“As opposed to a train engineer—assuming I had the appropriate skill set?”
“Something like that.”
She thought for a second. “I like working for Joyce. The work is physically tiring, but I don’t have to interact with a lot of people, so I’m free to think about stuff.” She tapped the phone in her shirt pocket. “Or listen to lectures I’ve downloaded from the internet. The money is fair, sometimes people tip and it gets me closer to my master plan. Oh.” She smiled. “It also makes my mother crazy. Not the most mature reason, but one of them nonetheless.”
“You’re honest.”
“I don’t have a great memory, so being honest helps me keep my life straight.”
His gaze settled on her face. “No great moral compass you live by?”
“Sure, but everybody says that and no one believes it.”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re unexpected.”
Was that the same as being sexy? Probably not, but a girl could dream. Quinn was a really interesting man. He drove a Bentley and wore Taylor Swift T-shirts. He’d been in tabloids, but he adored Joyce’s two dogs. Not that people who appeared in tabloids didn’t like pets.
She drew in a breath. “Wow—you’re really good. I’m totally confused and it’s been five minutes. Are you going to let me clean your room or not?”
“Not.”
“You don’t want to think about that? You have a cleaning service back in LA. How is this different?”
“It just is.”
Because I want you desperately. She smiled to herself. Right. Because that was exactly what Quinn was thinking.
“Inside joke?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah.”
She heard a cart coming down the path and turned to see one of the room service guys pushing it toward the bungalow.
“Hey, Courtney.”
“Hi, Dan.” She looked at Quinn. “Lunch?”
“Uh-huh. Want to join me?”
Dan winked at her as she pulled her cleaning cart out of the way. She smiled back.
Quinn stepped outside to let him in. “On the dining room table,” he said, then turned to Courtney. “I got sweet potato fries.”
“How can I resist an offer like that?”
“You can’t.”
She positioned her cart to the left of the front door, then walked inside. The layout for all the bungalows was the same—a living room–dining room on one side, the bedroom-bathroom-closet on the other. There was a private patio with a couple of chairs and a small table. In Quinn’s case, the patio faced the pond with the paddleboats.
Dan set down the lunch on the table, then left. Courtney crossed to the half bath by the door and washed her hands. By the time she returned, Quinn had cut the burger in half and split the fries. He stood by the minibar.
“What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll take the glass of water, if that’s okay,” she told him.
“It is.”
He removed a beer from the fridge. They sat across from each other.
For a second Courtney felt strange. A guest had never invited her to lunch before—not that Quinn was actually a guest. Which probably made it okay.
“Joyce said you live on the property.”
“I do. I have a room on the fourth floor. It’s one of those badly placed spaces with too much noise and a tree blocking the view, so I don’t have to feel guilty when the hotel is full.”
“Why would you feel guilty? The room is part of your pay.”
“Oh, sure. Use logic. My mind doesn’t work that way.”
She took a bite of her burger. Quinn had ordered the California special with avocado, bacon and jalapeños. Delicious.
“I used to live here, too,” he told her.
“With Joyce,” she said when she’d chewed and swallowed. “I remember hearing about that. What happened to your parents?” She reached for her water. “Am I allowed to ask that?”
“You can ask me anything you want.”
She told herself not to read too much into that statement. “Okay, where are your parents?”
“I never knew my dad. My mom got pregnant young and he took off.” One broad shoulder rose and lowered, while his expression remained neutral. “She wasn’t into having a kid around and used to leave me here all the time. Joyce was great, but I didn’t take well to being ignored by my mother, so I acted out. When I was fourteen, I got caught shoplifting. My mother told the judge she couldn’t handle me and that I should be locked up. I spent a month in juvie. When I got out, she was gone. She’d taken off without telling anyone where she was going.”
Courtney stared at him. “That’s so awful. I’m sorry. You must have been devastated.”
The shoulder rose again. “Some, but it wasn’t a total surprise. She blamed me for pretty much everything that went wrong in her life. Joyce moved into the two-bedroom bungalow and dragged me along with her. It was tough for a while, but we made it work.”
There was no emotion in his voice—it was as if he was talking about getting his car serviced. But she knew there had to be a lot of feelings. No one could go through what he had without feeling scarred.
“Joyce loves you. You had to know that, even as a kid.”
“I did.” He smiled. “She blames herself for my mom. She says she was too busy with the hotel to be there for her daughter.”
Courtney reached for a fry. “My mom was too busy for us after my dad died. I guess a lot of parents have to wrestle with balancing work and family, especially if they’re a single parent.”
“But?”
“I didn’t say but.”
“It was there in the subtext. But she should have done a better job?”
