Page 62 of Frequency of Attraction

“Summer school at the preschool,” the woman answered as she selected pastries from behind the counter. Then she sighed. “At least for now. The prices, they go up all the time, and her scholarship has almost ended. We love that school. It’s a good fit for her, in a nice neighborhood with nice kids I want her to know.” She forced a smile. “But we’ll stay as long as we can, and I’m sure I’ll find something that suits just as well.”

Every fiber in Quinn’s body wanted to fix that financial snag, but she knew it wasn’t her responsibility. She also knew Mila probably wouldn’t mention it to Vadim, seeing as itwashis. The woman clearly didn’t want to be a burden. But her first conversation with Mila stuck with her. The woman had not been able to stop thanking God, and thanking Quinn. She decided to take care of the preschool situation anyway. It wasn’t Quinn’s responsibility to take care of little Mila, but it was her privilege.

“What school does she go to?” She hoped her tone sounded casual.

“Sweet Scholars Academy. It’s project learning, so wonderful for the young ones. She has really blossomed there.”

“I hope she gets to stay.”

“Me, too. I’ll keep trying.” Mila handed over the pastry box and shook her head at the cash Quinn tried to hand over. “Please, just enjoy. It was payment enough to see your beautiful face. When will you come again?”

She smiled. “Soon, I hope.”

“Bring him next time, will you?”

Quinn’s smile slipped. “We’ll see. Take care, Mila.”

By the time she arrived at the airport, she’d called and paid for Mila’s tuition for the rest of the summer and entire following year. When she landed in Van Nuys several hours later, she’d finished off the entire box of pastries, and her only regret came from the powdered sugar she could not get off her black silk top. She’d insisted on a final walk-through with the vendors before the gala that weekend, so Tate and another one of his RIA board members were meeting her there for the tour that was actually a thinly veiled inspection.

As she walked through the elegant event space, she had very few complaints. Tate was his usual serene self. Gloria, an older woman who sat on the Representation in Aerospace board with Tate, looked like she’d swallowed a lemon, but Quinn ignored her muttering.

She ran through the guest list a final time. Her cousin Matt and his wife would be coming, both of whom she was looking forward to catching up with. But then she cringed as she noticed a name that shouldn’t be there. She looked up at Tate. “We have a problem.”

He turned his aquamarine gaze to hers. “What’s that?”

“Our table. We forgot to take Rosie off the list. You don’t think she’ll come, do you?”

Tate shook his head, lips thinning. “I didn’t forget, but she won’t come.”

Her heart ached for her cousin. Chen and Elle had found their happy ending, but Tate’s was still missing. It had been nearly two months since he and Rosie had spoken. He was probably right. Why would Rosie show up now?

And maybe the Geier family was cursed after all. Maybe they really were lucky in business, cursed in love. “Then we’re going to need someone to take her place,” Quinn said, bringing her mind back to business. “I don’t want the head table to have an empty spot when OrbitAll is the platinum sponsor.” Those kinds of appearances mattered.

“Okay. Why not invite Vadim? He’s been busting his ass and could use a break.”

Her stomach crashed at the thought of a long evening at the same table with the man who had hurt her. She tapped her pen against the clipboard in her arms. “Where is that behemoth going to find a tux that fits him in the next two days?” she wondered aloud. She’d never find something off-the-rack for those shoulders, not even in L.A. But if Tate wanted him there, she’d get him there.

Tate smiled and pulled Quinn into a hug. She put her arms around him, surprised. “He’s got you to help him. Are we good here? I have a meeting in Seattle. I’ll leave my car for you since I need the jet.”

She nodded against his chest. Tate wasn’t tall, and she was just that short. “Thank you. See you Saturday.”

Having approved everything, Quinn sat at one of the prepped tables and opened her phone to see if she could track down a tailor in Victory. The closest she found was a dry cleaner who offered hemming services. That would have to do.

Though she’d sworn never to text him again, she shot off a message to Vadim.We’re sponsoring a gala Saturday night in L.A. Tate would like you there representing OrbitAll. I’ll book your room and send all the details. Do you happen to have a tux?

I do not, was the entirety of his response.

She fought a stab of annoyance. Would it kill him to say “thank you” for the free room or “that sounds like fun”? You’d think the Partying Pilot would be more excited about a swanky soiree.

Be in your office at 10 tomorrow for measurements. She left off the “please” on purpose.

Okay.

Quinn scowled about that one-word answer all the way back to Victory.

Her mood hadn’t improved by morning. Vadim was already five minutes late. The seamstress seemed unbothered. Quinn wondered if she’d have a change of heart once she got a look at Vadim’s frame. He would not be easy to dress, even with the specific details Quinn had provided. All black would be too formal for him. She’d requested a white jacket to go with the black shirt and black pants hemmed an inch higher than standard. He’d appreciate showing his inked ankles, she was sure. Vadim embraced his look.

More than embraced it, she amended, as he strolled into the room. He fucking owned his looks. She fought a scowl. This attraction needed to die already.

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