Seth cast an uncertain glance at Quinn for guidance. She shrugged. He mirrored her. “Um, you taught me?”
“Why, yes.” Jack whipped around to give her the cheesiest of cheesy grins. “Yes, I did.”
She rolled her eyes in a halfhearted attempt to ignore the sudden ball of motherly emotion clogging her throat. She withdrew from the kitchen and left Seth to fend for himself.
How utterly unfair.
Her son deserved this,
needed
this, a man in his life willing to teach him stupid, important things like how to prepare breakfast for a crowd, how to make a girl laugh, how to treat a kid like a person instead of a nuisance.
She tried to conjure up an image of Blake wielding a spatula and nearly laughed out loud at the mental picture she came up with: Blake, hands on hips, covered in flour, loafer-clad toe tapping wildly and wearing the frowniest of frowns.
A sudden frantic tattoo on the front door broke into her sad musings. Angie had arrived. Quinn pasted a welcoming smile on her face, despite the knowledge her best friend was bound to see right past it to the turmoil beneath, and pulled the door open wide.
Angie had indeed arrived, and with her a gaggle of reporters and photographers. She reached for Quinn with eyes like dinner plates. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.”
A flash blinded Quinn.
“Are the allegations true?”
A thousand
clicks
sounded.
“Why are you protecting him?”
A woman in the back of the gathering shouted over the din. “Has he hit your son?”
“When is the child due?”
Stunned, Quinn gaped at them. When had the rumors gotten so wildly out of control? She focused on trying to pull Angie inside, but her friend was jumbled out of the way, bewildered and perhaps a little panicked, as the aggressive crowd surged toward Quinn.
“Let her through!” she shouted. “Let her through, or I’ll have you arrested!”
A redheaded woman with fierce blue eyes charged past Angie. “Tell us why you’re protecting Jack Decker. Do you believe domestic violence is excusable, Ms. Hazel?”
Quinn’s patience snapped.
Like a sleeping volcano suddenly awakened by the gods, her fury rose, driven forward by weeks of harassment, lies, and unfairness. Spotting Angie farther away, edged out by the mob, spurred her on.
“No one is protecting Jack.
Jack
isn’t even protecting Jack. He doesn’t need protection. Vickie was having an affair, not us. He’s spending time with me to make her jealous. It worked better than he anticipated, and she’s been taking her revenge through you idiots ever since. She
lied
, you understand? Now go thrust your microphone in her face and let my friend through. No further comment.”
A nanosecond of stunned silence elapsed before they exploded into a deafening roar of frantic questions and demands for more information. Angie shoved her way past the last line of people and stumbled over the threshold at last. A thunderous slamming of the front door followed her narrow escape.
Windows rattled. Quinn leaned against the wall and breathed deeply.
She held out her hands. They were shaking.
She’d done something impossible to undo. No telling how Vickie might retaliate, what wild story they’d wake to find in tomorrow’s paper. Vickie’s single remaining weapon, whether she was aware of it or not, was Seth. If she threw out some gnarly story about Quinn’s son, it’d be game over. They’d leave England tomorrow and never come back.
Angie appeared to be in a mild state of shock as she stared at her. “This is nuts. I can’t believe you’ve been living like this.”
“I haven’t been. I mean, it’s never been this bad. Well, except for the mob yesterday. That was bad.”
Jack laid a hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing.”
She jerked away. She didn’t need the coward who’d been too scared to do it himself waxing poetic on her valiant effort to save herself from abuse she suffered thanks to him. “You bet it was, but it wasn’t my place to do it. You should’ve let it slip weeks ago about Vickie’s affair. It would’ve never gotten to this point in the first place.”
He didn’t move to close the distance between them. “I should’ve fanned the flames, given them juicy gossip, turned her slandering into a public battle? Eventually someone would’ve offered me a whole lot of money to hear every nasty thing I have to say about Vickie. That would’ve made everything better?”
