Page 51 of Fate Awakened

The elevator ride down, and the subsequent walk to my office are uneventful, and I spend the time working through the best approach for negotiating Brielle’s return. It reminds me that we need to be ready for an exchange.

Dante: Andre, I need Kole prepared for transport. Pick-up will be 11:15 am. Bagged and gagged.

Andre: You got it. He’ll be ready.

Mentally, I go through everything that needs to be handled as I walk into my office. The files I asked Quinn to grab lay neatly on the desk in clearly labeled folders, and a steaming Americano sits next to them.

At least someone’s reliable around here.

I grab the folders and coffee without bothering to sit down. As I turn back around to head toward the conference room, I slam right into the petite bubbly blonde.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, looking down to see her once light pink blouse drenched in dark brown liquid.

“Shit!” Quinn yells simultaneously, dropping the papers in her hands and pulling the garment off her skin to keep it from burning.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly slips out, dropping her gaze to the floor, though I’m not entirely sure what she’s apologizing for.

“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t hear you come in,” I respond, unsure how to help her because wiping at her shirt seems more like sexual harassment than helpful assistance.

I look down to the floor, where more papers are now strewn amongst the splatters of coffee, and I bend down to pick them up. Unfortunately, Quinn also takes that exact moment to drop to get them, and our foreheads smack together with an audible crack.

“Damnit,” I shout, throwing my hands out to catch her before she falls over in her heels from the force of the hit.

“Ouch,” she whispers as I hold her by the arms to keep her steady. After a moment, her eyes open, and I read them, trying to see if she’s ok, looking for signs of a concussion. The deep brown color of her eyes nearly blends with her pupil, making it hard to determine where one ends and the other begins.

“Are you okay?” I ask, wondering if I should let her go or give her a minute to get her bearings. As I ponder what to do, she stands, running her hands over the soiled dress shirt.

“I’m fine, just embarrassed. I’m not usually this clumsy,” she finishes taking the now-collected papers from my hand. She carefully walks around the spill to my desk and begins organizing them back to the way they started while continuing.

“I’ll have someone come get this floor cleaned up. You have a black button-up shirt in the wardrobe that came back from the cleaners yesterday. That should work with those slacks. Why don’t you get changed and head over to the conference room? It’s all set up. I’ll bring these and a fresh cup of coffee over in just a minute.”

Her assertiveness, despite her size and lineage, has always impressed me. She stands up to anyone who tries to push through her and has held her own against some highly powerful businessmen without batting an eye.

“Thank you, Quinn, and make sure you charge your new shirt to my card when you order a replacement,” I say, not bothering to argue with her as I stare down and notice the stain on my right sleeve. I begin unbuttoning my blue shirt as I walk to the wardrobe, finding the black shirt still covered in clear cellophane. Shrugging out of my current shirt, I pull the black one from the bag and peel it off the hanger before tossing my soiled shirt onto the floor.

Turning back to the room, I catch Quinn’s eyes on me a moment before they snap back to the stack of papers in front of her, her head shaking away a thought.

Was she watching me undress?

No. She was probably just looking to see where my shirt went so she could send it off to the cleaners. I continue buttoning as I exit my office without another word and head the two floors down to the conference room, turning my focus back to our rescue mission.

When I arrive in the conference room, four council members sit in their chairs, silently awaiting news. James isn’t here as he needed to take a trip to New Mexico to finalize plans for the retreat. Jake is missing.

Their eyes flip to me as I take my seat at the head of the table.

I look down at my watch, noting we’re still a few minutes early.

Dante: ETA, Jake?

Before answering, the door opens, and he walks right to his seat. As he pulls himself up to the table, I notice his right hand is swollen, and his knuckles are split.

Jake: Apologies.

Dante: Everything okay?

Jake: Had to take care of something. Didn’t have time to shift. I’ll take care of it after the meeting.

I raise an eyebrow, and he nods apologetically, giving no more explanation.

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