This Time Next Year(42)

‘I know,’ said Quinn, a slight frown creasing between his dark brows. Just looking across at him, with his dimpled smile and his strong long legs in those tailor-made trousers, Minnie felt the owls in her stomach waking up, ruffling their wings.

‘And I don’t need you pimping me out to your friends,’ she said haughtily. ‘I didn’t set up my business to cook for rich city boys.’

She got to her feet and started pacing back and forth behind the sofa.

‘Wow,’ said Quinn, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him. ‘You know it makes you walk slightly off centre?’

‘What?’

‘The massive chip you carry around on your shoulder.’

Minnie’s mouth dropped open. Ingrained resentments bubbled up inside her, her mother’s voice in her head like a dripping tap she couldn’t turn off.

‘I don’t have a chip on my shoulder. I’m just saying this kind of gig isn’t what I set out to do. If I’d wanted to cook for entitled men in suits, I’d have stayed in the restaurant business.’

Quinn laughed, brushing a hand through his sandy-brown hair.

‘I can see why your business isn’t thriving if this is the rapport you have with clients.’

‘Excuse me?’ Minnie said, her fists on her hips. Quinn stood up and walked around behind the back of the sofa towards her.

‘Look, your pies are good. You clearly have a market, yet you’re not making money – evidently you’re doing something wrong.’

‘Thank you, but I don’t need you to management-consultancy me.’

‘Why not?’ Quinn spread out his arms in an exaggerated shrug. ‘I charge five hundred pounds an hour and I’m offering you free advice. It’s sheer petulance not to take it.’

Minnie felt her face grow red, her chin jutting forward.

‘Is that the way you speak to all your clients?’

Quinn took a step towards her. Minnie stepped backwards towards the wall. She had that strange feeling again, except this time more intensely. Almost as though he was moving in to kiss her. Of course her brain knew he wasn’t, but her body felt as though he was and it sent a heady mixture of indignation and anticipation pumping through her veins.

‘You’re not a client,’ Quinn said softly, standing a foot away from her. He looked down into her eyes, the hint of a smile still playing at his lips. Minnie narrowed her eyes and looked right back up at him. She wasn’t going to be physically intimidated by him.

‘You don’t know enough about my business to have an opinion.’

‘Maybe not, but I can see you’re an idealist. You don’t want to compromise your mission statement, even if it means losing your business.’ Minnie felt a little rush of pride, before realising he didn’t mean it as a compliment. ‘Why not deliver to a few corporates if it means staying afloat for your community gigs? Plus, you clearly aren’t employing the right people – the driver who loses the car, the chef who burns the pies. If you want to run a company effectively, you’ve got to pick the right people to work for you.’

Quinn turned and started pacing the office again. The irrational feeling that he was going to kiss her passed, along with any thought he might be about to show her his office sex dungeon with a secret access panel through the bookcase. Quinn picked up a pen from his desk and started clicking the end of it.

‘No doubt you would just cull anyone who had a bad day,’ Minnie said, folding her arms in front of her chest. ‘My team are like family. They’ve all had problems in life, that’s why we hired them. We want to give a chance to people who need one.’

‘Even if it means destroying your business?’

Minnie narrowed her eyes at him. Between Greg, her mother, and now Quinn, she was sick of people telling her how bad she was at running a business.

‘They aren’t the problem. Look, if it’s not going to work how I want it to work, maybe it’s not meant to be.’

‘Spoken like a true fatalist. You need to start taking responsibility for your life, Minnie. You lose your coat on New Year’s Eve because you’re careless, not jinxed. Your business is failing because you’re a bad manager who won’t take free advice.’ Quinn shook his head and thrust his hands into his pockets. Minnie felt the red prickling back up her neck, flushing her cheeks.

‘Well, maybe I don’t need life advice or handouts from some rich kid, mummy’s boy who has no idea what the real world looks like.’

Minnie felt a falling sensation in her stomach as soon as she’d said it. She didn’t know why she’d gone that far; it was too harsh. She felt like a cat being cornered, darting out a sharp claw in a pre-emptive strike. Quinn’s face changed, the glint in his eye disappeared and his jaw clenched, a muscle pulsing above the sharp line of his chin.

‘You don’t know anything about my life, Minnie, and this whole hard-done-by working-class routine is deeply unattractive.’

‘I don’t need you to find me attractive,’ said Minnie.

‘I think you’d better go,’ Quinn told her for the second time in their short acquaintance. ‘Try not to smash anything on your way out.’





New Year’s Day 2001