Page 3 of Love Marks
Answer him, you idiot!
“Quinn. Quinn Helena Taylor.”
Holy shit. Why did I say my middle name? I hate my middle name. It’s what old ladies at Bingo are named, not hot, mysterious women. I think my face must be red because it feels like it’s on fire with the blush I’m sporting. If he notices the middle name thing, he doesn’t say anything, but I swear the corner of his mouth twitches. Just a little.
“Quinn, I’d like you to do something for me. In about ten minutes, a Mr. Adleman from Hyatt is going to come and pick up this folder.” He holds it out to me. “The information in here is very sensitive. Do you understand?”
I nod, dumbly, and reach out for the folder.
“You’re to hand this folder to him, and only him, yes?”
“Alright.”
Both our hands are still on the folder. He hasn’t released it. His eyes are staring into mine, searching. It’s intense. I clear my throat.
“I understand, sir. I’ll wait for Mr. Adleman.”
He finally releases the folder and I almost stumble back. I hadn’t realized I was gripping it so hard. I suddenly want to know what’s in the folder. What is so important to the illustrious Wesley Marks.
“Thank you. I’m trusting you to handle this with discretion.”
“Of course, Mr. Marks.”
“Wesley.”
My heart flutters like a damned butterfly. Those, too, in my stomach. I feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. I’m like a walking embodiment of the heart-eye emoji.
“You can count on me, Wesley.”
I smile and he does not. His face is a mask, betraying nothing. With a single nod of his head, he turns on his heels, and walks out the door.
I stare down at the folder. Why didn’t he just wait and give it over to Mr. Adleman himself? Better yet, join the rest of us in the 21st Century and shoot the guy an email. Whatever. I don’t bother questioning the business deals that go down here. I assume some of them are shady, otherwise why would they need to be so private?
I pack up my bag and say goodnight to the kitchen staff. I put my coat on and watch the clock on the wall.
Come on, Adleman. Some of us have a long train ride home.
My eyes are drooping when a heavy hand drops on my shoulder. I scream a little and my eyes fly open. Ian is standing right behind me, one eyebrow raised at my little outburst.
“I thought you left!” I shriek. “You scared me.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “What are you still doing here? Everyone else has left, right?”
“Mr. Marks asked me to wait and deliver this to someone coming by for it, a Mr. Adleman.”
He eyes the folder in my hand and nods.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I got it. You can go.” He reaches for the folder, and I take a step back.
I don’t know how to explain Wesley’s intense request. “Well, he asked me to do it.”
Ian furrows his brow a little and shakes his head. His impatience is written all over his face.
“It’s fine, Quinn. Head on home. I know you’ve got a long commute ahead. I have a few more things to handle anyway and could be here a while.”
I stare down at the folder. It suddenly feels very heavy in my hands. Very significant. But Ian is already reaching for it, and I feel weird gripping it, remembering the strange battle between Wesley and I when he handed it off to me. So, I let go. Ian shuffles the papers on the desk and doesn’t look up at me, even though I’m still standing there, staring down at the folder. Finally, he looks up.
“You good? Need me to call you a car or something?” He asks.