by May Sage
It wasn’t a diversity issue this time; he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. So what was wrong?
Quinn’s finger hovered over Leila’s name on his phone. He hadn’t even tried to call, knowing he was probably blocked. Instead, he rang Vincent.
“We need to bring Leila in,” he said as soon as his brother answered.
“Wait- come again?”
“The movie. It’s missing something. We need a second opinion- from someone who knows their shit and can think outside the box. Get Leila on it.”
“The movie is epic. Hot villain, heroes with the worst odds, a shit plan that somehow manages to make it. It’s classic.”
“Then you won’t mind getting another pair of eyes on the script to confirm that.”
He just didn’t feel like signing on the dotted line until she’d seen it. Something told him he shouldn’t.
“You’re so pussy-whipped.”
Quinn was quick to protest, “I haven’t even touched that pussy, dickhead. But WE was always about us having fun. You and I. Producing the movies we want to watch. And while that’s definitely still the case, I want to make something she’ll watch with us, you know.”
He could practically see Vincent nod. “As I said, pussy-whipped.”
Quinn expected more protests. Fun project or not, Vincent was a sound businessman above anything. He could have told him they needed to hire a Hollywood big name with a lot of experience, but after a pause, his twin sighed. “But sure,” he said. “Although she won’t do it if she thinks you’re giving her the job she wants to get her back.”
“Which is why I’m calling you. Just give her the script. She’ll read it and she’ll tell us what the hell is wrong with it.”
After a beat, Vincent sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“He put you up to this, didn’t he?” Leila asked, glaring at the oh-so-tempting pile of paper Vincent was handing her like it was a two-headed snake whispering that she should just go ahead and bite that apple.
She wanted to get her paws on the super-secret script. So. Damn. Bad. But she knew she had to resist anything that came from Quinn Wolf, if only for her own self preservation.
Vincent didn’t even attempt to deny it. “Does it help if I say I wasn’t supposed to tell you? This isn’t a bribe. Quinn thinks there’s something wrong with it and he told me you’re the only one who can fix it.”
Nasty, poisoned arrow shot right in the heart. She glared at Vincent, huffing as she grabbed the script.
“So, you’ll do it?”
She didn’t grace that with an answer. “If that’s all, Mr. Wolf, you can go now. Some of us have work to do.”
Concentrating on said work wasn’t an easy feat for the rest of the afternoon, knowing she had that script burning holes in her bag. Finally, five o’clock came and she ran out of doors, rushing all the way home.
Her cats greeted her at the door, demanding food and attention; as soon as their highnesses were satisfied, she poured herself a glass of wine and started to read.
Leila finished the whole thing in a couple of hours, not coming up for air. Then she stretched, remembered to pee, ordered a pizza, and grabbed a red pen. The second read was slower, more careful.
Quinn was getting his panties in a bunch for zero reasons, the movie was fine. Well, if they forgot the couple of one-liners that were way too close to other popular movies’ mottos. She pointed all of that out, circling what she’d caught. Then, grabbing a blank piece of paper, she wrote down her thoughts after reading the script.
The core of the issue was that absolutely everything went according to plan. Anyone reading the description could guess exactly what was going to happen from start to finish. Plus, there were tons of missed opportunities, romantically, when it came to miscommunications.
It wasn’t messy enough.
* * *
How about this? Stop that Organa-Solo expected romance and make your damn princess fall for the bad guy instead. Boom. More tension, more at stake, and you can play on the love triangle thing until the last second. Then people will really wonder whether the good guys are even supposed to win.
* * *
She popped everything in an envelope and pulled her phone.
Done. Wanna pick up my summary at work or shall I send a courier?
* * *
She sent the text and put the device back in her pocket. Then, suddenly, all color drained from her face. She pulled it back out and winced.
God, what was wrong with her? She’d sent it to the wrong damn twin.
Chapter 10
He stared at his phone for an entire minute at the very least; he’d read the simple and friendly message a dozen times or more. After that long minute, he sighed, guessing she’d meant it for Vincent. That wasn’t going to stop him from grabbing the opportunity with both hands, holding on to it like a lifeline. He hadn’t expected an in with her for weeks, if not months. Looked like he was getting one right before Christmas, instead.
Like the damn teenager with a crush she’d reduced him to, he spent most of the night working on his game. She was going to seriously crush his balls and shut out even the faintest possibility of a conversation unless he outsmarted her. And having a conversation was how he’d win her back, he saw that now; he’d gotten her attention at the restaurant that first day because they clicked. No diamond and promise of wealth and prosperity was ever going to work on a woman like Leila Thomas—which was why he couldn’t simply let her go. And also why he might have to, if he messed it up any more.
He’d taken himself and his position way too seriously when he’d thought a proposal from him could fix everything. This was about showing her he wasn’t the arrogant self-centered dick she no doubt believed him to be now. But how could he go about it?
