He was in my life in a professional capacity, nothing more.
But he was still just looking at me, eyes expectant, hand still gently framing my jaw.
What came next simply burst out of me without any conscious thought. I swear I was surprised when the words filled the air, like they came from somewhere else, not from my lungs, from my tongue.
“It’s been lonely here.” The words dripped with truth, painted pictures of me alone in my home, no phone nearby because no one ever called, no one to open carefully chosen, red and white striped gifts with on Christmas, no one to get champagne silly with, then pop confetti wands with, and kiss at midnight on New Years, no memories of fun nights out with friends, laughing until my belly hurt, smiling until my cheeks did, no visions of cuddling close under the covers with a man I cared enough for to share not only my body, but my time, my self.
There was too much of me in those four little words.
“Know how I spent New Years last year?” he asked, seeing the same things I did, as I knew he would. I felt my head nod, not wanting to speak, to possibly ruin the moment. “I was in a hotel room in Milwaukee, looking down at the couples walking down the street from my room perched above it all, whiskey in hand, feeling every bit like an outsider, like I was missing out on something everyone else enjoyed. It was just another day of work for me.”
He’s been lonely too.
It was a strange thing in life how we so often forget that men, especially wealthy and powerful and gorgeous men, were capable of our same emotions, our same wants, drives, and desires.
I could picture him up there in his suite, all the comforts that money could buy. And none of them that money couldn’t.
“I fell asleep on my couch before the ball even dropped,” I admitted, leaving out the fact that I had maybe done a small, very small, bit of crying before sleep finally took away the twinge of sadness.
“Tell you what,” he said, thumb stroking slightly up my cheek. “If we’re both not doing anything, how about we do something for New Years? No reason for us both to be sad loners when we can be…” he paused, seeming to struggle for a second, “friends.”
“I can get behind that,” I agreed, though there was a small, aching feeling in my chest as I said it. “But I am not flying to Milwaukee.”
“1600 Broadway, #7C.”
“Hm?”
“That’s the address to my apartment in the city. 1600 Broadway, #7C. That is where I will be this New Years. If you have nothing going on and don’t want to be alone, it is a short train ride away.”
“I want champagne and confetti wands. And a hat that says New Years on it.”
His smile was warm as his hand dropped. “I think I can make that work,” he agreed, sitting back up straight. Whether he realized it or not, it was a wall he was putting back up.
He wasn’t Quinton Baird, the guy who was willing to spend New Years with a fellow lonely soul. He was Quinton Baird, my fixer.
I took a breath, trying to tamp down the disappointment, trying to remind myself that friends didn’t get upset about this little stuff.
“Want to head back?” he asked, but he was already putting the car into reverse.
“Yeah, quick, before anyone else sees this,” I said, motioning to my face as he turned to look out the back window. Levity, the moment needed a little.
But Quin wasn’t going to let me have it.
“Don’t say that,” he told me, tone both pleading and demanding at once.
With that, we drove back to the office in stony silence.
A part of me had ideas of confetti and a glittery ball and champagne giggles. The other part, though, couldn’t get past the coolness in the car, the change in just a split second.
“Hey pretty lady!” Kai greeted from where he was perched on Jules’s desk, absentmindedly stirring the pens in her holder around.
Jules, seemingly as oblivious as Quin had once claimed, was thumbing through some paperwork.
Quin moved past me, fingers casually touching my hip for less than a blink, then disappearing down the hall. I turned to watch his back leave, a falling feeling in my belly.
“Hey Kai,” I said with a forced smile, as Jules’s hand slapped down on his, making the brushing sound of the pens moving stop immediately.
“Quit that,” she demanded softly, sounding distracted.
I did not miss, however, the way Kai’s gaze went down, looking at her hand over his. And, God, it was almost painful to witness the look of wonder, hope, and longing.
Never had a man looked at me that way before.
Chances were, no one ever would.