Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I am also digging into Yvette, which is a fucking shitshow when I don’t know her last name. I need into the Mettisons’ legal account so I can find the rental agreement that I’m hoping Yvette is on since she’s Ava’s roommate. Before I check on my progress, I realize I have Ava’s address from her work file. I can find the rental company and locate the rental agreement in that file.
I do just that, and then I find her last name. Yvette Rossi. Italian. Nice. I don’t know why, but I have this feeling that Yvette is somehow important in this mess that Quinn has found himself in. I can’t shake the notion that Ava is blackmailing him, and I don’t like it. But I’m sure that’s what is happening. It makes me want to be a star on my favorite true crime podcast, but I tuck in that crazy as all the information on Yvette Rossi appears on my screen.
She’s twenty-nine, an MIT graduate in art. She’s a glass blower? That’s kind of cool. Maybe if she weren’t involved in blackmailing the man of my dreams, I’d ask for a demonstration. I will refrain. She’s the daughter of divorced parents, who’ve both remarried. She has three older brothers and a cat that passed away two months ago, according to the vet records. I hate that for her, but if her friend doesn’t back down, she’ll be burying her beside her cat.
Wow. Off the deep end I go.
I sigh as I find her socials, which don’t contain much. Lots of pictures of said cat and of her. She’s very pretty, dresses a little like a guy, but who am I to judge? She has three older brothers; maybe girly girl isn’t her jam. I’m quickly scrolling through everything, but then I pause when I see a post of just a pair of hands.
Two female hands.
I know one is Yvette’s by the tattoo of a moon on her thumb, but the other has bright-pink nails and is clutching Yvette’s like she’s her lifeline.
Two hearts beating as one.
I raise a brow. Is Yvette a lesbian?
Wait.
I cock my brow as I go to my search window, which always reminds me of the screens in the Matrix. That makes me giddy, and then I think of Keanu Reeves. Yummo. Just as I type in: Instagram, Ava Mettison, pink nails, a key jiggles in the front door, and I quickly shut everything down.
I glance at the clock. It’s well after midnight. I was so caught up in everything, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I get up just as the door opens, but I don’t watch as Quinn comes through. Instead, I lean on the counter, taking a sip of the glass of wine I poured.
It doesn’t take but a second for me to feel his eyes moving over my body. I’m still in my dress from earlier, too caught up in my mission to change. I look over to see him standing there, looking so unsure and tired. God, he looks so tired. He has dark circles under his sad blue eyes. I swallow past the lump in my throat and pull my gaze from him. As much as I want to comfort him, I am so mad that he chose her over me. I bite my lip as I fight back the tears. I hate that I pushed him away so hard that he ran to her.
My biggest mistake will be my downfall.
“Why are you still up?” he asks, his voice gravelly. The tone sends jolts of need between my legs.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I answer, not looking at him. “Out late with your fiancée?”
“Please, not now, Em,” he pleads, and I swear his eyes are scalding every inch of my exposed skin. “I can’t fight with you anymore.”
I look up, and I hate how sad his eyes are. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Quinn, but this isn’t the guy I grew up with. You’re allowing her to change who you are, and I don’t like that.”
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not fucking fine!” I yell, pushing off the counter. “She put her hands on you!”
He looks away, his throat working as he tucks his hand in his pocket. “Em.”
“You are better than this. You don’t deserve it. And if I made you feel like you do, fuck, Quinn, please hear me when I say I’m so sorry.” He shifts his gaze to me, wonder in his expression as I start to close the distance between us. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but I can’t be this far away from him. Not when he reminded me how good it feels to have his hips against mine. How it is like flying when our eyes meet. No. I need to be near him.