Page 31 of Love Marks

“Anyway, enjoy your meal. Sorry again for staying so late.” I wipe my hands off and grab my bag and coat from the coat hanger.

“Miss Taylor.” He moves closer and stops me with his hand, the contact sending a jolt through me. He must feel it too because he retracts his hand almost immediately.

“Thank you,” he spits the words out like they are nearly impossible to get out.

No smile either, but I’ll take what I can get. I shrug like it’s no big deal and offer an award-winning grin of my own, hoping it might catch on, but nothing.

“No problem. Bye!”

I run out of there like a bullet. My arm is still tingling from where he touched me. It’s warm. In fact, my whole body feels flush.

Get a grip!

This is worse than the anger from before. I try to bring some of it back up, replaying our conversation from last week. It tugs at me, still, but the rage is gone, replaced with some weird uneasiness. Somewhere between angry, sad, and wanting. But most of all — confused as hell.

I miss my rage. Come back, rage!

It’s no use. As hard as I try, my fire-burning anger has fizzled out a little. This time as I ride over the bridge back to Brooklyn, all I can think about is Wesley’s soft, pleading voice and the way his hand felt wrapped around my arm.

Chapter 16

Wesley

I stare down at the feast in front of me, which looks incredible. I glance around my empty apartment, my thoughts wandering yet again to the blue-eyed vixen who is apparently a chef in her own right.

I sit down and dig in. Everything Quinn makes has been amazing. I’d never tell her that, of course. I can’t give her the satisfaction of knowing her tricks are working. But this is next level. I’m shoving food in my mouth so fast I almost forget to breathe.

Where did she learn to cook like this?

I shake my head. Why should I care? It’s a nice meal, sure, but there’s nothing more to it than that. She was probably bored and thought it’d be fun to make. Still, it’s exactly what I needed. Today was another tough day.

I’ve been having too many tough days lately. At least construction has finally finished and I’m in the office. George and I ran our first joint meeting as CEO and CFO of the newly joint Hyatt Marks Properties this week. There’s a lot to do with the merger including promotions and layoffs. Yesterday, I had to fire three of my own people to make space for new hires. I hate to do it and it’s put me in a sour mood.

Worse than that, my mother’s condition has only worsened. She’s downright depressed. Ben reached out to Dr. Roberts, her old therapist, and she’s got an appointment this week. I’m working on trying to get her sister to come to town to visit, but Aunt Mary’s a workaholic and can’t take a day off.

I invited her to dinner later in the week. She still hasn’t seen the penthouse and she’s a sucker for a good view, so I hope it will lift her spirits a little. I’m not sure what else to do.

After I finish the salad and pork chops, I dig into the cake— or torte, rather, that Quinn made. It’s incredible. I push it away from me, my anger only growing at how good it tastes. After the blowout we had, I expected her to spit in my coffee. Instead, she makes me a three-course meal that rivals some of the best restaurants in the city. Maybe the distance gave her some perspective and she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought.

Then I remember the way she looked at the end of our fight. The pain and anger in her eyes.

No, she definitely hates my guts.

* * *

When I get home from work, I’m exhausted. The meeting with the architect ended up taking a lot longer than expected. Between that and another round of layoffs, I feel crushed by the weight of my responsibilities. I go straight to the kitchen for a beer and then head towards my room. As I pass by my office, I notice that the door is open, and I can hear shuffling inside.

I push the door open fully and Quinn is leaning over my desk, writing. Her head jerks up at the sound of me entering.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Oh, hey. Sorry. I was just leaving a note for you.” She drops the pen and backs up from the desk. “I didn’t touch anything else. You can pat me down if you don’t believe me.”

I raise my eyebrows at her suggestion and cock my head to the side, studying her. Realizing the insinuation, she blushes and blinks a few times, avoiding my gaze. The room suddenly feels five degrees warmer.

“I was just leaving a copy of next week’s menu.” She waves a small piece of paper in her hand. “It’s an idea I had. You can fill it out at the end of each week with your choices, that way you can try different things and I’ll know when you’re going to be out.”

I nod and purse my lips. I know I should say something, but I feel aggravated by her presence, and I don’t want to snap at her again. I’m honestly sick of fighting. I just want her out of my damn hair.