“She’s getting paid to make up lies? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m saying there’s more than one way to earn a pound in this industry. She didn’t tell the stories for free and she’ll earn twice that for setting the record straight. It’s called publicity. Good, bad, victim, villain, doesn’t matter. People like Vickie take it however they can get it.”
Quinn shook her head. “How Vickie wants to make a buck is irrelevant. You should’ve stood up for yourself. How are you any better than her? You willingly took the victim’s role and let her get away with it. You should’ve told the truth, but you let me do it for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“No, you’re right. You only asked me to live with the consequences of you refusing to.”
He paused, appearing taken aback, but quickly recovered. “I had good reasons, Quinnie. It only gets worse. She already has their ear. Imagine how close they’ll be listening to what she’s got to say next. You’re old hat, but what’s to stop her from making your family her next target? Payback is her religion. You expect to get away with calling her out like that? Look at what she did to me, and all I ever did was refuse to go on a bloody date.”
Quinn threw her hands up and searched the ceiling for deliverance. “Then why pat me on the back and say I did the right thing?”
Jack tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels. “For a moment I was convinced I’d be bailing you out of jail for assault. Considering the alternatives, I’d say you chose the better outlet for your frustration. Doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences.”
Angie grinned. She was apparently over the shock. “He’s got a point. Talk about giving them a story.”
“I’d never actually hit someone.” As if the lot of them didn’t know better.
Seth, who’d watched the whole episode in stunned silence, piped up. “Man, but that would’ve been
so
cool.”
Quinn bid Seth good night and closed her office door. She whirled around and bumped directly into Jack’s solid chest. He’d snuck up behind her, the scoundrel. “Don’t do that.”
He wore his serious face and didn’t move an inch. “Are you done yet?”
“Am I done what?” Hiding things from him? No, not yet.
“Ignoring me. I’m not going away, Quinnie. The unsaid won’t lose its need to be said.”
A sudden weariness came over her. The last two days had been nothing short of chaos, and tomorrow likely held one more ugly surprise. As if sensing her will crumbling, Jack took her by the elbow and gently guided her toward the kitchen. “Let me put on some coffee.”
“It’s too late. Let’s do this in the morning.”
“The morning comes with an extra set of ears. Not to mention a brand-new obstacle to overcome in the form of Vickie’s reciprocation.”
Voicing her inner fears didn’t help. “I don’t want to do this.”
“We have to. C’mon, give me a few minutes.”
“Fine. Two minutes.”
“Give me five.”
Soon, they were seated at the dining table with mugs of chamomile warming their hands. Jack insisted it wasn’t a proper sit-down without refreshment of some sort and somehow convinced her the tea-making process shouldn’t count against his time. Not fair play, but Quinn wasn’t going to argue tea with a Brit, even if he was technically Irish.
He began. “Vickie.”
Quinn dropped her forehead onto the table. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s not do this.”
“How can you want to ignore this thing between us?”
She didn’t answer. She lifted her head along with one brow and waited.
He sat forward. “I can guess what went through your mind when you saw me at Vickie’s, but I truly went for the same reason you were there. We only differed in our opinions of how the little powwow ought to go. You were going to tell her our relationship is a sham, and it would’ve backfired horribly.”
“If anything has backfired, it’s everything we intended to accomplish by faking it in the first place. This started as a way to wait out the publicity, give it time to die down. The exact opposite happened. Vickie went nuts. If you take me out of the equation, she’ll no longer have a reason to attack you.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. My point is, I wasn’t there to rekindle a dead flame. I went to speak to her about your boy, hoping to use common decency as a weapon. Dragging an innocent kid into this mess is going too far, even for her.”
Quinn considered Jack while he talked. Not his usual pockmarked, dancing speech but with a practiced ease. He’d rehearsed every word of his monologue.
He was acting.
She gave him a resigned smile. “What aren’t you telling me, Jack?” Last chance for honesty. Last chance to give her something real, something to put her trust and blind faith in.
