Dirty Rogue: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(52)

“He didn’t cheat on me.”

Now confusion does settle in over her features. “Then what was it?”

This is my opening, my big chance. But I’m looking across the table at Carolyn, who has known Christian since they were teenagers. She was among his closest friends in school. If she doesn’t know already, it’s just not my place to tell her.

“I can’t tell you, Care.”

She looks a little pissed off with me now.

“Seriously, Q? I’ve known him for years. What are you going to tell me that I don’t already know?”

I shake my head. “I can’t tell you. Please. Just trust me on this.”

She sighs. “Fine. But Q—” she leans forward again, into the table, and picks up her fork. “You’re a mess. You had a blank look in your eyes all weekend, and now you look like you’re about to cry.”

As soon as she says it, a tear wells up in one of my eyes and squeezes out onto my eyelashes.

No. I am done crying over men. I wasted enough tears on Derek, that scumbag.

I snatch up my napkin and carefully collect the tear, then flatten the paper back over my lap.

“I’m not going to cry over him. Not anymore, Care.”

“Okay,” she says softly. She looks into my eyes, searching my face for the truth behind the words, and then she looks back down at her plate.

We eat in silence for a little while longer.

“Could you blame me if I did, though?” I finally choke out. Carolyn is my best friend in the city—maybe the entire country, at this point.

“No,” she says, “I wouldn’t blame you.” When she looks at me again, her expression is a mix of concern and curiosity. “But Q—was it really something you can’t look past? I know Christian is a player, but underneath all the womanizing and partying and the cocky attitude, he’s—” She pauses, biting at her lip. “As long as I’ve known him, I’ve thought he was a good guy.”

Her words crack something open inside me, and then she lands the final blow.

“I’ve never seen anyone so excited to be with another person as you were about him, Q. If you’re ready for it to be over, then I respect that decision. But if you’re not? If you’re not convinced you can spend the rest of your life without him? Maybe he’s worth a second chance.”





Chapter 42

Christian





My father summons me to his office as soon as I arrive at Pierce Industries.

On the way up to his office, I try my damnedest to look like nothing is wrong, like my tardiness is just a result of a weekend-long bender. It should be easy enough to explain, despite the fact that I haven’t been at the Swan much in the past few weeks. I certainly haven’t been shutting down the place like I used to.

His secretary makes me wait, which is a sure sign that he’s irritated about something. When he finally comes out from behind his door to wave me back nearly ten minutes later, I’ve almost stopped caring. If I stop moving, even for a second, I’m flooded with thoughts of Quinn.

She’s the only thing that matters to me, even if she’s gone.

My father walks back around to his seat behind his desk and sits down, glancing at his computer screen. I follow his lead, taking my seat across from him in front of the desk, and wait while he clicks at something.

The silence lasts for a long thirty seconds.

Then he turns away from the computer, crosses his arms in front of him, and speaks.

“It’s a bad habit to get into, son.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Which habit are we talking about?”

“Strolling into the office halfway through the afternoon.”

I cross my own arms over my chest and nod. “It’s not a habit until you’ve done it twice.”

“Remember that the next time you’re tempted to sleep late.”

My father says this neutrally, with no hint of mockery.

Then the corners of his mouth turn up, and his eyes glint in the light coming through his windows. “It must have been one hell of a party.”

I return his smile automatically, and the lie comes easily to my lips.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Listen,” he says, uncrossing his arms. “I’m impressed with the work HRM is doing for you. Who did they assign the account to? I’d like to send him my thanks.”

My throat tightens, and I cover my mouth with my hand, pretending to cough while I swallow painfully. “It’s a she, actually. Quinn Campbell.”

“Quinn Campbell,” my father says thoughtfully, testing her name in his mouth.

I wish I were telling him the name of the woman I was planning to spend the rest of my life with. I want him to be saying her name, then asking me more about her. I want him to say her name again when I introduce the two of them, and having him shake my hand, congratulating me on finding the perfect woman, a woman far too good for me, a woman I will never regret marrying.

Instead, he’s saying the name of the name of the woman who is going to be forced to work with me for the foreseeable future despite the fact that my despicable behavior has destroyed any chance of me ever being with her.

“The woman deserves a raise,” he says finally, slapping a hand down on the surface of his desk.