He nods without answering and follows me as I make my way to Jen’s office. She told me to take it over if I needed any privacy and while I thought I wouldn’t, it’s coming in handy now.
I hold the door open for him, turning the lock as soon as he’s in the room. The last thing I need is another person hearing all of my business.
“The way I behaved at Stanley’s was unacceptable.” I opt out of small talk and dive right in. I keep my eyes on him, even though the urge to inspect Jen’s ceiling instead is really calling me. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this about me yet, but sometimes I overreact to things. You caught me in a very raw, very private moment. I don’t like people seeing me like that, especially someone I work with. I took my hurt out on you and I’m sorry.”
His eyes widen just a fraction. I’m sure he never thought I would dole out an apology. But I’m an adult, so I own my mistakes . . . occasionally.
“Um, thank you.” He drags his fingers through his thick beard and lets out a deep sigh. Which—inappropriately—makes me want to reach out and touch it as well. As bumpy as our time has been together, I still can’t pretend like he doesn’t affect me. He’s infuriating, but he’s passionate and so flipping pretty it hurts my eyes. “I wanted to apologize to you too.”
My hair slaps me in the face with how hard my head jerks back. “Apologize to me for what?”
“Donny.” He says the name like it should explain everything. And it does.
“Oh.” I wave off his apology. “No need.”
By the end of the day I couldn’t help but like Donny. He’s nuts and probably needs intense therapy, but honestly? Same.
Plus, he really does seem to care about Quinton and it was almost endearing.
But, instead of looking relieved that we’re good, he looks more nervous. He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to inspect the floors, which are very nice, but not at all interesting. “And I’m sorry for inviting Mrs. Rafter tonight.”
Oh yeah. That.
That was pretty fucked up, but like, in the kindest of ways. And knowing how much he’s coughing up per person for this event, it was really nice of him. But it did upset me and I’ve had a really hard time putting words to my feelings about it.
“It’s okay, she’s really excited to come tonight.” And she is, which is another reason I felt so shitty about my reaction.
“It’s really not okay, though,” he says. “I told you how upset I would be if you went behind my back to talk to my family and then I did the same thing. That wasn’t my place. More than anything, I understand wanting to keep your personal life personal. I should’ve talked to you before I overstepped.”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out.
Because Quinton, of all people, is the only person who seems to understand how I was feeling and put words to it.
And that’s something I can’t even begin to process right now, but I can accept it.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” I hold my hand out toward him, feeling like an understanding has finally been reached between us. Hope and excitement bloom at the difference we can make now that we’re on the same page. “Now, are you ready to have the best launch party ever?”
His strong grip shakes my hand and the sparks that were there the first time we touched come racing back. The warmth from his touch winds around me and my insides go soft. His eyes crease at the corners as a genuine smile lights up his face and for a split second I hope he’s feeling what I am. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
“Good.” I drop his hand, not letting my mind go there, making myself remember his words about me not being his type. I open the door and shove him out of it. “Now go home and get ready, I want the finished product to be a surprise.”
Fourteen
Forget anything I’ve ever said about balloons. They are a terrible idea and now I see why parents always seem about two seconds from losing their shit when they’re around.
As the who’s who of Denver start filtering in, filling the Rue with their expertly coiffed hair and thousand-dollar shoes, visions of balloons popping and causing mass hysteria resulting in a stampede flood my mind.
However, for the less paranoid attendees, they seem rather impressed by the decorations and the way the event has turned out.
“You planned this?” Mrs. Rafter looks around in awe, taking in everything with a cocktail in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other. “I knew you were creative, but I had no idea you could do all of this.”
“Well, it’s less creative and more able to hire a lot of really creative people.” Even though I have a hard time accepting her compliment, that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy hearing it. And coming from the woman I’ve known my entire life, it means even more. I wish my dad could be here.
I give Quinton a thumbs-up, seeing if he needs anything when I spot him across the room. Not that he’s easy to miss—and not just because of the constant buzz that has been following him around. Always in the middle of a group, it’s like I hired a spotlight to follow him around all night. I swear, he’s glowing—pride even evident in his long strides.
When he first walked in for the grand reveal, I thought he was going to cry. Tears are always my goal. I love nothing more than making someone so happy that they can’t help but cry. Unfortunately for me, Quinton held it together. Also unlucky for me? The fact that he has never looked more handsome in his entire life, of
