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“Sorry?”
Quinn smiles. “I know why my father arranged the dinner with yours, Oliver. Why you asked me out to dinner. We make sense. And from everything I’ve heard about you, you fall in line. But you’re here because you’re not going to. So…what’s her name?”
“Quinn, I never meant to—”
She laughs, then leans forward. “Oliver, I barely know you. Maybe we would have worked out. Maybe we wouldn’t have. You’re exactly the kind of man I thought I would marry, so I wasn’t opposed to finding out. But my parents got married because they made sense, and I saw how that worked out. I’m not interested in sentencing myself to that same fate. Or you.”
My father turned Quinn into a bargaining chip. I looked at her and saw CEO. It’s a relief to separate the two, to have made the decision that disqualifies me from the position.
“Me neither.”
Quinn tilts her head, her expression curious. “Do you love her?”
Yes.
The answer comes to me immediately, unencumbered.
But then the doubts and second-guessing trickle in. The reality. I’m not sure if Hannah sees me as much more than a fling. She agreed to stay in New York through the weekend when I asked, but her life is still entirely in Los Angeles. There’s nothing for her here except for me, maybe. And every relationship I’ve ever had has failed, at least in part, because of my inability to prioritize anything above work. I told Crew I couldn’t make Quinn happy. I have the same fear about Hannah.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
Because we’re married. Because she has history with my brother. Because I don’t think Hannah’s answer to that question would beyes.
Quinn blows on her tea, then takes a sip. “I had one of those.”
“What happened?”
She raises a delicate shoulder, then lets it drop. “Nothing spectacular. I met him in university. Fell hard and fast. We were exciting and dramatic. The highs were high, and the lows were low. But eventually, it became exhausting. So I told him things had to change, or I would leave.” She smiles, and it’s a sad one. “Here I am.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn.”
“It wasn’t meant to be, is all. Maybe yours is.”
“Maybe.”
I’ve always prioritized logic over emotion. Reason over instinct.
But I suddenly find myself hoping for fate.
* * *
The smoke alarm is blaring when I open the front door.
“Hannah?” I call out, dropping my briefcase in the entryway and sprinting toward the kitchen.
She’s standing on the kitchen island barefoot, flapping a dish towel back and forth. A pan of charred contents sits on the top of the stove.
Suddenly, the smoke alarm stops. She sighs and swipes hair out of her face. Spins and spots me.
“Hi.” Hannah drops down and slides off the side of the counter.
“What happened?” I ask as I walk over to her.
“I was trying to cook dinner. Got a work call, and…” She waves at the pan.
“Looks good.”
Hannah scoffs, tossing the towel she’s holding over the dish. “Rude.”
