said, “Does Meredith know?”
“Does Meredith know what?”
“About the Summerhill girl.”
“Of course Meredith knows about her. They’re working together.”
“And Meredith doesn’t care?”
“You know you sound like an old gossip.” Jack frowned. “Why would Meredith care?”
“She’s your fiancée.”
“Not anymore, and she’s the one who broke off the engagement.”
“Meredith is a sweet, delicate lady.”
Jack snorted. “Meredith is steely and cold in the center.”
“Sometimes, boy, you don’t have the sense of a mule.”
Jack threw his hands in the air. “What does that mean?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” There was a rustling, and then his father’s voice fell into a whisper. “Gotta go. Your mama’s looking for me. I miss you, son.”
“Miss you, too, Dad,” Jack said, hanging up the phone as a knock sounded at his door. “Come in,” he yelled.
Quinn opened the door, swinging a large pair of ladies leopard-print briefs on his index finger. “Was there a party here last night I wasn’t aware of?”
The red underwear had disappeared, so he figured it’d been time to up the ante. Quinn was lucky he hadn’t bought edible underwear and hung it with a bite taken out. “She was a wild girl.”
“And abundant.” Quinn rehung the panties on the doorknob and closed the door. “Your panties are the topic of conversation around the water cooler, but I assured the staff you only wear them every other Sunday.”
“You’re a pal.” Then he frowned. “Actually, you’re not a pal. What are you doing telling my dad about Portia?”
Quinn’s face settled into the impassive mask he portrayed when he did business. He pulled up a chair and crossed his legs. “I report to Hiram about everything business related, and that includes when your personal life and the company intersect.”
“My personal life is nowhere near Portia.”
“Not yet, but you’d like it to be.” Quinn picked a bit of lint off his pant leg. “And knowing you, you’re headed in that direction already.”
Jack frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You always accomplish what you set out to do, and women find you irresistible.”
He crossed his arms as he leaned back and propped his boots on the desk. “At least you didn’t say I couldn’t resist her legs.”
“I figured it was redundant to state it.” Quinn straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “The fact of the matter is that you don’t know what her motives are.”
“Yes, I do.” When she’d talked about the museum job and how the only way she’d get it was if she delivered that stupid tiara to the director, her heart was in her eyes. She wanted that job the same way he wanted to be free of Waite Hotel Group. He’d wanted to go have a talk with that museum director and tell him what an ass he was for not hiring her right off. Anyone who cared that much about a job was going to excel at it.
“What do you know?” Quinn asked, pulling him back into the moment. “You have no idea what this tiara is or how much it’s worth. What is she going to do with it? What if she’s conning us?”
“She’s not conning us, and if she were, she’d be conning me.” But he knew she wasn’t. “You have nothing to do with the deal.”
Quinn stared at him for a long silent moment. Then he stood. “I hope you’re right.”
“Funny how you don’t mention when your personal and business life intersect.” Jack grinned as his right-hand man stopped and gave him a warning look. “When do we get to have that conversation?”
“Never.” Quinn turned and left the office.
Leaving Jack feeling vindicated.
And he was right about Portia. It was Reginald Summerhill he had doubts about. The man had sold his birthright for money without any thought to it, its contents, or his family’s future. What if he’d sold the tiara separately? It wouldn’t have been surprising.
And then what would Portia do?
It wasn’t his
“Does Meredith know what?”
“About the Summerhill girl.”
“Of course Meredith knows about her. They’re working together.”
“And Meredith doesn’t care?”
“You know you sound like an old gossip.” Jack frowned. “Why would Meredith care?”
“She’s your fiancée.”
“Not anymore, and she’s the one who broke off the engagement.”
“Meredith is a sweet, delicate lady.”
Jack snorted. “Meredith is steely and cold in the center.”
“Sometimes, boy, you don’t have the sense of a mule.”
Jack threw his hands in the air. “What does that mean?”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” There was a rustling, and then his father’s voice fell into a whisper. “Gotta go. Your mama’s looking for me. I miss you, son.”
“Miss you, too, Dad,” Jack said, hanging up the phone as a knock sounded at his door. “Come in,” he yelled.
Quinn opened the door, swinging a large pair of ladies leopard-print briefs on his index finger. “Was there a party here last night I wasn’t aware of?”
The red underwear had disappeared, so he figured it’d been time to up the ante. Quinn was lucky he hadn’t bought edible underwear and hung it with a bite taken out. “She was a wild girl.”
“And abundant.” Quinn rehung the panties on the doorknob and closed the door. “Your panties are the topic of conversation around the water cooler, but I assured the staff you only wear them every other Sunday.”
“You’re a pal.” Then he frowned. “Actually, you’re not a pal. What are you doing telling my dad about Portia?”
Quinn’s face settled into the impassive mask he portrayed when he did business. He pulled up a chair and crossed his legs. “I report to Hiram about everything business related, and that includes when your personal life and the company intersect.”
“My personal life is nowhere near Portia.”
“Not yet, but you’d like it to be.” Quinn picked a bit of lint off his pant leg. “And knowing you, you’re headed in that direction already.”
Jack frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You always accomplish what you set out to do, and women find you irresistible.”
He crossed his arms as he leaned back and propped his boots on the desk. “At least you didn’t say I couldn’t resist her legs.”
“I figured it was redundant to state it.” Quinn straightened his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “The fact of the matter is that you don’t know what her motives are.”
“Yes, I do.” When she’d talked about the museum job and how the only way she’d get it was if she delivered that stupid tiara to the director, her heart was in her eyes. She wanted that job the same way he wanted to be free of Waite Hotel Group. He’d wanted to go have a talk with that museum director and tell him what an ass he was for not hiring her right off. Anyone who cared that much about a job was going to excel at it.
“What do you know?” Quinn asked, pulling him back into the moment. “You have no idea what this tiara is or how much it’s worth. What is she going to do with it? What if she’s conning us?”
“She’s not conning us, and if she were, she’d be conning me.” But he knew she wasn’t. “You have nothing to do with the deal.”
Quinn stared at him for a long silent moment. Then he stood. “I hope you’re right.”
“Funny how you don’t mention when your personal and business life intersect.” Jack grinned as his right-hand man stopped and gave him a warning look. “When do we get to have that conversation?”
“Never.” Quinn turned and left the office.
Leaving Jack feeling vindicated.
And he was right about Portia. It was Reginald Summerhill he had doubts about. The man had sold his birthright for money without any thought to it, its contents, or his family’s future. What if he’d sold the tiara separately? It wouldn’t have been surprising.
And then what would Portia do?
It wasn’t his
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