Around midnight, he knew. He called Vincent, grateful his brother was as much of a night owl as him. He could hear him typing away on his keyboard downstairs. Reluctant to put pants on, he stayed in his room, though.
“What now?” his twin replied grumpily.
“Busy?”
There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “That damn hacker is at it again.”
Quinn lifted a brow. “Hacker?” That was the first he’d heard of it.
“You remember when I announced my new security protocol was ‘practically uncrackable’ and got the best half dozen hackers in the country to try?”
Quinn did; he followed his brother’s success with pride and interest. “A couple of months back, right?”
“Yeah. Well, some nobody managed to get around my walls. Went in, dropped a note saying I sucked and got out without leaving a goddamn trace. The dick didn’t go public with it, thank fuck. But I delayed the launch, worked on tightening everything; my system is so responsible it’s practically AI at this stage.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I was going to launch on Christmas Day. Everything was ready. Then, this morning, guess what? A new note on my desktop. Not half bad, pretty boy, it said. The damn dick is taunting me.”
“Vagina,” Quinn corrected.
“Come again?”
“Pretty boy? You’re dealing with a woman. Or a gay guy—I guess; but someone who’s met you. There are no pictures of you online; not attached to WVS, anyway.”
Vincent was silent for a full minute, before he laughed humorlessly and cursed.
“Amelia,” was all he said.
Quinn tilted his head.
“Come again?”
“Amelia- Mia. Leila’s best friend. We had a date back in the fall. A good one, actually. But now I remember we were talking about tech—at some point, I may have mentioned that the industry was very much dominated by males. You know, just statistics. She did seem a little annoyed at that, but she just changed the subject. Fuck. Leila mentioned she worked in IT. I think- no, I fucking know it’s her.” He mused out loud, “How the fuck is she getting through my security?”
Quinn listened to the whole tirade
with a knowing smile. It wasn’t what his brother was saying as much as his tone of voice. A reluctant admiration, some frustration, and underneath it all, something else, something more. He definitely recognized it now.
He left his brother alone to figure it out on his own time.
“Well, at least now you know who’s messing with you. Good luck with that.” He’d need all the luck in the world if he was half as good at messing things up as Quinn had been. “Anyway, I’m calling because Leila meant to message you about the script. Only, she messaged me. She wants to hand it over at work tomorrow. I’m going.”
“And you’re telling me good luck?” he laughed. “Right. What’s the plan?”
“I need to borrow something from you.”
A few minutes later, Vincent was done laughing at him.
She’d known he’d come. She’d prepared herself for it. She fully intended to glare, cross her arms over her chest, huff, puff, and not utter one single word clearly.
But the infuriating man thwarted her plan by turning up wearing a high-tech Darth Vader costume, with the breathing and all—completed with a red and white cape. Darth Santa. Seriously. That man. That man!
She laughed at him, pointing out, “That’s not fair.”
He shrugged it off cheerfully. “Made you talk to me.”
Oh my. He even had voice distortion software. “I need that mask,” she told him, practically drooling.
“It’s custom. The design modified by Vincent. I’m sure he’ll make you one.”
She was still grinning like an idiot as she grabbed his file and handed it to him. “Here’s your file. It’s going to be a great movie whatever way you go about it, of course—but I wrote down a suggestion. The script writer might hate me for it.”
Instead of grabbing it and going away, he shuffled through her notes right there at her reception desk. The phone rang while he was reading, so she just grabbed it and went to work, doing her best to ignore Vader; but each time she caught a glance, she grinned and shook her head.
She’d somehow forgotten that he was that damn cute when he wanted to be. Self-depreciative and down to earth; his disappearing on her, and then attempting to buy her off with an expensive piece of jewelry she didn’t even like had pretty much negated everything else.
Her smile finally disappeared. She wasn’t about to forget that he could be a huge ass.
He closed the script.
“It was too straightforward. I knew it.” He nodded. “This is going to take it to the next level. Thank you, Leila.”
“You’re welcome. That was a lot of fun.”
He stared at her from behind that mask for a long time before turning on his heels.
“I’ll get the team started on this right away. Mary’ll know the suggestions come from you. If you’re moved from the reception desk, that’s because she wants you on the team. I won’t tell her to do it.”
Butterflies in her stomach, she nodded.
“Have a great holiday. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Why did it hurt so freaking much to see him leave when she knew it was the best thing for her in the long run?
Chapter 11
“How did it go?”
Quinn didn’t bother replying; he just grinned at his brother, who lifted a brow.
“That good, hm?”
“Girls love Vader.”
“No, Quinn. Nerds love Vader.”
“The only girls you or I are interested in love Vader.”
Vincent conceded his point. Damn, why had he married Stella? He wasn’t even sure she knew who Vader was.
“She wants her own suit. Can you have it made and delivered by Christmas?”
“Oh, you mean I have three days to make a custom robotic mask that took weeks to perfect?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. Sure, it had taken him a while to get it right, but now he knew what to do. “Yes. That’s what I mean, Vincent.”
