“I don’t have time for distractions right now,” I reminded him.
“Love is not a distraction.” Riggs tilted his head aggressively. “It’s the point. You and Quinn are stronger as a team, ever think of that?”
I had, more than once. But I was afraid to let myself believe it for real.
Hux tapped his chin. “Hey, does Quinn know what you did to his ex? Because if you need a way to get back in Quinn’s good graces—”
I shot him a look.
“Fine, fine, shutting up now.” Hux mimed zipping his lips. Then he unzipped them a fraction of a second later. “Except, just to say, you should probably loop Quinn in before he hears it somewhere else.” He zipped back up.
“Sorting out my… my dating life is not getting me into that fucking vault,” I reminded them all.
I was barely keeping a handle on my temper, and I needed to get us focused back on the job before I went racing out after Quinn with my tail between my legs.
Riggs took his seat again. “Boss, I already told you, there’s not much more to do right now. We can handle this ourselves while you go tell Quinn—”
“Jesus Christ, Riggs, find your balls and reattach them! The mission comes first,” I snapped, hating the words even as I said them. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
The teasing grin fell from Riggs’s face and was replaced by a stone-cold stare. “How many times do I have to tell you that it really fucking doesn’t? Respectfully, sir, my partner comes first. Always. He happens to be a really patient person—thank fuck—which is why I’m still here at this hour on a Saturday night. Because if it came down to him or this job? Well, I love you all like my own brothers, and I’d miss working with you a lot, but there are a million clients out there, a million ways to serve. There is only one Carter Rogers. Only one man that I love.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to me. “Also, my balls have nothing to do with this job, so let me tell you where you can stow that toxic bullshit.”
Jordan clapped silently.
“Don’t you ever forget that the job won’t love you back,” Riggs said more quietly. “Keep putting the mission above the person you care about and you’ll end up just like douchebag Vince. I’m sure the DEA isn’t keeping him warm at night.”
Before I could tell Riggs to shut the fuck up, he turned back to his computer and woke it up with an aggressive click of his mouse.
Hux didn’t turn around to stare, but Jordan did. When they opened their mouth to share his own stupid wisdom, I shut them down. “Where is my fucking vault, Jordan? Not a word out of you until it’s here. Understood?”
They sighed and nodded before settling back at their own workstation. Before long, the only sound in the room was the clicking of keys on keyboards and the silent screams of my gut begging me to go out to the farm as soon as possible to check on Quinn.
Riggs’s final comment about Vince replayed in my head, reminding me that Vince had, in fact, chosen work over our relationship. And it had hurt like a bitch.
It’s not the same at all because Quinn and I aren’t in a relationship.
I remembered the look of betrayal and hurt on Quinn’s face when he’d stormed in here tonight, the roil in my gut when I felt the wrongness of my actions, the recent realization I slept more soundly when tangled up with him in the same bed, the red-hot anger I’d felt when Trey fucking Dunwoody had come on to him in the back room of his shop.
We weren’t in a relationship. We were simply forty-five days into the hottest, sweetest, most fulfilling one-night stand I’d ever known.
Which was why, when I finally made my way back to the farmhouse and found Quinn’s bedroom door locked, I felt both like beating the hell out of myself for stupidly developing feelings for the man… and crying myself to sleep because I’d fucked it all up.
17
QUINN
I deliberately put earplugs in after getting home from the SnoBall so I wouldn’t know whether or not Champ came knocking that night.
Okay, no, let’s be honest—I put them in because I knew if I heard him knock, I’d cave. Angry as I was at him, I still wanted him in my bed. I still craved his arms around me and his gruff voice in my ear.
Fucking asshole.
Ava had solemnly promised me that venting my feelings would make me feel better, but she’d lied. After leaving Champ’s office the night before, I’d felt nothing but mortified, drunk, and heartsick, and I’d lain awake for hours.
But after sleeping like crap, I woke up this morning determined to put Percival Champion behind me and focus on the wedding. Thanks to Bunny—who I really owed a lunch, or a dinner, or my firstborn child out of sheer gratitude—I’d landed a bucketful of potential new event clients, and Anita Shelton had already texted to ask if I could meet this morning at my office before she and her mom went back to Nashville.