Page 23 of Fixer for the Billionaire

He shoots me a grin. "You'll see."

Outside Sopra, he "pssts" from an alleyway. Despite thinking he's lost it from all the party planning, I'm curious. He's gesturing toward a small stray cat with a crooked tail, the dirtiest but most adorable orange tabby I've ever seen.

"She's a sweetheart. Just keep your distance."

"Why?"

"Bladder issues," he says, wrinkling his nose. "I can smell it."

"Thanks for the heads-up," I laugh.

"Always," he replies.

Despite the cat's condition, Quentin picks her up. She purrs, snuggling against him, oblivious to the grime she's smearing on his shirt. Yet, he doesn't mind. This is Quentin at his most charmingly illegal. As we wait for my ride, he sets the cat down, and she watches us with big, thankful eyes.

"Animal lover, huh?" I ask.

"Always. They're simpler than people."

He mentions how his parents vetoed pets before their accident, considering them too much responsibility.

"And you agreed?" I tease.

"Well, with five boys at home, pets were the least of their worries."

I think about my own tumultuous family life—the fights, the screams. "I get it. Still, it's sad you couldn't have a pet."

“Ah, I’m over it now. I figure maybe they had it right. Pets die. Hell, people die." He shrugs, walking beside me. "If you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose."

I frown, my throat suddenly tight. But before I can respond, our car arrives.

"Here we are," he announces, holding the door open for me.

Climbing in, I manage a strained smile. "Thanks for tonight. For everything."

"Of course," he replies, smirking. "I had fun, believe it or not. And you're welcome."

His green eyes sparkle in the dim Seattle light, aware of his allure. My heart races, but I just cough awkwardly. "See you at the party Saturday?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he closes the door with a soft thud.

As the car pulls away, I lean back and close my eyes. Quentin's presence and his scent—a leather and warm wood fragrance—linger like a warm afterglow.

Against all my good sense, I wrap my arms around myself, basking in both the whole way home.

Chapter Ten

QUENTIN

Standing in front of the full-length mirror at Giovanni’s Exclusive Men's Wear, I watch the tailor, a guy whose eye for detail is sharper than his shears, tweak the hem of my tux. The fabric is a black so deep it seems to swallow light. Not a bad look for Ryder and Jenny's engagement bash tonight.

Pretty slick for a dude whose usual attire is a "Friday the 13th" t-shirt and sweats.

But then, I'm supposed to be more than "just a guy." I’m an Anderson. In Seattle, that name opens doors, gets me whatever I want without much fuss. Tonight, it means I’ll see her again.

Carmina.

I smooth back my hair, taming any rebels. It’s been five days since the reading. Between the whirlwind at work and Danity’s latest drop, we've hardly spoken.

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