Page 2 of What We Got Wrong

Her immediate impression was that this was the nicest hotel room that she’d ever set foot in. It even smelled expensive. Quinn wasn’t sure what that meant, organic cleaning products, maybe, but it was the thought she kept coming back to as she walked through the room, pulling the blanket off of the king size bed, testing the desk chair, and flicking the lights in the bathroom on and off, before opening the curtains that covered the floor to ceiling windows.

Quinn knew that Chicago was beautiful. It was one of her most common weekend trip destinations, given that it was easy to fly or drive from her home in Michigan. That said, the skyscraper next door was blocking most of her view, which was probably for the best, because Quinn didn’t have time to enjoy the view.

She took a few minutes to unpack. She’d brought several suits, including her favorite dark gray one and a burgundy option, because someone told her once that the color made her hazel eyes pop. She’d also made sure to bring her navy suit, which photographed best and was therefore the plan for their workshop session on Thursday. Plus, she had a couple different washes of jeans, four pairs of shoes, and at least seven button-up shirts, all in addition to her sleep and workout clothes.

She’d never packed like this before, but Quinn was determined to make a good impression this week. For reasons that she wasn’t ready to admit.

Before her nerves took over, she laid a towel on the floor and pulled up her favorite YouTube account, finding a forty-five minute ab workout that she’d done before. She’d make use of the hotel gym and certainly spend time doing laps in the pool, maybe even that night, but this was the quickest way to throw herself into exercise, trying to put her worries aside.

When she finished the workout, Quinn took a shower and got ready. She threw on her boxer briefs and bra—one that helped flatten her chest a bit, helping to give the silhouette she preferred—before turning her attention to her skin and hair care routines. After she was fully moisturized, she softened the pomade between her fingertips before pulling the cream through her hair to give it the messy effect she loved.

They were told this kickoff event, the Speakers and Sponsors dinner, was business casual plus, so, though she was planning on wearing a suit, she didn’t set out a tie. Instead, Quinn pulled on her royal purple shirt, buttoning it most of the way but leaving the top two undone, and slid into her gray suit. Gray and purple argyle socks on, she shoved her feet into her brown oxfords and stood in front of the mirror.

Quinn ran her hands down the front of her suit, buttoning the top and middle buttons of the jacket, trying to use the motion to calm herself down. The workout had helped a little, but she was back in her head, feeling a bit off kilter. There wasn’t anything else for her to do, though, so she grabbed her wallet and headed out.

At exactly 5:40, Quinn knocked on Mel’s door. When Mel opened the door, Quinn let out a wolf whistle. Her friend was androgynously handsome, as always, but taken to the next level in a slim fit black suit, the snug pants tucked into Doc Martin boots, her black hair even shinier and straighter than before.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” Mel said, throwing her faux leather messenger bag over her shoulders. “Do you have your business cards?”

“I have a couple in my wallet,” Quinn assured her. This was a common conversation with them, and Quinn always carried a few with her, though she assumed there would be plenty of time this week to ensure that all of the meeting attendees got their contact information.

They made their way down to the conference center and followed the noise toward the large ballroom, set up with at least twenty tables hosting eight chairs each, many of which were filling up. The tables were aimed at a small stage, with a mic at a podium in the middle and three chairs set off to the left behind it, with large projector screens set up on both sides of the stage.

There were registration tables in the back where a small line had formed, and Quinn and Mel joined the queue. They waited patiently, and when it was their turn, they approached a lovely blonde at the end of the table. Mel leaned toward her, and Quinn knew that she was going to be reliving their hotel check-in.

“I’m Mel Hayes, and this is my business partner, Quinn Miles,” she said, over-enunciating the word ‘business’ unnecessarily.

“Nice to meet you,” the girl said, and she walked her fingers through the name tags in front of her, searching for their names. “I’m Audrey Palmer.”

“Audrey Palmer,” Mel said. Quinn tried her best to manage her face, to not let her expression show any form of recognition. “Like, Palmer Palmer?”

“Yes,” Audrey confirmed with a laugh, handing them their lanyards and name tags, each with SPEAKER printed under their names, the Prism Group logo added as well—a nice touch. “Scotty Palmer is my uncle.”

Scott Palmer, the CEO, the P in J&P Industries. Quinn hoped that it wasn’t audible when she gulped.

“I see,” Mel said. “Well, Audrey Palmer Palmer, I hope we get the chance to see you more throughout the week.”

“I’m sure you will,” Audrey said, and she sounded like she might be flirting, which Quinn couldn’t even consider at that moment. Audrey handed them each a folder, a notebook, and a pen. “The schedule of events is in the folder, both a printed copy and a QR code to access the conference app. We invite our facilitators to attend any and all sessions that strike their interest. We feel like it’s a good way for you to get to know our company and our people.”

“That was a good speech,” Mel said, complimenting Audrey before leading Quinn to a table in the middle of the room that only had two seats remaining open.

Quinn certainly wasn’t her best self while they ate dinner, one of many reasons she was grateful to have a partner like Mel, who could charm any audience. While she tried to keep it together, chiming in when necessary, Mel handled most of the interactions, introducing them and their business to the folks at their table, beginning to make the connections that they’d taken the trip to build.

Towards the end of the meal, someone tapped on the mic, and the feedback rang out across the room, quieting the individual conversations.

“Good evening, friends,” an older man they both recognized immediately as Scott Palmer said into the mic. “Thank you so much for joining us here this evening. I’m not going to speak for a long time tonight, given that there will be plenty more opportunities for you to hear me yammer this week. However, I wanted to express my deepest gratitude for the folks that are in this room. Between the vendors that we bring in to sponsor this event and the speakers that will be leading seminars and workshops throughout the next several days, you all help us bring this week to life.”

Somehow, Quinn had missed that the seats behind Mr. Palmer filled while he was speaking. There was Audrey, from the registration table, on the end, next to a man that could only be her dad, the younger Mr. Palmer. Jeremy, Quinn recalled—the CFO of J&P.

And then Quinn’s breath caught because there she was.

Olivia Palmer, Scott Palmer’s daughter.

The most beautiful person that Quinn had ever met. Sure, she hadn’t seen her in ten years, and she could see the passage of time in the way that she held herself. Her dark, wavy hair was tamed, pulled back and pinned tightly, her cheekbones sharper, and Quinn reluctantly noticed that time had been kind to her curves, wrapped as she was in a tailored-for-her-body cornflower blue dress.

She was stunning.

She looked older, yes, but Quinn could still see traces of her Liv in her bright blue eyes, in the way they crinkled as she smiled at her dad before glancing out at the audience. It was only a few short moments that Quinn had the chance to stare at her before Liv’s scan of the room got to Quinn’s table, and once again, her breath hitched.