Page 14 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

I pause, my brow furrowed.

"I always feel like she's lying to me."

Quinn cocks his head. "About what?"

"I don't know," I sigh, my shoulders slumping. "Anything? Everything? After they kept their relationship secret, it's been really hard to know what they're keeping from me."

"I swear this isn't meant to be offensive," he says, "but has it occurred to you that maybe you're experiencing some PTSD? Trauma's a real bitch."

"You speak as someone who knows."

"I do," he says. "My little brother OD'd more than ten years ago, and now, every time I get a call, I assume he's dead."

His words hit me like a punch in the gut, and my eyes widen. "Oh my God...Quinn, I had no idea…"

He raises his hand. "He's fine now! Don't worry. It's not like that. But he just...it scared the hell out of me, and you don't get over something like that. Even when we try to move past things, they stay with us."

"...which is why I should probably call your damn therapist," I mutter.

He snorts. "Which is why you should call my damn therapist."

I can feel the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. Quinn's right—trauma is a bitch. And I can't help but think about how much of it I've experienced in the past few months.

"I'll call her," I say finally after a long pause. "I promise."

He nods at me, understanding in his eyes. "Good. And if you need anything, you know you can always talk to me. I'm just a text—or even a phone call—away."

"I know," I say, grateful for his support. "Thank you."

We sit in silence for a few moments, our drinks forgotten. I'm lost in thought, considering the implications of what he's said.

But then Quinn clears his throat, breaking the silence. "I hate to cut this short, but I should probably head out. I have an early meeting tomorrow."

I look at my phone. It's almost eleven. "Oh God, I didn't even realize how late it was. I'm sorry I kept you."

"You didn't," he says. "It was nice...but next time, let's do it on a weekend."

We pack up our stuff and stand to head through the front door, chatting about what our weeks look like and when we'll get together again. I want to spend the whole night talking to him; I wish I didn't have to go home to my empty apartment.

But I can't.

Because Quinn is my dad's best friend.

And I am not my father.

"Well...I'm going this way," Quinn says, gesturing over his shoulder.

"And I'm going the other way," I nod. "So...I'll see you again soon?"

He nods. "I'll be in touch when we're ready for a site walk; we'll sign a contract then. And Madison…I meant it when I said you can call or text anytime."

I nod. "Thank you, Quinn. I mean it. Thank you for giving me the job and for just....listening. I don't really have anyone else who listens to me right now."

"Well, the number I gave you..."

"...Andrea, I know," I laugh. "But it's not the same. You're a real friend."

"You deserve support, Madison," he says. "And... well, you're hilarious, creative, and intelligent. Don't make it seem like a chore to be around you; it’s anything but."

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