I have no doubt he’s monitoring my keystrokes as well. I can’t deviate from my regular actions at all.
As I log into my computer, I check my email. It’s the first thing I do every day I’m here. I’m almost expecting to find an email from my father telling me all about how he knows we’re on to him. Wouldn’t surprise me at all. The man gets off on my anger and apparently my fear.
My eyes are trained on the time in the bottom corner of the computer screen as I mindlessly open and close emails in my inbox, simply making it look as though I’m doing everything I usually do.
After a solid ten minutes pretending to handle emails, I finally open our operating system. I need to start looking through everything in my pipeline. Even though I want to immediately run a search for Regency BioTech, I don’t. I’m sure he’s got flags set up to go off for any search of that title.
Scrolling slowly, I pick and choose a few files to open during my search—again so it looks like I’m doing my normal routine. After making a few adjustments to the files I know needed certain things changed and updated, I’m going out of my mind.
My control is slipping.
I think I’ve done enough monotonous shit to not draw any attention to myself for the last half an hour, so I start scrolling through all my files. Nothing under the name Regency BioTech. Where the fuck is it?
Opening each one of my files, I look through them for anything funny. If my father notices, I can just tell him I’ve started going through all my accounts in prep for the merger. It’s believable enough. Or I can tell him that with focusing on convincing Jordan and the new CEO that we should merge that I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.
Not a damn thing.
I can’t find anything relating to this fake fucking company.
He wouldn’t dare implicate himself, so I know it’s not associated with his name at all.
Think, Quinn. Think.
Where would a psychopath hide his evidence?
Nothing comes to me.
Maybe because I’m not a deranged person who sits around thinking about how to frame someone.
Louis Taylor is an arrogant prick. He thinks he’s untouchable. That nobody is smarter than him. He’s pure evil. Most children turn to their parents to scare away their monsters; my father is my monster. The monster in plain sight.
Plain sight.
A light goes off in my head.
Where would someone who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else hide something?
In plain fucking sight.
My eyes immediately start scanning the room. He’s got it in here somewhere. There’s no way he’d take the chance of anyone else finding it and possibly asking questions. Not that anyone around here ever pays attention to anything other than their own accounts.
Leaning down, I open the bottom drawer of my desk. It’s where I keep files I’m currently working on so they’re within reach if I need something from them. Making sure to keep my cool, I slowly slide the files to the front of the drawer, one by one. As if I’m looking for a specific file, which I am, just not one I’m familiar with.
I come up with nothing, but I pull out that last file just so it looks as though I found what I was looking for. My paranoia is running so high, I even place a blank piece of paper from my desk into the file so it seems as though I had a purpose for pulling it out.
Paranoia probably isn’t the best word for everything I’m feeling. Paranoia would suggest I have an unfounded distrust of everything around me. But nothing about feeling as though my life, my freedom, is dangling by a thread is unfounded.
This is pure fucking torture. Sitting in this office right now feels like sitting in a fish bowl. Like everyone around me can see me and is watching my every move. Dissecting it. Analyzing it. One wrong move and it all could be flushed down the toilet.
This is not paranoia. This is my reality.
I need to find this fucking file.
It’s the only way for me to break free from this cage.
The light over the filing cabinets against the wall flickers drawing my attention—like a neon sign with an arrow saying “Look here.” Only my father would have the balls to hide the file he wants to destroy me with in my own fucking filing cabinet.
He knows I rarely go in there. Kendra does all my filing for me every morning. There’s a bin at the end of my desk where I place files when they don’t need to be at my ready disposal. I’d never even notice a fucking file in there that didn’t belong unless I was looking for it.
As gracefully and casually as I can, I slide my chair back from my desk and head toward my filing cabinets. I grab the file I pulled from my desk and take it with me—temporarily filing it in this cabinet so again it looks like I have a reason to head over there. Mentally, I remind myself to make a note to have Kendra pull the file tomorrow morning so I can return it to its proper place.
Having to monitor my every move and the possibility of my father watching me right now is grating on my nerves. All I want to do is run toward that metal box and start tearing through it.
The few footsteps between me and what is hopefully the answer to all my problems seems like a marathon event. The cabinet staring at me like a giant magic eight ball. I’m about to shake it for information, but it doesn’t mean it’s going to give me an answer. I just hope that it doesn’t give me that “Try again” bullshit. I don’t really have any ideas as to where this thing could be and time’s ticking faster than I’d like.
In order for it to not stand out, I’m assuming he filed it under “R.” It won’t look good if I’m tearing through shit like I’m looking for something and don’t know where it is. Red flags everywhere there.
The metal of the handle to the drawer is cold as I wrap my fingers around it and pray like hell this is it. The slight squeak of the metal as it slides out echoes off the walls and the window, consuming the room.
Regency BioTech. Right there. In perfect alphabetical order. The key to getting my life back.
I want to cry.
But I can’t.
Slipping the file out, I close the drawer and immediately open the one above it. I quickly grab the first file my fingers touch and pull it out. Grabbing more than one file will help make it look less like anything different is going on.