A hesitation, a blink, and a smooth answer gave nothing away. “That’s it.”
Her heart didn’t fall in a burning heap onto the floor, but it definitely shrunk back into her chest, slumped and dejected.
What did Jack want from her? If he wanted a real relationship, why had he just lied to her? If his conversation with Vickie was really about Seth, why keep it a secret? She didn’t have the time to waste trying to figure out Jack Decker and his motives. She’d learned from Blake how hard it could be to move on but also that she would. One day, she would. “Well, Vickie didn’t listen, did she? In fact, I’d say your idea backfired horribly.” She stood to leave.
“Wait, there’s something else. Damn it, I forgot. Listen, Seth told me something the other night.”
“Tell me.”
“I shouldn’t—”
Patience. She had none. “You shouldn’t what, Jack? Go behind Seth’s back? If you’ve got some special information, tell me. Otherwise, this conversation is over.”
He folded his hands together and gave her a dour stare. “All right, love. Have it your way. What’s one more adult letting him down, eh? Seems Blake’s wife is still a mistress. Someone else’s, that is. Kira realizes Seth’s privy to the information and has made his life hell for it. Also, and here’s the real humdinger, Blake’s new baby isn’t actually Blake’s new baby. He belongs to some chap named Carter—a horrible, terrible name if I ever heard one.”
Quinn’s stomach clenched tighter with every word. By the end of the short statement she was convinced it was appendicitis. “But why? How did he . . . He didn’t
tell
Blake?”
Jack’s brilliant eyes lit with challenge. “Would you? Blake ignores him, lets Kira treat him like crap. What allegiance does the boy owe a father like that?”
Quinn wanted to shake herself until every last drop of stupidity and self-righteousness left her body. “I’m so stupid. I didn’t take him seriously. I didn’t pay it any mind. Oh, my God, I didn’t even
ask
. I blamed his behavior on them, but why didn’t I talk to him? I’m a terrible mother.”
Jack came around to put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be daft. How are Kira’s actions your fault? Seth probably wouldn’t have told you if you’d asked, anyhow.”
“What made him open up to you?”
Jack reclaimed his chair with an easy shrug. “I don’t have a dad. He’s got a crap dad. We’ve something in common, he and I. Now, listen, about Vickie
—
”
“Damn it, Jack, come off it already. I don’t care about Vickie.” She abruptly stood up without realizing what she intended to do until the words were in the air. “Our fake relationship is exactly that. Fake. It doesn’t matter why you went to Vickie’s because it’s none of my business. I apologize for how I reacted. We’d slept together recently, and there’s this trust thing us women tend to equivocate with sex, ridiculous as it sounds. The truth is, I’m glad this happened. We both needed a wake-up call, a little something to remind us this is a game we’re playing, and it’s about to end.”
She found her resolve and confessed. “I’m leaving London. Contrary to how it may seem, this has nothing to do with Vickie or even you. I have responsibilities as a mother, and while it’s been fun, Jack, it’s time for me to get back to reality.” Doing her best to ignore the hurt and disbelief on his face, she plowed ahead. “Besides, my deadline changed. There’s only another couple of weeks left for me to finish the manuscript.”
She rushed past him, determined to be behind a locked door. Jack was liable to come after her, bang on the door and demand to talk. She locked it in case, but needn’t have bothered.
There wasn’t a sound the rest of the night.
Chapter 17
J
ack leaned to scratch Biscuit behind the ears as he ambled alongside him on the dark London streets. The gesture of comfort was more for himself than the dog. Indeed, Biscuit was quite happy to be out and about on a surprise jaunt through the city, wholly unconcerned that the time on Jack’s watch read one in the morning.
Quinn’s harsh announcement had broken some sort of code. They were
nice
to one another. Honest, but not unkind.
Until tonight. She hadn’t let him down easy or revealed an ounce of true regret in her decision. She’d been angry.
