Page 36 of Fixer for the Billionaire

Emails fly out faster than gossip in a small town.

By the time the clock hits what should be "go home and binge-watch your favorite series" o'clock, we've practically got everything but the kitchen sink nailed down for all three days.

In typical Seattle-fashion, it’ll be a boat party. A yacht party, rather. Sailing around the Puget Sound.

Collapsing in our chairs, Quentin throws me a look that's equal parts exhaustion and triumph.

"By Friday's meeting, we'll be so organized, we'll start wondering if we accidentally hired ourselves out for this gig. Rain Fall and Fairy Dust won't know what hit them."

I laugh. "Yeah, I think Puddle and Glitter will like the options we're bringing to the table.”

"Hear, hear." Quentin releases a long breath before looking at me. "I'm impressed."

"By what?"

"The fact that we work so well together." Quentin pauses, his expression turning serious. "But to be honest, we've been working well together since your first company retreat. Remember that game of Truth or Dare? We kicked the other teams’ asses.”

“Yeah, we did. By promptly showing our own.”

“Aye, anybody who’d eaten those peppers that Derek dared us to eat would have done the same. Who could have kept their clothes on after that? Lucky for us the lake was nearby to jump in.”

I laugh. “I told you to pick Truth, not Dare. Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up with a tattoo that reads 'I love Twilight' like a nineteen-year-old girl.”

"Hey, that was supposed to be our little secret."

I grin, my chest feeling lighter. “Well, at least it all worked out in the end. Picking Dare over Truth. Turns out we both were better at the ‘doing’ parts instead of the talking ones.”

Suddenly, Quentin’s own grin fades. He looks over at me, green eyes unblinking. "So I vividly remember."

I look up and into his eyes, seeing images of the two of us breathless and entangled in the swirly, sage-green depths.

Our gazes clash before I clear my throat, sitting up straight.

"Anyway…It is getting late." I close my laptop, clearing my desk. "We should probably head out now. I think we’ve done enough tonight.”

I stand up, still straightening the mess on my desktop when Quentin speaks.

"Sanchez…” His deep voice rumbles through the silent office. “Are you alright?"

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

Quentin's eyes soften. "With everything. Your sisters. The workload. Danity's new releases. The wedding. It's a lot, I know."

My mind races, trying to come up with a witty response to deflect from the situation. But Quentin might be right. He might know me too well. Might see right through my facade.

I shuffle my laptop into my bag. "I'm managing. I feel like I have everything under control."

"Is that really how you feel?"

Okay, if we're going for a grade here, that pushiness just knocked Quentin down a letter. I snap my bag shut and pull it onto my shoulder, ready to head out.

"I'm fine, Quentin," I say with finality. "Let's just focus on wrapping up tonight and getting home."

Quentin looks like he wants to say something else, but decides against it.

He stands up, his tall, six-foot-plus frame towering over my five-foot-six frame. His broad shoulders tense as he grabs his own bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder.

His biceps flex under his shirt, and I look away.

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