Page 40 of Fixer for the Billionaire

"Where are you heading off to, Sanchez?" he asks.

"I just need some fresh air."

"Well then, let's go for a walk. I could use some fresh air too." He tugs on my hand, his grip warm and strong. I have no choice but to follow.

As we step outside into the cool night air, I inhale deeply. Quentin's hand is still wrapped around mine. When I glance down at it, he glances too. A beat passes before he lets go.

"I thought you had something you wanted to talk to me about?" he prompts.

I swallow hard, the words harder to form than I thought. "I did. I just wasn't sure if you wanted to hear it."

He keeps walking beside me, his expression soft. "I always want to hear what you have to say, Sanchez. Even if it's annoying as hell sometimes." I snort, and he continues, "I thought we might walk to Sopra. Eat there and talk."

"I... don't know, Quentin. Sopra seems a little too formal for what I have to say."

"What, the carbonara and candlelight aren't romantic enough for you?" He grins, one hidden dimple making an appearance.

"No, it's just... a lot to unpack. I don't want to ruin anything."

Quentin stops walking and turns to face me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Alright, Sanchez. Spill. Whatever you have to say can't be worth the dramatics you're putting on right now."

He steps closer, and I can feel the warmth of his body radiating towards me. The soft stubble along his jawline looks even more inviting under the streetlights. My pulse pounds. Then I notice something—a flash of orange at the corner of my vision.

I blink at the object coming out of the nearby alley, enough that Quentin turns to look too. His brow creases as he stares. "Fuck."

"Quentin?"

He starts walking toward the alley, quickening his pace as he gets closer. I follow, my heart in my throat. When we reach the entrance, Quentin curses again, and I gasp.

There, on the ground, is the orange tabby I saw Quentin once feed outside of Sopra. Its fur is matted with dirt and blood, and its chest barely moves as it takes shallow breaths.

"Oh my god," I say, tears stinging my eyes.

Quentin kneels next to the cat, his face a mask of anguish. "I knew something was wrong when I didn't see her these past few nights."

He carefully picks up the cat, cradling it in his arms. "Sanchez?" His voice is distant; I can barely move. "Sanchez! We need to get her to a vet. Now." Quentin's words snap me out of my trance, and I nod, wiping away the tears. "Please. Get me an address and number for a vet, quick."

I fumble with my phone, hands shaking as I search for a nearby vet. Quentin's grip on the cat tightens, and he looks at me expectantly.

"Got it," I say, reading off the address and number. "Let's go."

We rush out of the alley towards the sidewalk. I dial the emergency animal hospital as Quentin raises a hand, signaling for a taxi—any taxi—to stop.

Chapter Sixteen

CARMINA

The rain starts just as the cab pulls into my driveway.

After a frantic ride through the city with Quentin's mangled alleycat in tow, we finally reached the animal hospital. Quentin stayed in the back with the crumpled kitten, cradling it in his arms while I sat up front, giving directions and praying for the poor animal's survival.

I could hear her faint meows as they rushed her into the emergency room. Inside the waiting room, I paced back and forth, unable to sit still. By the time Quentin emerged, his dark blond hair disheveled and his clothes streaked with dirt and blood, I was a nervous wreck.

"Is she going to be okay?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"They're working on her," Quentin said, his voice steely. "They think she might have been attacked by another animal. They think... she's got a shot."

It was enough to give me hope, and I clung to that as we called a ride back to my place.

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