Every part of me wants to explode. Excitement. Hope. Anger. Fury. Fear. I feel every single one of those emotions course through my body at once. The light at the end of the tunnel is like sunshine in my fucking eyes right now. Blinding me.
I have to keep it together. Sitting back down at my desk, I open my email and print out a bunch of useless shit. It needs to look like I’m taking these home with me for a reason.
Shutting down my computer, I start to gather my things to head out. Found what I needed, now to get the fuck out of here and see what we can do with it.
I’M CRAWLING OUT of my fucking skin here!
It’s after six and still no word from Quinn. I was hoping for a message of some kind from her by the time we wrapped shit up after the game. That was an hour ago and she’s not answering my calls.
A thousand different scenarios are running through my head thinking about what the hell could be happening. Is she still looking for it? Did her father catch her looking and do something even crazier? Is she locked in a basement somewhere so he can report her missing and get some attention from that? Did he already deploy his plan and have Quinn arrested?
Something has to be wrong. She would’ve called me, texted me, something by now.
I can’t stand still and I’ve already downed three shots. This situation is a whole other level of crazy for me. Every family fights but never have I seen something this awful before—firsthand anyway.
Why doesn’t he just cut her off? Sell her the condo and let her go peacefully to another company. She’s brilliant with money. Offers would be lining up for her.
Nope. Not her father. He has to frame her, forcing her to be his puppet. Who the fuck does that?
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A psychopath. That’s who.
Which fuels this unsettling feeling coursing through my body.
My phone starts vibrating against the counter and I scramble to grab it. My heart feels as though it’s about to beat out of my chest. Please be Quinn. Please.
Tiffany.
“Hey…” As soon as her apprehensive voice comes across the line, my heart sinks back down—all the way to my stomach.
Fuck! Where is she?
“Hey,” I sigh.
“Oh no, bad news?
Pouring myself a drink, I take a deep breath and try to calm down. “No news.”
“What is she doing?” she asks
“No fucking clue,” I say trying to keep the bite out of my voice. It’s not Tiff I’m angry with.
“I was planning on heading over to Candace’s but I can come home if you want me to,” she offers. Tiff started seeing a woman who works in the lab at the hospital, which makes me happy. I’ve been so preoccupied with Quinn, it’s been hard to find time to hang with Tiff and she doesn’t have many friends here. Knowing she’s out taking her life back and having fun makes me feel better about not being around quite so much.
“No, go head. I’ll call you if anything changes and I need you.”
Tiff knows me well enough to know that I’m not in the mood to talk right now. “Okay. Talk to you later.”
As I end the call with Tiff, I pour myself another shot, pull up Quinn’s name, and press send. Her voicemail picks up again just as my front door opens with a slow creak.
“Hey,” Quinn says, a sad smile adorning her lips.
I don’t even give her time to take off her coat before I start yelling.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Her brow furrows and confusion spreads across her face. “Jordan’s office meeting with the lawyers.”
“A fucking call would’ve been nice,” I snap. The way she’s looking at me like I should’ve known that only adds to my pissed off mood. “I’ve been going out of my mind here.”
“You heard Jordan say last night to not talk about this over the phone just in case. How did you want me to call you?” she fires back.
For fuck’s sake!
“Quinn, I get your dad is King of the Douches but I highly doubt he has Jordan’s entire office bugged. You could’ve picked up any one of the phones and fucking called me,” I bark. Is she that scared? Or just that inconsiderate?
“I get that you’ve been fighting this fight alone for a while but you aren’t alone any more. You need to learn to think about other people now. I imagined he had chained you up in the basement to sell to a sex slave ring. Jesus Christ, Quinn.”
Her arms cross across her chest as she gets defensive. “I had other priorities, Alex.”
“How would you feel if you didn’t hear from me six hours after my flight landed?” Maybe giving her a different perspective will get her to see. “How would that make you feel? Six hours later and nothing from me. No phone calls. No attempt to simply call and say, ‘Hey, just wanted to call and say hey. Heading out and thinking about you.’ No simple text of emoji. You could’ve called for any reason just so that I knew something. You need to learn to be a little more considerate here.”
Her pissed off glare slowly morphs to guilt then exhaustion. “Sorry. It didn’t really occur to me to think outside the box. But in my defense it’s been nonstop. I’m stressed and frustrated and I kind of need you to cut me some slack please. I’ll try to be a little more insightful.”
I can tell she’s drained and still upset, so I push it all away for right now. I’ve made my point. No reason to hash it out now when something obviously didn’t go right. “Okay. But we’re coming back to this later because I’m pretty pissed about it. What went wrong? Couldn’t find it?”
Quinn finally takes off her coat and sighs. “Oh, I found it. But I need a shot before I tell the rest of the story.”
Turning, she heads toward the kitchen and I follow as she heads straight for the bottle of vodka on the counter.
Wordlessly, Quinn grabs the bottle, pours a shot and downs it all in one giant gulp. A red hue shades her face as a look of disgust follows it.
“How the fuck were you drinking that with no chaser?” she gasps wiping the drops of liquor sitting in the corner of her mouth.