Courtney leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I know, I know. I should get over it. But jeez, I was held back twice in school and she barely noticed. Do you have any idea how hard that was? How the kids tormented me? And then I got very, very tall. That didn’t help.”
“I like that you’re tall.”
She felt herself smile. “Really?”
“Tall women are sexy.”
Could she extrapolate from that? Probably not while dressed as a hotel maid, but maybe there was hope.
“Joyce always said that I was her redemption,” he said. “I think of myself more as a do-over.”
“No. Go with being her redemption. That’s way cooler. Who gets to say that about themselves? Of course, there is a lot of responsibility that goes with it, but it would be worth it.”
“You’re an idealist.”
“Mostly. You’re a cynic.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can guess.”
“Because I’m older and wiser?”
“And you’ve seen the world.”
He laughed. “While you’ve been trapped here in Los Lobos. Life happens everywhere.”
“Yes, but it’s not exciting here.”
“It’s not exciting anywhere. Don’t buy into the press reports. They’re lying.”
She felt as if there was a hidden meaning in his words, but she had no idea what it was.
“How old were you when your father died?” he asked.
Talk about an unexpected shift in conversation. “Three. I don’t remember him at all. I don’t remember much about that time. I’m sure it was horrible, but it’s all blurry to me. I know it was tough for my mom. She worked as a secretary at my dad’s office, but she wasn’t an accountant like he was. When my dad died, a lot of people in the company quit and most of the clients left. There wasn’t any life insurance and my mom lost the house.”
“What happened?”
“Joyce took us in. Funny how she took you in, and then when you left for college
, she took us in.”
“I doubt the events are related.”
“Probably not. Anyway, we lived in one of the bungalows. My mom studied accounting at night, hung on to the employees and clients she could and slowly built her way back. Over time, she became a CPA, bought a house, then a bigger house, put Sienna through college.”
His gaze was steady. “You must be proud.”
“I am.” The words were automatic.
“But?”
“There’s no but. I’m very proud of my mother. She went through something really horrible and came out the other side. Her three daughters are productive members of society.”
“But?”
“I love my mom.”
“No one is saying you don’t.”
He had a nice voice, she thought absently. Low and kind of seductive. Compelling. She found herself wanting to answer the unspoken question. Not because she felt the need to share, but because he was drawing it out of her.
“I’m still angry.”
“For not noticing you got left behind?”
“That and other things. I had a learning disability. That’s why I didn’t do well in school. It wasn’t diagnosed until I was ten. Nothing that dramatic, just a slightly different wiring in my brain. With the right tools, I started doing better. Plus, it was the kind of thing I would eventually outgrow.”
She reached for another fry. “Once I could read and understand, I worked really hard to catch up with everyone else. I started doing well. I was transferred out of the remedial classes and into mainstream ones. I got As and Bs. My mom never noticed. I tried to tell her, but she never had time.”
Courtney rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I’m still the baby.”
“Why would you say that? You went through something difficult. You feel how you feel. You’re not wrong.”
“Are you secretly a woman?”
He leaned his head back and laughed. “I work with artists. I’ve learned how to be sensitive. But thank you for affirming my masculinity.”
“Anytime.”
“How did you let your mother know you were angry?” he asked.
“What makes you think I did?”
“You wouldn’t have suffered in silence. Not your style.” He smiled. “I know because you’re not afraid of me. A lot of people are.”
“Maybe I hide my fear with humor.”
“You hide a lot of things with humor, but not fear.”
Yikes. This was not a topic she wanted to deal with. The how did you let your mother know you were angry? now seemed so much easier by comparison.
“I left high school when I was eighteen. Just walked out. There was nothing the state could do. She didn’t like that.”
“I remember. You had a promising career at Happy Burger and you threw it all away.”
“I had the chance to do more, so I did. Not everyone has that chance.”
“Point taken. What else?”
“I didn’t speak to her for a year. Or my sister Sienna.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that Sienna and I have ever been close.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Have you met her? She’s so perfect. I mean physically beautiful. Which I guess I don’t technically care about, but things come easily to her. She was good in school without really trying, and the guys were all over her. She’s been engaged twice and broke it off both times. No one’s ever wanted to marry me.”
“Have you wanted to marry anyone?”
“No, but that’s not the point. I want to be asked. I never was. Not to a school dance or anything.”
“You’ve had boyfriends.”
Not a question, but close enough that she felt compelled to answer. “I’ve had guys in my life. When I turned eighteen, I didn’t just leave high school, I left home. I was on my own. I got involved with some real jerks. They were a little older and I thought they were so cool.” She picked up the last fry. “I was wrong.”
“You figured it out.”
“After a while, yes.”
“Some people never do.”
