When Empires Fall (22 page)

Before she could do more than rise to her feet in alarm, Linc threw open the door to the office and, boards and binder in hand, stalked from the room looking violently angry. He paid no mind to her as he suddenly whirled around and stared back inside, pointing a finger at his siblings accusingly.

“I don’t know why I bother when you don’t even take me seriously!” he shouted, his face flushed with heated fury. “If what you really want is for me to stop caring, then fine, fuck you both, I’m gone.”

He left in a whirlwind of frustrated and furious emotions, leaving Quinn hovering in limbo beside her desk.

Inside the office, Madison turned to Grant, who was seated at his desk with his head in his hands and guilt creeping like acid through his veins. She felt sorry that he had to bear the brunt of Linc’s frustration, but it was just another aspect that came with the job.

“You are right in this, not him,” she said, staring down dispassionately at the shattered vase of orchids she had brought him days before for his birthday. She had thrown it in order to stop Linc from shouting, and while it wasn’t her preferred method of handling situations like that, sometimes it had to be done.

Feeling a tension headache brewing behind her right temple, she rubbed at it gingerly and sighed. “I’ll have your secretary come clean this up.”

With that, she left the office, eyeing Quinn as she did so. “There’s broken glass that needs to be cleaned up, darling.”

Quinn gaped at the woman as she left, imagining the worst as she scrambled into Grant’s office, her eyes taking in the destruction.

The spread of broken glass was extensive, with water and strewn orchids lying amongst the shards. But Grant appeared to be unhurt, at least physically, so she returned to her desk to grab the hand broom and dustpan she kept there.

Her breath clogged in her chest as she knelt down on the floor and carefully began sweeping up the glass, her eyes trained on the task at hand and her mouth dutifully shut. More than likely he would prefer not to talk about the incident, as he was sure to be embarrassed, angry or worse over it, and the last thing she wanted to do was upset him further.

So she was incredibly surprised when he suddenly appeared at her side, a towel dangling from his hand as he gave it to her.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Grant said softly, his eyes revealing nothing as she stared up at him. She accepted the towel with a nod.

“You just don’t want a worker’s comp claim,” she said before she could help herself, relieved when she saw his lips curve into a slow, tired smile.

“No, I certainly don’t,” he agreed, feeling sorry to see her have to clean up the mess his family had caused. Lord, what she must think of him now. She may not know the details of the argument, but she had seen the aftermath and the obvious pain he had caused his own brother. He felt sick to even think of her looking at him differently, sneering at him instead of smiling. He couldn’t explain why it mattered so much to him what she thought.

She continued to clean up the water and glass as he went back to his desk, sitting down carefully in his chair. He found he couldn’t stop watching her, losing himself in his thoughts as he noted the way her sturdy, practical hands diligently cleaned and the way tendrils of her dark hair fell down to hide her face from him.

After she’d gathered up all of the glass she could recover, she left to dump it out in her own trashcan instead of his, somehow knowing he couldn’t bear to look at it. Then she returned to the office and gingerly lifted the orchids from the floor, hurrying over to place them in a replacement vase Grant kept in the kitchenette.

When she brought the fresh vase over to his desk and set it down beside him, he realized that he had never been quite so close to her before and that her perfume smelled exactly as he had imagined it would: warm sugar and vanilla, with hints of cinnamon. It was so different from the rich musk and flower scents his mother and sister wore. Instead, it was much homelier and incredibly more comforting. He wondered if she knew just how well it suited her.

“You know, stuff gets broken in my house all the time,” Quinn said suddenly, keeping her hands busy as she arranged the flowers. “One time, Ma and my oldest brother Angelo were screaming at each other over him wanting to buy a motorcycle and her thinking it was too dangerous. She said he was just going to get himself killed on the thing, or worse, paralyzed from the neck down and then we’d all have to take care of him. Well, he got so mad at her that he swung around and drove his fist right through the brand new TV. Broke his hand into a million pieces and taught him a very valuable lesson.”

“What’s that?” Grant murmured, his eyes intent on her face as she smiled over at him.

“Don’t destroy the only means of watching the football game an hour before kickoff.” She laughed, amused by the memory as she returned to fixing the flowers. “Needless to say, Angelo never got that motorcycle and his hand has never quite worked the same. But Ma was so distraught by him hurting himself so badly that she fawned over him like a baby for weeks after that and snapped at any of us if we even
tried
to make fun of him. He won’t live it down with us girls, though.
Buffy
was on that night.”

“How many siblings do you have?” Grant asked, for reasons he couldn’t explain, determined to keep her talking. Somehow it was easy to lose himself in her words and forget about his own troubles, even if only for a while…

“There are seven of us, four boys and three girls.” Quinn turned to him then, resting her hip against his desk and smirking as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You think I’m loud and talkative? My family is a million times worse. And then when we’re all together it’s like a circus. One giant, colossal Sicilian circus.”

“Next you’ll tell me your father is a member of the Mafia,” he mused, humor flashing in his usually serious eyes. She was caught off guard by it for a moment, then let out an appreciative laugh.

“Uh oh, I’ve said too much,” she gasped, feigning alarm as she glanced over her shoulder and then back at him anxiously. “If a man named Al Capone Junior Junior comes knocking, you just tell him you know nothing.”