I’m guessing the quick topic change means that Quinn needs a small distraction right now.
You’d never know by her seemingly cool demeanor, perfect black dress pants, and pristine silk blouse that she’s probably freaking the fuck out on the inside. She’s on the verge of crashing and not a hair is out of place. If I didn’t know Quinn, I’d think she was an incredibly hot, in control woman who just drank a nasty shot.
“This coming from the woman whose drink of choice is a dirty martini. Besides, I was too busy to notice the nastiness of it because I was kind of having a heart attack over here.” I smile, giving her the distraction she’s seeking.
She shoots me a sad smile and says “Well, I guess I was doing you a favor then because this tastes like shit.”
Reaching around Quinn, I open the cabinet that I keep the liquor in and step back. “Take your pick of something better. I think Tiff had some wine stocked in there too. Want me to go grab you the sweats you left here last weekend? Seems like you could use something comfortable.”
“Oh my God, yesss,” she agrees, her entire body deflating as she rests her forearms on the counter and hangs her head.
The sound of bottles clanging together as Quinn shifts through them can be heard down the hall as I head to get her clothes. Quinn is struggling with opening a bottle of wine when I get back to the kitchen.
“Here,” I say handing her the clothes. “Go change and I’ll do this.”
“Thanks,” she answers softly and heads toward my bedroom.
While opening the bottle for her, I find it hard to hold on to the anger I was feeling at her when she walked through the door. It was pretty fucked that she didn’t have the decency to call me, but at the same time I understand she’s under a lot of pressure. But I need to remember that this time around I can’t let her walk all over me again. So for now, I’ll let it go until she tells me what went on today.
Grabbing a glass from the other cabinet, I pour Quinn’s wine and get myself a bottle of water from the fridge. With a drink in each hand, I head in to the living room and wait for Quinn.
As soon as she reemerges in her bright pink sweats, I pat the seat next me and say, “Come on. You’ve got some talking to do.”
She grabs her glass off the table before sitting and making herself comfortable. “I found the file,” she says bringing the glass to her lips and taking a sip. “But we can’t do anything with it.”
Huh?
“What do you mean you can’t do anything with it? How is it possible to find a completely fraudulent file and not be able to use it?”
Sighing, she begins explaining to me. “Jordan called our lawyers as soon as I got to his office with the file. After going over it with a fine tooth comb, they said there was nothing they could use. Everything in the file led back to me and only me. Even the bank accounts. He pulled off the perfect plan it seems.”
She sounds so defeated, and that’s not the Quinn I used to know. The old Quinn would’ve grabbed this problem by the balls and stormed through. “You can’t give up.”
“We’re not, yet,” she assures me just before downing half her glass. “Jordan has a friend with the Feds. He reached out to see what she thinks, but he hasn’t heard back from her yet.”
What the fuck? “If he’s got a contact in the FBI, why the hell didn’t he just call her in the first place?”
“Because they used to fuck, and from the way he sounded a little hesitant on calling, it didn’t end well, so he didn’t want to have to call in that favor unless we had to.”
This situation just keeps getting better and better. As soon as she gets a break, it’s like taking twelve steps back. Even th
ough it goes against everything inside me as a man I hope like hell Jordan can pull this off for her. Regardless of how much I hate him being the one saving her, I still need her saved. She can’t keep going on like this. We can’t keep going on like this. How the hell are we supposed to start working on a life together when we’re constantly fighting her father instead of fighting for us? Everything is on the back burner right now and I have a feeling that one day soon everything just might boil over.
“Can you be out of the office by seven tonight?” Alex asks just before I’m about to say goodbye.
It’s freezing today and I have another block until I get to my building. If I hadn’t needed to get out of the office so bad, I would’ve ordered lunch in so I didn’t have to deal with this bitter cold wind. “I’ll probably be done at my office by then, but I have to meet Jordan after,” I tell him as I pull my coat tighter around me.
Sitting inside my office after everything that happened this weekend was getting to be too much for me. I needed to get away. Dr. Stein wasn’t in today so I called Alex instead. Lucky for me he was already heading into the city.
“Meet me outside your building at seven,” Alex instructs me. “We’re going out.”
His timing is terrible. “We can’t go out tonight. Jordan and I are meeting regarding the merger.” We’ve decided to use talking about the merger as a cover for the plan. Alex knows we’ve been waiting to hear from Jordan’s friend. It took Jordan three days to get her to even meet with him about the file. Usually the Feds are jumping to get a tip for a big player, so Jordan must have really fucked this woman over. But now that we have the meeting, I’m not missing it.
“We have a date,” Alex says sternly.
Talking in code sucks because we have no set code. Just guessing at riddles. Anyone listening in would think that we’re high on something. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Chuckling at me in irritation, Alex calmly says, “Seven o’clock. Just trust me, Quinn.”
Because that’s not ominous or anything.
“START EXPLAINING NOW, please,” I demand as soon as I get close enough to Alex to not have to yell.
Irrefutable (The Apprehensive Duet Book 2) Page 15
