him about it?”

I shook my head and chewed on my thumbnail, staring over Elizabeth’s shoulder at nothing in particular.

We were in the Starbucks four blocks away from my building. As soon as I found the email I used the dratted cell phone to call her and beg her to meet me for lunch. As it turned out, I woke her up at home and she immediately left to meet me for coffee. As such, she was dressed in pajamas and boots.

“I have to be honest, Janie. I don’t speak lawyer gibberish so I’m not really sure what this says. But,” Elizabeth reached for and held my hand, drawing my attention to her, “I think you should ask him about it before you jump to any conclusions.”

I swallowed, “I know. I will.”

Elizabeth’s frown deepened, “How did you get a copy of this? Did they accidentally email it to you?”

“No, it was with my memos on my desk. Someone must’ve…” I blinked, my eyes losing focus again, then I shuddered my lids.

Of course.

“What? What is it?”

“Olivia.” Blood drained from my face even as heat spread up my neck, “I found Olivia, Carlos’ assistant, in my office yesterday morning. She must have left it there.”

“The one who gives you dirty looks at work? Any chance it’s fake then?”

“I don’t think so.” I debated the theory for a moment but dismissed the possibility, “It’s real. She just wanted me to find it.”

Elizabeth rolled her lips into her mouth and between her teeth, surveying me. Finally she said, “After everything you’ve told me about him, about Quinn, I seriously doubt he wants to fire you.”

I nodded and was surprised to find that I agreed with Elizabeth’s assessment, “I don’t believe it either.”

She smiled, a wry hopeful smile, “So, does that mean, despite this strange email and its indecipherable but damning contents, you trust Quinn?”

I nodded again without thinking and spoke-thought my words, “It does. I do.” I met her clear blue eyes, “I do trust him. I think that there has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“Yay!” Elizabeth’s smile was full and immediate; she squeezed my hand, “Although I don’t advocate love as a rule, yay for you and Quinn!”

My head tilted to the side in a very Quinn-like expression before I could stop the movement, “What- love- yay for- what are you talking about?”

“You and Quinn-” Elizabeth sipped at her mocha with whip, licking off a residual creamy mustache, “You are in love, Janie.”

“I’m not in love! I’m in lust, I’m in deep infatuation, I’m in- in- in definite a lot of like with Quinn but I’m not…”

Was I in love?

Though I loathed to admit it, it was a distinct possibility.

I loved being around Quinn. I loved talking to him. I loved his laugh and, at times, his bossiness. I loved his self-doubt and loved his determination. I loved that he seemed to be changing, wanted to change, even as I was changing. I loved that we were growing into something new, together. I loved trusting him. I loved making love to him… like, really loved making love to him.

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck and loves like a duck…

Well, Thor!

My ears were suddenly ringing.

Elizabeth wiggled in her seat and wagged her eyebrows, “You looooove him.”

“You don’t even believe in love.” I leveled her with a severe glare, hoping to quell the unexpected dawn of realization. If I could just think about it a little more without Elizabeth’s wagging eyebrows I might be able to analyze the situation with the pragmatism it deserved.

She shook her head and adverted her gaze from mine, “You know that’s not true. I believe in one love, fist love.”

I knew not to press her on this point or try to dissuade her from this belief, especially in relation to herself. I knew Elizabeth’s history, knew her feelings on the subject and I didn’t want to make her hash through a topic which was so painful for her.

I tried to make my argument relevant only to the present situation, “What about Jon, I loved Jon.”

“No you didn’t. You… tolerated Jon in much the same way ‘tolerance’ is taught in the workplace or at school.” Her mouth curved downward as though she were tasting something unpleasant, “I think you loved him like one loves their fellow man, but you never felt more for him than tolerance.”