Page 175 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

His jaw tightened. His eyes held mine, and I could see it clearly—the imaginative ways he was destroying me in his head. “Miss Quinn, you’re being awfully rude right now. It would be wise for you to reconsider your tone.”

“Huh.” I crossed my arms, considering. “Let me think about it.” I paused for exactly one second. “Nope. I’m fine with my own thing.”

“Miss Quinn—”

My voice hardened, the playful edge vanishing entirely. “I’ve tolerated your presence longer than you deserve. So here’s the wise choice for you: leave willingly, right now, and the whole crowd here won’t get to watch security drag you out.” I smiled, sharp and final. “What do you say?”

His mouth tightened, the words visibly pressing against his teeth, fighting to get out. But something in my expression—or perhaps the gathering attention of nearby guests—made him think better of it.

He turned and walked away.

I watched him go, noting the stiffness in his shoulders, the controlled fury in every step. At the entrance, Cassian and Liam had appeared, their expressions grim as they watched Michael approach. They stopped him. Words were exchanged—too far to hear, but Michael’s face told the story.

His face darkened further before he pushed through the doors and disappeared.

“Alessia.”

I turned. Mrs. Garcia stood beside me, a glass of champagne extended in my direction. Her eyes followed Michael’s retreating form.

“Cassian was preparing to go to him,” she said calmly, “while you were talking. I stopped him.”

I took the glass. Sipped. Watched Cassian’s rigid back. “Why?”

Her eyes remained fixed on the entrance long after Michael had disappeared. “Michael looks like a cartoon character when he’s angry. His whole face just… scrunches up. Twists.” She demonstrated, a small, exaggerated grimace. “A few more minutes, and I’m sure steam would have started coming out of his ears.”

She glanced at me, warm approval in her gaze. “I had a feeling I might get to see that if you kept talking to him.” A pause. “You did not disappoint.”

I tipped my glass toward her. “Glad to be of service.”

I glanced back at the entrance. Cassian was watching me—had been watching me, apparently—and when our eyes met, he smiled. He took a step toward me, as if pulled by instinct, then stopped. His gaze shifted to the woman beside me. He paused. Nodded once, a small acknowledgment, and turned away, falling into step with Liam to work the room.

“I’m going to ask you something.” I turned to face Mrs. Garcia fully. “And I need the real answer. Not whatever press-friendly bullshit you have rehearsed.”

She raised an eyebrow, unruffled. “Depends on the question. But if it’s about Gerald—” She held up a hand. “Then no, he does not dye his hair. He just doesn’t get gray hair. It’s genetic.”

I stared at her.

She sighed, a long-suffering sound. “Fine. I dye it for him. So technically, not a lie.”

I shook my head, a smile tugging despite myself. Then I met her eyes, the humor fading.

“Tell me the real reason you decided to collaborate with them.” I held her gaze. “With Cassian.”

Mrs. Garcia studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she took a slow sip of her champagne, buying time, considering her answer.

Finally, she spoke.

“You know,” she said softly, “many, many years ago… I was kind of where he was.”

My brows drew together.

“No, I didn’t have a secretary pining after me.” She added quickly, then sighed. “But I did neglect my marriage. Because of work. Generations before me had built this legacy, and there I was, struggling to keep it afloat. I panicked and threw everything into saving it.” Her eyes grew distant. “And while I was doing that, I didn’t notice the cracks forming in my marriage.”

“What happened then?” I heard myself ask, the words soft.

Her gaze drifted somewhere far away. “Someone noticed and threw me a life jacket.” She met my eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten that chance.” She paused, letting that land. “So when I saw Cassian drowning, not in work but in regret, I decided to throw him one too. And see what he did with it. If he really was the man I thought he was. The one who tried so hard to make me like him because you liked me. The one who made you smile. The one who made you happy.”

She smiled, something knowing in her gaze. “And here you are.”