“That’s sad. Anyway, I didn’t speak to my mom or Sienna. I stayed in touch with Rachel. She and I are close. Eventually, she talked me into meeting with Mom and we reconnected.” Sort of. They were a family, but they weren’t all that involved in each other’s lives. Or to be completely honest, she didn’t let anyone know what was happening with hers.
“Oh,” she said brightly, “I got a tattoo. The day I turned eighteen. It was supposed to be a symbol of my freedom.”
“Is it?”
“No. It was silly. And because I was so young, it’s on the small of my back.” She held up a hand. “Don’t judge.”
“I would never.” He leaned back in his chair. “What is it? The tattoo?”
“I am so not going to tell you.” His steady gaze made her squirm. “Stop it.”
“What?”
“Trying to influence me.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
“You don’t have to. I’m susceptible.” Okay, that came out wrong. “I mean you’re so much older and...” She sighed. “You know what I’m trying to say.”
“I haven’t a clue. Although it’s clear you think I’m old. That’s very flattering.”
“Not old, old...just, you know, experienced.”
“Are you calling me a man whore?”
“Do you deserve the title?”
He laughed. “Some days.” He finished his beer. “Tell me about the other tattoo.”
She felt her mouth drop open. She consciously closed it. No way he’d guessed. “What are you talking about?”
“If you got one as a symbol of your freedom and realized it was more about being trapped by a bad choice, you probably got another one when you figured out what to do with your life.”
“You’re good.”
“Like I said. I work with a lot of artists. Some days it’s an entire ocean of deep emotion. Very little surprises me.”
Did that mean he knew she thought he was sexy? Probably, she decided. And if that was the case, his complete lack of response meant he wasn’t interested. No surprise, but still disappointing.
“Between the shoulders?” he asked.
She sighed. “I hate being a cliché.”
“Only if it’s wings.”
She glared at him. “That’s not fair.”
“Sorry,” he said, not looking the least bit contrite. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure they look good on you.”
“Now you’re just placating me.” She narrowed her gaze. “If you’re so smart, what’s the one on the small of my back?”
“A butterfly or dragonfly.”
“Not even close. So there!” She stood. “I win.”
He chuckled. “Yes, you do.” He rose and walked around the table until he was a few inches from her. He was only a couple of inches taller, so she barely had to raise her head to look into his eyes.
“You don’t want to get involved with me,” he told her quietly.
She told herself not to blush even though she was pretty sure it was too late.
“It’s not going to go the way you think,” he added.
“ED?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
Quinn stared at her for a second, then he started to laugh. The happy sound made her smile. Something warm and just a little smug filled her chest. She might be out of his league, but at least she’d survived the encounter. That had to count.
He touched her face. “There are flashes of power. The trick will be whether or not you can channel them into something that can be used. It’s all there, inside of you. Have a little faith.”
She wanted to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about. She
wanted to ask him to explain what he meant. She wanted him to shut up and kiss her. In the end, she chose escape.
“Are you sure you don’t need more towels?” she asked.
“Get out.”
“I was just going. Thanks for lunch.”
“Anytime.”
8
“THREE COATS,” RACHEL said firmly as she handed over the volumizing mascara. “There are going to be pictures. You’ll want to look beautiful.”
“As long as it doesn’t look like spiders are resting on my eyelids.” Her mother took the offered tube. “No scary old lady pictures for me.”
“You’d have to be an old lady for that to happen.”
Maggie Watson smiled. “You’re very sweet, Rachel girl. I appreciate it.”
The familiar endearment, one she hadn’t heard in years, made Rachel smile.
She watched her mother lean toward the big mirror and begin to apply mascara. Maggie was in her midfifties. She worked out regularly, dressed well and looked at least ten years younger than she was. All of which made Rachel equally proud and depressed. The former because her mother was the poster woman for getting ahead on sheer determination. The latter because Maggie made it look easy and Rachel happened to know it wasn’t.
While her mother dressed in upscale suits and dresses, her own wardrobe consisted of black pants and black shirts, all in manmade fabrics that washed easily. There were days when she wished she wasn’t in the beauty industry, so she wouldn’t always be expected to have perfect hair and makeup herself. Both were time consuming. But no one wanted to go to a stylist who looked frumpy. She was battling an extra twenty pounds and the constant fear that she was the “before” picture, while everyone around her was an “after.”
Like now. Maggie looked amazing in a fitted sleeveless white shift dress with a pale pink lace overlay. Age appropriate, beautiful and sophisticated. Rachel had on black pants she used for work and a gauzy green shirt she’d owned, oh, six years.
Maggie straightened. “Enough?” she asked, waving the mascara.
Rachel studied her. “One more coat.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Then you didn’t have to ask, did you?”
Maggie smiled, then returned to the task.
Daughters of the Bride Page 9