And now, so was he.
Angrier than he’d ever been at Vickie for any of her stunts. Maybe angrier than he’d ever been in his adult life. He was seeped in a fearful, irrational ire straight to his core.
He abhorred cowards. Despised them, even. How had he gone and fallen in love with one? Quinn was a big, fat coward and a liar to boot.
Vickie
did
matter to her. Seth’s predicament didn’t explain Quinn’s anger, impatience, and arctic temperament. It was personal, no matter how adamantly she claimed otherwise.
Unfortunately for the both of them, rejection didn’t suit him. He wouldn’t beg, plead, or bargain with Quinn for her future. He wanted only what she’d willingly give, and she’d made it clear she had nothing for him.
Instead, she chose to run scared. No matter what case he brought before her or how convincing he might be, she’d leave.
Because that’s what cowards did. They left.
He dismissed the notion he was doing the exact same thing. It’s hardly running away if you’ve been dismissed. He was doing nothing more than letting Quinn have it her way. He’d gain nothing from spilling his guts but a pretty little speech about how it would never work between them, and it was one rejection too many from Ms. Quinn Buzzly.
She wanted to leave. Fine. He’d let her.
Never say he wasn’t a giving man.
Hours later, Jack cursed as his big toe struck the dresser in the dark motel room. He ignored the pain in his scramble for his mobile, which he’d left sitting atop the old bubble-screened telly. Putting it out of immediate reach would not, in fact, keep him from answering it when Quinn made that inevitable call.
Lesson learned.
He was angry still, but not so much he wanted her to worry. He’d reassure her, albeit in a stiff and unfriendly manner as befitted his current emotional condition, and end the conversation.
He wanted his absence to be the real deal, a done thing, but alas, he wasn’t finished with Quinn, not by a long shot. Hopefully, finding him gone would force her to reevaluate priorities. Did she truly want him to disappear from her life?
No, of course she didn’t.
How could she? They were meant to be together.
“What?” The sleep in his voice aided the gruff answer.
“Jack? Have I got the right number?” Someone
—
someone not Quinn
—
mumbled with doubt.
He deflated like a week-old balloon. He glanced at the clock next to the king-sized bed and racked his sleep-deprived, anxiety-ridden brain. Five in the morning. What on God’s green earth did Emily Buzzly want with him at five in the morning?
Tricks. His brain was playing tricks. “Who’s this?”
“Emily.” A small cough. “Quinn’s sister. This is kind of weird, but I’d like to talk if you can get away. Can you meet me somewhere without Quinn finding out?”
The request caught him wholly off guard. Intrigued, he didn’t hang up right away as he’d intended to upon identifying the caller. “I suppose. If it’s important.”
Instinctually, he ascertained Emily Buzzly wasn’t on his side. He’d come to terms with it the moment they’d met, and she’d offered him a grim smile and a curt, if not outright rude, greeting.
Despite her chilly attitude, he’d grinned at having discovered the secret behind Seth’s thick, dark hair. One Buzzly family mystery solved.
“Let’s avoid adding any more heat to the current scandal. Have a taxi take you to Simon’s Eatery in Camden. The coffee is decent.” Jack hung up without waiting for confirmation. She’d be there or she wouldn’t; either way he’d have a nice cup of the good stuff while he tried to figure out what Quinn’s big sister was up to.
And Quinn.
He was still angry, hurt, and seething. She probably hadn’t discovered him missing yet and thus hadn’t tried to ring. He expected that to end the moment she awoke without freshly brewed coffee to greet her. The phone calls would start pouring in like waves.
And go unanswered, he vowed.
Sheepishly, he recalled his mad sprint to reach his mobile. Next time he’d be steely and determined.
And probably bite his thumbnails to the quick.
Twenty minutes later, he entered the rendezvous point in Camden and spotted Emily straightaway.
