“No worries, Ames.”
He ended the call. She slid her phone into her pocket and started walking to her car.
She hadn’t spoken to Quinn for months, had dodged his phone calls and avoided responding to his e-mails. And he’d responded to her request for help without hesitation. Without question.
It was one of the things she’d always loved about him the most: his generosity. But then there had always been a lot to love about Quinn Whitfield. His clever mind. His kindness. His sense of humor. Then there was his body—tall and broad and strong….
Stop it. Stop it before you’re right back at the same old place again.
She had bigger fish to fry than lost loves and old regrets. It was far better to channel her energy into a battle she at least had a chance of winning.
Because she’d lost Quinn long ago.
QUINN SAT QUIETLY for a moment after he’d hung up the phone.
For the first few seconds of the call he’d thought Amy was calling because she knew, because his mother had let something slip or Lisa had made contact to tell her the big news.
But Amy hadn’t known. And he hadn’t told her.
“I’m going home now, Mr. Whitfield.”
Quinn glanced up to see Maria hovering in the doorway of his study.
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he said.
“You have a good holiday, okay?” she said. “You work too hard. You need to rest.”
“I will. You enjoy your break, too.”
She waved her hand as though he was talking nonsense. He knew she cleaned a number of houses as well as his own. She probably never stopped working.
“And maybe you should try to eat some more while you’re away,” she said.
“I’ll do what I can.”
She gave him a last wave before disappearing and he let the easy smile fade from his lips. She was worried about him, just as they’d been worried about him at the office. Lots of hushed conversations about “poor Quinn” and how he was working too late and how much weight he’d lost. Hence the holiday. Two weeks up north on Hamilton Island, whether he liked it or not.
“Take some time off, Quinn. Look after yourself. No one expects you to be a machine,” his boss had said.
Not an order, but close enough.
Quinn sighed and raked a hand through his hair. At the moment, work was his solace. He had no idea what he’d do without it. Face the wreckage of his marriage, he supposed.
Hard to get too enthusiastic about that.
Even though his leave had officially started this morning, he’d been tidying up loose ends at home, and he saved the last draft of the Monroe contract before sending a quick e-mail to his assistant to let her know it was ready to be released to the client. Then he glanced down at the notes he’d made while talking to Amy.
He still couldn’t believe she was in a position to buy the Grand, after all these years. And that he hadn’t known about it.
She’d been obsessed with the place since they were kids. Used to drag him past it as they walked home from school every day, even though it was out of their way. It had been a clothing clearance store back then, the cinema having gone out of business years before. He used to wait beside the door while she made her way through the racks of seconds and the previous year’s fashions to stand with her head tilted back as she studied the elaborate plaster ceiling high above. He could still remember how she used to wrap her arms around her midsection as she drank it all in, as though she was scared her excitement would get away from her if she didn’t keep a grip on herself.
It felt wrong that she’d reached such a significant milestone in her life and he’d known nothing about it. But then he’d been hanging on to some pretty big news of his own, hadn’t he? He could hardly fault her when he’d just failed to tell her that he was getting a divorce.
He called up an online search engine. Given a choice, he’d rather work than contemplate his navel. Every time.
An hour later he’d accessed the local council Web site and downloaded the relevant bylaws. He’d also tracked down some recent decisions on heritage protections in the Victorian Supreme Court. It was nearly eight and his stomach was hollow with hunger. He walked to the takeout Indian restaurant on the corner and bought a chicken curry he probably wouldn’t finish.
It was cool out and he tugged the collar of his leather jacket higher on his neck as he walked back home. Two-storied Victorian terrace houses marched down either side of the street, their balconies decorated with elaborate wrought iron lacework. He stopped in front of his own terrace house, taking a moment to note the clean white paint and the glossy black trim. Wisteria climbed one of the balcony supports, and the front garden was a masterpiece of precise hedges and rounded topiary.
He’d been so proud of this place when they’d signed the papers two years ago. A little scared, too, of the debt they’d been taking on. But Lisa had sold him on the risk, convinced him that they needed to live in the right suburb, drive the right kind of cars, have the right people over for dinner. She’d always been ambitious. Keen to kick the dust of small-town Australia off her heels. It was one of the things he’d always admired about her.
He hadn’t realized that she’d outgrow him one day, too.
He walked up the path to the front door and slid his key into the lock. He braced himself, then pushed the door open. And there it was—a wash of jasmine and spice. Lisa’s perfume, even though she’d been gone for nearly a year. He caught an echo of it every time he came home. Something he could definitely live without.
He walked to the kitchen, dumping his dinner on the counter before crossing to the rear of the house and flinging the French doors wide open. The house needed airing out, that was the problem.
He upended his curry into a bowl and grabbed a fork from the drawer. Once the divorce was finalized, this place would go on the market and he wouldn’t have to worry about her perfume anymore. Then he could move to an apartment, maybe some place in the city. A bachelor pad, full of high-tech gadgets and the kind of non-fussy furniture he preferred.
Quinn stared down at the messy curry in his bowl. This was not how he’d imagined his life would look at thirty. Not by a long shot.
He took his dinner to the study and immersed himself in the work he was doing for Amy. Another hour of research and digging and he had the information he needed to help her with her cause. He picked up the phone, then put it down again without dialing.
There was something he needed to get straight with himself before he spoke to her again. He’d lied to her earlier when she’d asked if Lisa was there, leading her to believe that Lisa was out for the evening rather than long gone. Which went far beyond simply not telling her the marriage was over.
Why hadn’t he told her, the way he’d told his parents and his colleagues at work and his and Lisa’s mutual friends here in Sydney?
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Leaned back in his chair.
