Page 51 of Married to Lies

I sipped my coffee, hoping he didn’t notice the slip.

Quentin sliced another bite of French toast and ate it before answering. “He’s fine.” Then he pinned me under a stare. “Why?”

I nearly squirmed. “I just wondered how he acted around you.” That much was true.

“We don’t get much face time, to be honest,” Quentin replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’ve met him just once to deliver a check we had an error on.” He looked annoyed at that. “We hired a new assistant controller and training has been rocky, but we’re getting there.”

“You delivered a check?” I asked in what I hoped was a casual tone. “Seems like you would be too busy for something like that.”

He shrugged. “MyHome comes under a lot of heat for using AI tech and how quickly we grew. It’s important we maintain a good reputation where we can. Plus, a banking delay like that can affect employee wages. I wanted to personally make sure Conrad got it and ask him if we could move to online banking like the rest of the world.”

“Some people like a physical paper trail,” I mumbled, trying not to show myself getting defensive.

“It’s antiquated,” Quentin said. “Slows things down.”

“Like misprinting checks?” I just couldn’t help myself, apparently.

“Like misprinting checks,” he agreed good-naturedly. “Do you like working for him?”

I twisted my lips to the side. “Some times more than others. You know office politics.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Believe me, I do.”

That made me even more curious about the internal workings at MyHome, but I had to be careful. What I didn’t know, I wouldn’t be able to pass on to Conrad. Best not to tempt myself when I got into a desperate situation.

“When should I meet your mom?” I asked, cutting myself another piece to eat. I was definitely going to beg Quentin to bring me back here for the French toast, or at least get me my own golden access card.

“Do you have time this evening for supper?” he asked.

“I’ll be there,” I promised. What other choice did I have?

As George drove up to the address Quentin texted me, I felt... nervous. I shifted in my dress, wondering if the tight gray knit material was appropriate. Or if his mom was the kind of woman who felt like plus-size women should dress to hide their stomachs, avoiding the acknowledgement of apron bellies at all cost.

George pulled over, idling along the curb in front of a big, colonial-style home with pillars that jutted the building's full two-story height, holding up the overhang casting the porch in shadow.

“Would you like me to come back and pick you up at a specific time?” he asked me.

I shook my head and then realized he wasn’t looking at me in the rearview mirror, but at the impressive home. “No, I’ll ride home with Quentin.”

George gave me a pleased smile in the mirror. “When you asked me to drive to his parents house, I did some digging…”

My lips quirked into a sneaky grin. “You spied for me?”

“Of course I did,” he said like it was no big deal.”

“Well, what did you find out?” I leaned in and whispered even though it was just us in the car.

“Quentin has an excellent reputation at the agency,” George said.

I raised my eyebrows. “He does?”

George nodded. “Drivers have so much gossip it would fill your magazines for years. And trust me, not all people are as pleasant to drive for as you are.”

“You mean they’re not all running on six hours of sleep and caffeine?” I asked jokingly.

“They’re not all as darling,” he said in that southern accent that made me want to pinch his cheeks.

“You’re too good to me, George,” I said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Have a good day.”