Page 90 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“And Quinn knows Grant Bowen how…” I ask. But even as the question trails from my mouth, I realize I know the answer.

Grant Bowen is…

“He’s Quinn’s father,” Michael says, and my stomach turns sour.

The nausea is so overpowering that my vision blurs around the edges and I think I might actually be sick.

“I think it’s safe to say this case is closed, Michael. So if you have no further concerns for me, I have another meeting,” I tell him, fighting the ball of bile in my throat.

“Of course,” he nods, getting up from the chair and extending a hand to me. “Thank you again.”

I nod curtly and wait until he is out of my office, door closed, before I pull out my phone. I hover over Quinn’s contact information, bite my lip, growl out a swear word, and throw my phone at the wall.

Because what the fuck?

What in the actual fuck?!

My mind races in a thousand circles as I try to make sense of it all. Meanwhile dots are connecting, dots I should have seen a pattern to, dots that are laughing in my face.

Realizing that I am heated enough that I will most likely trash my entire office if I don’t get the fuck out of here, I grab my phone off the floor, my bag and my jacket and make my way out of the building. No one stops me. No one speaks to me. No one even dares to look at me. Smart people here at Remington Attorneys.

Once I am outside, I stomp towards the valet. They see me coming and immediately spring into action. I stand off to the side as I wait. Again, I consider calling her. I want to ask her what the hell is going on. I want to demand answers. But I’ve never been one to scream at women, and that’s all I want to do right now. Scream.

Suddenly, I feel someone standing next to me.

“Good morning,” Grant Bowen’s tone is far too chipper for me right now. My mood scalds even more when I realize why.

“I’m not in the mood,” I grit out, refusing to look at him.

“I’m not here to rub anything in your face,” he says casually. “I’m just waiting for my car and figured I’d say hello.”

I snort. This guy.

Then my lips curl into a smirk. An ill intended one. Because, if I had to guess, this man is in the dark as much as I was. At least about part of this whole thing…

“I guess I owe you congratulations,” I tell him, and while he’s still smiling, his eyes narrow in slight confusion.

“Congratulations?” he asks.

“For tearing apart the case. I’m sure you knew all along that if your client could persuade my client into therapy, everything would fall apart,” I state.

“I guess that depends on your definition of falling apart,” he says.

But I hold my smirk. “And how…favorable…for you. Your daughter’s agency saving your case.”

“I do like a happy ending,” he admits.

“So do I,” I say. Then I click my tongue. “So it’s unfortunate for me that I’m going to have to stop seeing your daughter.”

His attention snaps to me.

“What are you talking about?”

I am staring in the direction of the garage, not meeting his eyes as I go on. “Your daughter. Quinn.”

“You…you’ve been seeing Quinn?” he asks, his tone a mixture of confusion and rising anger. As it should be, honestly.

“For a while now. Who do you think accompanied her to all those weddings?” I ask. “But don’t worry. That’s over now. The weddings are over. The ruse is over. And as far as the funding I was contractually providing for her agency, well. I’m afraid to say that’s over two. So…congrats. To both of you,” I say as my car rolls up beside me.