by Penny Reid
I justified my absence by insisting, to myself, that I needed to finish up the billing presentation which I hoped that ‘the Boss’ would adopt as 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 deli, not knowing he would be making the decision regarding whether it moved forward.
I felt like I now needed to prove myself. I didn’t feel like my job was really mine, like I’d 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 as ‘the Boss’, caused my stomach to became like the hair trapped in bubblegum- heinous, untenable knots. I spent my time working tirelessly on the billing presentation, going home and losing myself in comic books until 1AM then waking up early to burying 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 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 pants-suit 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 then guided me to the private airstrip, all the 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 always ended with some hysterical calamity.
I was so wrapped up in his story that I didn’t really notice where we were going. As 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: “… and it was so disgusting I had to arrange for the carpet cleaners to come out and fix the spot on Sunday.” He shook his head, “That’s the last time I go out with someone who wears a live ferret as an accessory.”
I smiled and laughed then abruptly realized where I was. Since I hadn’t noticed my surroundings as I entered I didn’t know who else was already on board. The calm numb from before was pierced by a pang of awareness. We were seated near the front of the plane 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 I found my surroundings to be impressive; everything looked new and shiny. The seats were beige leather, the trim and carpet were navy 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 to, I assumed, facilitate conversation during the flight.
An attendant walked over to us; she was very pretty and, I guessed, in her mid-forties. She reminded me of the good humored flight attendants on Alliantsouth airlines who told jokes and winked at passengers.
“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’s.
By the power of Thor!
CHAPTER 17
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, obviously custom, cut black suit and white shirt and 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, and unnecessarily fiddled 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.
Abruptly 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 formalness 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 between a Eurostar train and airline journeys between London and Paris, which demonstrated the trains emitting 10 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 non-existent smile, 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, 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 them approach. 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 ar
ound 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 glanced at myself 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 patches, the 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 it was like all the progress toward comfort and ease in his presence had dissipated; I was acting like a ridiculous impious teenager.
My 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? How wretchedly doomed I was to live in the state of perpetual unrequitedness? To my utter despair his presence seemed to make the invisible box in my head explode instantly upon eye contact, scattering the once neatly folded thoughts and feelings all over my pretend closet of calm.
It wasn’t just his physical superiority, not any more. 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. I now had memories attached to him: the way he titled his head when he listened, the sound of his voice, the sound of his laugh, his ready responses to my hypothetical questions, how he teased me, the touch of his fingers brushing my hair over my shoulders, the heat of his gaze moving 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, hoping 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 more significant breath then exited the safe confines of the toilet stall, smoothing my hands over my thighs. I approached the front of the plane, walking with measured steps, trying to look unconcerned and like a normal, capable, confident human being instead of the awkwardly big headed Neanderthal that I was.
I nearly ran back to the bathroom when I saw that Carlos had taken the seat I 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, no- 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, however, look at Quinn. I didn’t look at him even as I explained the purpose of the software, how I’d come across the open source project when I was in graduate school, how I’d used it as an effective way to track time spent on tasks and 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-only based system I was almost calm.
“Based on historical data, I ran an analysis which, even though highly 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.
“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 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.”
“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 of the tablet as he responded in a mumble, “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, 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 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. 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 slowly pulled the iPad completely out of my grip, arranging it on his lap and turning 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 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, despite Carlos and Steven’s suggestions. 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 based on ability.
As I pulled my attention from him I swallowed, my throat felt thick and tight; I surveyed the group: Steven briefly met my gaze and he gave me a tight, 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; his voice aloof, “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 Outrageous and the scope of work for the Las Vegas properties.”
The subject of my involvement with Infinite Systems seemingly 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 not his mouth; on where he pointed and not his hands. I swear whatever pheromones Quinn Sullivan secreted were the equivalent of Janie-cat-nip.
The most difficult and dangerous parts 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 and suggested a break. Everyone immediately agreed. Thankfully, Quinn excused himself as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and walked to the back of the plane to make a call.