The mirror in his hotel room had quite a story for him, mostly about a man who hadn’t slept well, shaved, or showered thanks to yesterday’s clothing still resting on his back. He’d looked a bit mean, a bit unkempt, and intended to use it to his advantage against Quinn’s sister.
He slid into the booth across from her and settled into character. Acting the part wasn’t hard. He was positively peeved.
She took him in and grimaced. “Are you okay?”
He stared back. “Noticed I’m not at my best, have you? Keen eye.”
She clasped her hands together and glanced around the small diner. “No need to be surly.”
He gave her a grin that didn’t come within a kilometer of a true smile. “That so?” A waif of a waitress with a limp ponytail approached their table. “Coffee.” His gaze never left Emily’s as he barked the order.
She responded by offering the waitress an apologetic half smile. “I’ll have the same, thank you.” The waitress, appearing relieved, dashed away, and Emily braved eye contact for the first time. Dark brown, he noted. The same shade as her hair. “There’s no need to terrorize the girl. And yes, it is so. I’m doing you a favor.”
Oh, right. Because doing your enemy a favor wasn’t strange in the least.
He let his genuine dislike for her show plainly on his face, no acting required. “Like a double-edged sword, I suspect. But go on, I can’t wait to hear how Quinn’s lovely sister is going to help old Jack.”
It pleased him to no end when Emily involuntarily drew back. “Okay. Fine. I believe someone needs to reason with you in regards to my little sister. Your relationship started as a sham and will end a joke. It’s got the shelf life of a tomato. When it’s over, Quinn will be the one to suffer while you run off with the next supermodel in line.” She began shaky but gathered steam as she warmed to her subject and climbed higher and higher on her podium of righteousness. “You’d be cruel to prolong the inevitable any further. Besides, she’s going home soon and will have life-changing decisions to face. Having you around will only hinder her from making sound choices concerning not only her future, but her son’s.” Emily chewed the inside of her cheek and wrung her hands.
Jack let her stew in her discomfort while he took his time sifting through the nonsense she’d spat out with the urgency of one in dire need of the loo. “Choices, you say? Which choices do you imagine I stand in the way of?”
With an air of finality, she made the very remark he’d prayed to never hear. “Quinn belongs with Blake.”
His hair stood on end at the mention of the man’s name, but Jack kept his cool. The waitress arrived with mugs of coffee and a small container of cream they had no need for. This meeting wouldn’t last long enough for Emily to doctor anything besides the wounded pride he was about to provide free of charge. “She has no interest in Blake. Sorry, but that sort of thing usually takes two, doesn’t it?”
Emily shook her head, eyes closed.
It irked him. It was all-knowing, the sort of head-shaking you get from someone who’s got more information than you.
“Blake wants
her
. You’re the only thing standing in between them and possible reconciliation.” She leaned forward, pleading with her muddy-brown eyes. “He’s the father of her son. Her husband of fifteen years. Compared to him, you’re a blip. She has the chance to make her family whole again, to give Seth his old life back. Is it worth a few months of fun and games to ruin her second chance at a happy ending?”
“Perfect rubbish. You make it sound very pretty, but garbage is garbage is garbage, Emily.” He smirked. “You’re dreaming, darling, and so’s he. Tell me, has Quinn been made privy to these grand plans to repossess her like some old car he threw away and wants back because the shiny new model has a mileage discrepancy? Been around the block a few more times than was advertised?”
Emily ignored his jab at Kira, but not without a slight frown. Her focus didn’t stray, however. “I told Quinn myself the first day we arrived. She’s well aware of Blake’s intentions.”
Jack was glad he couldn’t see his own face at that moment.
The sudden apologetic expression on Emily’s face said she could, though, and clearly. She glanced away, suddenly awkward, and drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I guess she didn’t mention it.”
“No. No, she didn’t.”
The small nugget of undisclosed information helped to define the edges of a few blurry circumstances. Among them, Quinn’s tension with her sister and why she’d pulled back from him.
