“I’m in.” At the mention of Maxwell, I’m reminded that I have my own Mustangs player I need to humor me. “But maybe make mine a single for now. I’m meeting with Quinton again tomorrow and my career literally depends on it.”
“Well.” Brynn puts away one martini glass and pulls out a lowball glass before ignoring my request for a single. She pours a healthy serving of a scotch I haven’t heard of before and drops in a couple of whiskey stones. “Lucky for you, I consider myself something of a Mustangs expert and I do my best work with a drink in hand.”
“I may not know anything about the Mustangs,” Liv chimes in, “but I am an Elliot Reed expert, so I think we have you covered.”
I freaking hope so. Because I have a feeling Quinton is not going to make this easy on me and I’m going to need help from somewhere . . .
And good scotch and friends is always a solid starting point.
Six
When Quinton gave me the address to where he wanted me to meet him, I assumed it was for another restaurant. Guess I’m the ass now.
Because parking on this super residential street in front of a house, not a business of any kind, I realize that Quinton Howard Junior might’ve given me his address . . . to his house . . . where he lives . . . and sleeps . . . maybe naked.
His house is exactly where I thought it would be. I remember all those years ago when Gavin Pope came to play for the Mustangs. He bought a condo not far from where I grew up. Granted, his condo cost probably triple what my childhood home was worth, but it was still exciting that he lived close.
Quinton, on the other hand, lives in the suburbs of all suburbs. Like, I think they built this subdivision because other suburbs weren’t suburby enough. I passed seven Starbucks, two megachurches, and one private school once I got off the highway. On the plus side, I now know of two new spin gyms because the one by my place is always packed and I’m never able to get into any classes. And because it’s in the suburbs, it could only be reached by the tollway, so I didn’t have to deal with traffic and I get to send the bill to the Mustangs.
I will give it to him, though; even though the location wouldn’t be my top choice, his house is pretty amazing. It looks like a super modern cabin that you’d find in Vail or Breckenridge or any of those other places I never go to, but maybe would if I could sit inside a house like this and look at the snow instead of being in it. The exterior is all wood, black steel, and glass. The only stone is the intricate paving of his driveway and the chimney jutting out of the roof.
I don’t know if this was a power play on his part, inviting me to his home, surrounding me by his wealth, but I’m trying to keep an open mind. Plus, I dressed down today, hoping looking casual would make him feel more comfortable around me. Like jeans and Birkenstocks would somehow make him forget that his boss’s boss’s boss sent me. Plus, I can think much better when I’m comfortable and my feet aren’t screaming in stilettos.
I’m climbing up the steps leading to his front door, admiring the simple landscaping that really enhances the entire house, when I hear the door open. I look up, a smile and a compliment on my lips, when instead of seeing Quinton, I see a woman who is so gorgeous and put together that I want to turn and run and not return until I’m fully armored in heels and a pencil skirt.
“I’ll give you a call later.” She leans in to give him a hug. “Thanks for this morning, it was really helpful.” Her blonde hair is cascading down her back in perfect waves and her tan skin glows against the emerald green of her shift dress. She’s basically a goddess.
And the polar opposite of everything I am.
Exactly what I pictured when he said I wasn’t his type.
She turns to leave and finally notices me standing there . . . in fucking Birkenstocks.
“Oh!” She jumps back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
Clearly.
“Oh no, you’re fine. I’m sorry I startled you.”
“Elliot.” Quinton steps out from behind her and I get my first glance at him, barefoot and in gray sweatpants. “You’re early.”
And I mean, honestly! Gray sweatpants? How fucking dare he? Gray sweatpants are like my kryptonite!
But once I move past the sweatpants, I see his face.
And he looks pissed.
“Oh.” I look down at my watch. I am early, but only by ten minutes. “I’m sorry. Do you need me to wait in my car?”
“It’s fine. You’re here already, just come in.” He steps back and waves me inside without even saying goodbye to the blonde beauty.
She gives me a small, encouraging smile before slipping past me and making her getaway, unlocking the doors to the white sedan I parked behind.
I walk inside and all of the hope I had leading up to this meeting drifts away. Instead, I’m left feeling unwelcome, uncomfortable, and confused.
“Sorry I got here early.” Even though I’m not exactly sure what I’m apologizing for. Professionalism? Punctuality? Both? “I was expecting more traffic and when I got here, I didn’t know how long I could sit in my beat-up Camry with Mustangs stickers before one of your neighbors called the cops thinking I was a stalker fan.”
This is not a lie. Once I saw blinds starting to crack open, I got out of my car immediately.
I stand inside the entryway, unsure of what I should do. Between the stark white walls, the cement floors, and the industrial beams scattered across
