Page 41 of Fixer for the Billionaire

By the time the car parks in front of my house, the rain is pouring down in sheets. Quentin and I dash out—making a break for it, huddling together until we reach my front door.

I unlock it, grimacing as we step into the messy foyer cluttered with shoes, coats, and bags. If I survive the rest of this night, it'll be a small miracle.

I glance at Quentin, who's trying to subtly shake off the rain from his coat. "Sorry about the mess," I mumble, stepping out of my wet shoes.

"Don't worry about it. My place is probably worse, and I have a housekeeper."

"Must be nice," I say. "I'm going to check on the girls. I'll be right back."

I reach Val's bedroom and peek inside to see my eleven-year-old genius sister fast asleep. With a satisfied sigh, I close the door gently and head to Gabi's room.

Unlike our youngest sister, my seventeen-year-old sibling is sprawled on her bed, headphones blasting music. I gently tap her shoulder, and she jumps up. "Oh my God, Mina! You scared me!"

"Sorry, Gab. Just wanted to check on you."

Gabi rolls her eyes, but I see a faint smile. "I'm fine, as always." She quickly sits up and turns off her music. "So, what's going on? You're here kinda late."

"Uh, yeah," I answer. "Work ran over, and something else happened. I'll tell you tomorrow. Anyway, we have company. Quentin's downstairs."

"Quentin? Again?" Gabi waggles her eyebrows.

"Don't start, Gabi. He's just a coworker. And... maybe a friend."

"He sounds more like 'friendly' than a coworker, if you know what I mean. And my friend Katie on the soccer team says men and women can never be just friends."

"Well, as usual, your friend Katie is wrong. And you're not being subtle with the eyebrows, Gabriela, so yes, I know what you mean. But he's just a friend, I promise."

"That's what Mami used to say about her 'guy friends' before she'd disappear for a week." Gabi's smile falls and her voice gets serious. "So, maybe Katie isn't so wrong after all."

A stab of pain shoots through me at the mention of our mother. "I know," I say softly, tempted to sit on her bed. "And trust me, I have no intention of disappearing."

Some of the tension leaves Gabi's face, but then her gaze goes guarded again. "Good. I'd like to keep it that way, if you don't mind."

I give her a sad smile. "I promise, no disappearing acts."

Reaching over, I try to kiss Gabi's forehead, but she's already turning back to her headphones and music.

Sighing, I exit her room and head to the kitchen, where Quentin's hands are buried in the sink. His dirty collared shirt is off, leaving him in a thin white undershirt. From my vantage point, I can see the curve of every muscle on his chest and arms, along with the faint outline of his Twilight tattoo peeking out from his sleeve.

My lips break out into a grin.

"Hey," I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat and try again. "Hey."

Washing a sky-high pile of dirty dishes that are now probably so fuzzy I'm afraid to see what they were originally, Quentin looks up, a smile spreading across his face. "Hey yourself."

"Need any help?" I ask, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms.

"No thanks, I got this." He nudges a pile of plates. "But about the mess," he snorts over his shoulder, "you weren't kidding."

I place my hands on the side of my head, groaning. "Ugh. I remember what it was like to come home to a neat and tidy house. Those were the days."

"Have you considered hiring help?"

"I have. I had a housekeeper until recently, but she moved." I shrug. "I haven't been able to find anyone to fill her place since, and with the girls here..."

Quentin nods, understanding. "I get it. But hey, at least your house has character. Or rather the dishes do, since they look like something out of Sesame Street." He winks, and I can't help but smile. When I reach for a sponge to help him, he grabs my wrist. His large, wet hand completely covers mine, making goosebumps spread up my arm.

"What are you doing?" His golden brown brows pull down.

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