Page 42 of The Late Hit
“Thanks, Nadia, but if anyone is going to be on the cover of a magazine, it’s going to be Q when he gets on the cover ofSports Illustrated.”
The two of us spend the next five minutes posing in various positions that Nadia instructs. It feels like we are getting ready for prom instead of attending a gala to raise money for The Asher & Bryce Foundation—a scholarship foundation that was created in memory of them.
“Okay, there are lots of options, not that you two need options. You’re both beautiful.” Nadia hands Brynn her phone back, pulling her in for a hug. She whispers something in her ear that I can’t make out, but it’s enough to make Brynn pull back and kiss the housekeeper on the cheek.
Nadia pulls away and turns to me.
Wrapping her arms around my neck, the older woman pulls me into a fierce hug before she whispers in my ear. “Take care of our girl tonight. Don’t let her get too out of control.”
I pull back and give her a wink before leaning down and kissing her on the cheek as well. This woman is like a mother to the girl who holds the key to my heart. I’d do anything to make both women happy. Nadia leads us to the front door, opening it for Brynn and me.
Brynn leads the way to another town car where the driver is waiting to open the door for her. I follow her, my eyes staring ahead at her ass. Brynn’s got a good ass. I might be her best friend, but I’m still a man who appreciates a good ass. It’s curvy and round, but firm. I can only imagine what it would feel like to grab a handful. She enters the open door as I stride around to the driver’s side, sliding into the back seat.
As the driver gets back in the car, I watch Brynn reach into her purse, pulling out the same weed pen she had last night. Moving my hand, I grab the wrist that she’s holding the pen in.
“Quinton?” she asks, flinging her head to mine.
“Not tonight.” I speak softly. “Use me. Let me be your crutch.”
She searches my eyes. She must see the sincerity in them, because she places the pen back in her purse.
“Thank you.” She nods with a smile.
The two of us ride in silence, both of us looking out the window as the city nears.
“What should I expect for tonight?” I finally break the silence.
She turns to me, twisting her hands in her lap.
“It’ll be a lot of the who’s who of Chicago, anyone with deep pockets will be there. We’ll be sitting at a table with my parents, the Nelsons, and another couple—the table seats eight. Once dinner is over, the band will start. We can dance if you want, but some of us will sneak off and play games.”
My brow furrows before asking, “What kind of games?”
She just smirks, patting my leg. “The wild kind.”
I have a feeling tonight's going to be interesting. I’m not sure that I’m prepared for the events that are about to happen.
TheBellaireisdecoratedexquisitely. I’m in awe of her beauty. Located downtown, it’s a historic building that used to be a theater. Over the years, it has been renovated with modern decor that still honors the original charm. The entryway features the most elegant crystal chandelier that dazzles, drawing your eyes up. Columns and delicate woodworking line the walls. I’ve always loved attending events here. I’m a sucker for historic charm.
Wrapping my arm through Quinton’s, I let him lead us along with the crowd as we enter the dining hall. Fifty circular tables are set up in the room with white linens and floral arrangements. There’s a stage in the front of the room where a band is playing soft music. After dinner, the music will transition to lively tunes, encouraging guests to get up and dance. A long bar is set up in the back next to the tables of baskets, services, vacation getaways, and other items that have been donated by local businesses to be raffled off at the silent auction.
“Breathtaking,” I gasp, taking in the room. No matter how many times I attend galas here, I’m always taken aback by the beauty of the Bellaire.
“Yeah, breathtaking,” Quinton repeats.
But when I look at him, his eyes aren’t focused on the room before us, they’re focused on me. I feel a blush spread over my skin.
“Let’s get a drink.” I gesture toward the bar.
Quinton steps in line behind me, his hand finding my lower back. It’s an open bar, because why not? What better way to loosen purse strings than by encouraging the guests to overindulge, even though a table costs two thousand dollars?
There’s a small line of guests dressed to perfection when we make it over to the bar. Quinton stands quietly behind me, never removing his hand from my back. His thumb caresses the exposed skin of my open-back dress. Goose bumps spread across my body.
“People cannot take their eyes off you, Wilder. You’re the most stunning woman in this room.”
That damn blush returns, making my whole body hot, especially the skin where his thumb is kissing my skin.
“Ah, Ms. Wilder, it’s been a while. What can I get you this evening, sweetheart,” the bartender asks.