He sighed dramatically. “Yes. I’ll get it ready, but you owe me.”
Quinn pulled his phone and started typing.
Vincent’ll get your suit ready over the weekend—where shall I send it? he offered.
Everyone at WE was off through to the beginning of January; sending it made sense.
Just my place. Do you need the full address?
He started to type a reply, and deleted it.
Wait, you’re not going to your parents’ for Christmas?
They’re on a cruise, so not this year.
Ah. Spending it with Mia, then.
Nah, she’s gone to her family in France.
He was downright pissed now.
So, you’re alone for Christmas.
I have three cats *shrug*
“Vincent?” he called out.
His twin emerged from the kitchen.
“How do women generally feel about kidnapping?”
“Dude, if I have to answer that, you need some serious help.”
“Leila is spending Christmas alone with her cats. She can’t cook, either.”
Vincent nodded knowingly. “Yep, in this particular case, I guess kidnapping is the answer.”
Leila woke up early and did bravely attempt to cook a turkey. She’d bought all the things and followed the simplest recipe she’d found online. So why did it smell funny?
She opened the oven, pulled the bird out and sighed dejectedly. Definitely smelled funny. Oh well. She’d already checked and the local Chinese restaurant was open, so she had a back-up, at least.
Someone rang at the door and her cats promptly scampered. Closing the oven, she went to answer without checking the peephole first. A mistake she wasn’t about to repeat after today.
The two Wolf brothers stood there—Vincent, holding out a big black box that better have her Vader suit, and Quinn, smiling in a way that shouldn’t give her palpitations.
“Hey,” she said, confused as to why they’d be here at noon on Christmas Day. Surely Hugo would have something delicious that didn’t smell weird ready for them any minute now.
Vincent sniffed the air.
“You totally left the giblets inside the turkey, didn’t you?”
She looked at him, confused.
“They put a plastic bag inside the turkey with the giblets you can use for stock,” Quinn explained. “You have to pull it out before you put it in the oven.”
Oh, shit. She hurried off to the kitchen, pulled the bird again and looked inside; sure enough there seemed to be some sort of melted plastic in there.
“Dammit. Well, that’s incredibly stupid.”
It was bad enough that she’d messed it up; doing so with two extremely good-looking guys standing next to her was ten times more embarrassing.
“Well, Chinese it is.”
“Nah,” said Vincent. “This is actually a kidnapping. We’ll carry you kicking and screaming, if need be. I’m here as extra muscle.”
She started to formulate a protest, but Quinn added, “Dad settled on goose this year.” Her tummy grumbled.
It was painful to get the words out, but she wasn’t a charity case, dammit. “I’ll be okay, thanks.”
The brothers changed tactics.
“You know, Dad invited you. He’ll be disappointed if you don’t come.”
“I saw Mom put a package with your name on it under the tree,” Vincent added. “Probably one of her knitted scarves.”
Yeah, the guilt trip was working.
“I didn’t get them anything, so I can’t go.”
Quinn had an answer to that, too. “They know I messed up and that this is a kidnapping. They don’t expect presents. Now, are we dragging you out or are you coming willingly?”
She bit her lip.
How tempting it was. But she couldn’t forget why it was a bad idea. When they hit a speed-bump, Quinn had pulled the brakes, done a U-turn, and gotten out of there. That he’d changed his mind afterwards didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t a guy she could trust; and without trust, what was the point of hav
ing any kind of relationship?
“I can’t…”
“Kidnapping it is,” Vincent settled, advancing.
“Alright, alright. Let me go grab something to wear.”
She turned the oven off, dumped the plasticy bird in the trash, and headed to her room, all the while muttering under her breath about pushiness.
Chapter 12
Christmas lunch was full of laughter and fun. On New Year’s Eve, that Sunday, Quinn tagged along with Vincent—he met the elusive Mia for the first time and spent it with Leila.
He didn’t attempt to ask her for a date again, knowing that right now, her answer would have been a resounding no. But they hung out, always with the others. To the movies, a couple of times. They had a cook-off one week; Mia voted in favor of Quinn and Leila gave most of her points to Vincent. Quinn doubted any of their votes were impartial but they still had fun.
Some of Leila’s stiff, defensive demeanor towards him disappeared progressively. Mid January, he caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He tried not to smile, or fist-pump in victory.
In February, things changed because Vincent had started to pursue Mia. His twin had balls of steel, seriously. The woman delighted in making him eat dirt. But that also meant Vincent purposefully sat next to her, leaving Leila no choice but to be closer to Quinn.
She didn’t seem to mind too much.
“You think he has any chance with her?” he whispered close to Leila’s ear, inhaling her scent and loving how she blushed at his proximity.
She thought it out for a second. “Honestly not sure. Amelia’s fuck-off vibe isn’t just for show; she takes no prisoners. We only met in college, but I know she dealt with a lot of shit when she was younger. She doesn’t want to get hurt again.”
The way she said it made Quinn think she wasn’t just talking about Mia there.