“I’m a little more worried about Don Vito Corleone paying me a visit,” he humored her, enjoying himself more than he had expected or wanted to.

“Good point.” Quinn beamed at him approvingly for the
Godfather
reference. “If I’m being honest though, my dad makes pizzas for a living so there’s no need to worry about me getting picked off by some mobster in the street looking to score revenge or something.”

“That’s good to know.” Although he wasn’t sure why he was so curious, he continued to press her for information, reveling in the way she laughed with him in that open way she had. It was addicting, for him, to see her smile. “Is that why you like to cook, because of your father?”

“You could say it runs in my family.” She held his eyes, her smile warm. “My great-grandmother taught my grandmother how to cook authentic Sicilian food back in the old country, and in turn my grandmother taught my father, and my mother’s mother taught her, and consequently they taught us. I’ve been making marinara sauce and pasta from scratch since I was five, and have gotten to the point where I regularly insult waiters at Italian restaurants when I order a meal to my exact specifications. I can’t help it though, food is my life, it’s my passion, my everything…I’m sure you feel that way about the hotel.”

Grant nodded, unable to take his eyes off of her. She had this passionate look in her eyes when she spoke about cooking; it was much like the look Linc had when he spoke about his ideas for the hotels.

Thinking of his brother appropriately doused his mood in ice water.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he murmured, the earlier weight returning to settle upon his shoulders like a ton of bricks. He cleared his throat and turned away from her, needing to reestablish a safe distance. “Thank you for cleaning up, Miss Taylor.”

Quinn blinked, but straightened, sensing his dismissal. How was it possible that he could go from being open and pleasant to being cold and dismissive in a matter of seconds? As usual, she had to wonder if it had been something she had said.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Vasser.” She backed away from his desk and turned, confused and more than a little taken aback. She glanced over her shoulder before leaving, noting he was intently focused on his computer screen and determined not to look at her.

Yes, she was a fool to think of herself as being anything more than just an employee to him. Every time she thought she was close to being his friend, he pulled away from her.

But every time he pulled away, she only became more determined not to give up on him.

That night, Linc
sat in the packed audience of the New York City Ballet Theater, all thoughts of his brother and the family empire gone from his mind. He found he simply didn’t care anymore and that it was undoubtedly best if he just took a vacation and got away from them for a week or two to clear his head.

But even those thoughts seemed to fade into the background as he watched the performance. All he could see, all he could comprehend, was the dance. And her.

She moved like she was gliding on water, her movements fluid and graceful, filled with this latent emotion that sucked him in from the very start. Her partner and the other dancers were merely filler, as all eyes were on the angel with the copper hair.

When it was done and she bowed low in a gracious curtsy, the applause was like a roaring tide rising and then crashing in a monumental and glorious explosion of sound. People leapt to their feet, but he was already standing, his eyes glued to her as she drifted off stage and then on again for an encore applause.

At last, when all of the dancers left and the curtain came down with finality, Linc edged his way through the hoards of patrons and weaved his way towards the dressing rooms. He knew he would find her there, and there would be hell to pay if they wouldn’t let him in to see her.

Since he had left the hotel that afternoon, furious with Grant and decidedly done with it all, Linc had done nothing but crave her presence. Something about her was soothing; her calm, clear eyes, her quiet reason and sweet smile. She was still so much a stranger and yet he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather spend time with, as he had never been very good at being alone.

He didn’t care if she thought him too forward or too insistent. He knew he could convince her to spend time with him, even if it was only for a little while until he got his bearings and his confidence back. He needed a distraction and it had to be her.

Linc found the dressing room and brushed past security, hoping no one would recognize him. It wasn’t that he was necessarily famous or anything, but most people in New York were accustomed to seeing his face in the tabloids now and again, and he had a feeling it would only embarrass Lynette for people to gossip. Thankfully, by the time he made it through to where he spotted her, seated at her dressing table, most of the dancers had drifted off with family and friends.

She saw him in the mirror of her dressing table and her heart jumped right into her throat. Instead of turning to face him, she merely held his eyes in the mirror as he approached her, his gaze intense and his movements cagey. He looked like an animal, beaten and raging, ready to bounce back and claim victory. But just what was it that he wanted to win?

“So you came,” she said softly, reaching up to release her hair from its bonds, watching him as it tumbled loose over her shoulders.

“I told you I would,” Linc murmured, wondering why he couldn’t think of a single clever or charming thing to say to her. Either he had been pushed much too far emotionally that day to be witty, or he had simply lost all words just by looking at her.

“Is everything alright, Linc?” Lynette asked, turning and rising to her feet, examining him with concern in her eyes. “You look awful.”

“I feel awful,” he grumbled, weary now as he watched her. “He said he would listen, but still refused to really hear what it was I was saying. He pretended to be interested, but it wasn’t there. His decision was made before I’d even walked in. God, I feel like such an idiot.”

Her heart broke a little for him and she reached out for his hand. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have told you to push him…”

“No, it was time I learned that he’s just never going to take me seriously.” Linc frowned, wanting to forget all of it and focus on the now instead. “I think it’s time I take a week or two off and get away from that place, clear my head. I have a house down in New Orleans that I might go stay at. You should come with me.”