It had nothing to do with Vickie. How incredibly narcissistic he’d been to assume it had. Rather, she’d used the misunderstanding involving his ex to make an easy break. She wasn’t hurt and confused but consumed with ideas of reuniting with her ex-husband.
With Emily whispering such fine nonsense in her ear as he’d witnessed firsthand this morning, did he blame her? Blake’s the father of her son, her first love, her husband of fifteen years.
If she wanted to forget he also happened to be a philandering turd, there was little Jack could do about it. He’d have made an entirely different case last night had he’d known it was his last chance to make one.
His deepest fear had come true. His fault, really. She’d told him how she felt last night, hadn’t she? He was the one who refused to accept that whatever was between them was one-sided. Sure, Quinn liked him all right, but she obviously hadn’t experienced the same blinding revelation as he had.
It was over, and he’d been a delusional lout for most of it.
Much as he adored Quinn, he had no interest in second place or being anyone’s backup plan. He wouldn’t be the man waiting anxiously in the wings for Quinn’s relationship with Blake to fall apart a second time, which it undoubtedly would because Blake was a plonker who’d probably have a replacement mistress in a matter of weeks.
Jack absently hoped the tightness in his chest wasn’t a heart attack as he rose. He tipped his head in farewell. “You win. Tell Seth I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye. I’ll send him a postcard from Portugal.”
Quinn dialed Blake before so much as stepping into her robe.
No answer. No surprise.
He and Kira were supposed to be on their honeymoon, which seemed strange considering Blake had one foot out the door, according to Emily. The other foot was bound to follow once he learned about Hunter. She detested the role of messenger, but even a jerk like Blake deserved the truth.
She vaguely noted the lack of chicory coffee aroma drifting into her room. Maybe Jack had slept in.
She chuckled. Jack could hardly sit still long enough to squeeze in six hours at a stretch. Sleeping in must be some form of unusual, if not cruel, punishment.
Strange only became stranger when she entered a dark kitchen, devoid of both Jack and freshly brewed coffee. Her office door was closed, a sure sign Seth remained fast asleep on the other side.
The last place Jack would’ve been lay bare. In fact, the couch appeared to have barely been touched. The blankets weren’t in the usual neat stack Jack left them in, but nor were they scattered. Sat on, maybe, but not slept on. It was like he’d gotten up in the night for a glass of water and hadn’t come back. A quick search revealed Biscuit was also MIA.
Maybe he’d gone for a walk. It didn’t stop the ridiculous pang of hurt in her chest that he’d neglect to make her coffee. Stupid of her to take a mundane task so personally, but Jack always made her coffee.
Signed, sealed, delivered with a peck on the cheek.
She returned to the kitchen in low spirits and began preparations for the family breakfast she’d volunteered to host yesterday in a rash move to get everyone together. If Jack hadn’t returned by the time she started frying sausage, she’d brew the coffee herself.
It wouldn’t taste the same, but she’d be the only one to know better.
An entire day gone without a single word from Jack.
A mass of tangled emotions—anxiety, anger, hurt, and bewilderment to name a few—distracted her the entire day. They were a frustrating element to what should’ve been one of the best days ever. Her dream city and her family close enough to hug. She couldn’t ask for more.
Except, of course, the whereabouts of one Jack Decker.
Dad, Emily, and Angie were back at Madeline’s. She and Seth were alone for the first time in months, and for several hours he’d been enough to keep her mind occupied. Once he slipped off to bed, however, her anxiety returned with force.
Where the
hell
was Jack?
She caved and dialed his cell. Disconnected. She scratched her head. Stranger and stranger. Next, she called Glen, his publicist. No answer, but she left a message informing him Jack was missing and to please get back to her with any information he had, no matter how late.
A few minutes shy of midnight a knock sounded at the front door. If she hadn’t been stewing on the couch, she probably would’ve missed the quiet tapping. She nearly broke her neck racing to open the door.