Quentin knew he only had a few more seconds before the elevator doors shut.
"I can give you a ride home."
Em laughed.
"You don't need to do all that just because I sucked your dick."
His heart dropped. He knew they'd crossed a boundary. He thought he was breaking down her walls. But nothing had changed.
The doors closed.
Quentin felt his head spin. It took everything in him not to reach out and grab her. He wanted to tangle her hair and bite her neck and make it undeniable that she was taken.
But she wasn't taken.
The elevator opened to P1 and we walked to his spot. He slammed his fist on the trunk of the car.
"FUCK!" He kicked the tire repeatedly. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
"You okay buddy?" Quentin stilled. Behind him was Darius, his friend of over a decade and a cofounder of NovaTech.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."
"You seemed a little upset."
"Well, you know how it is. Sometimes you have to put a dent in your car."
"... that's actually my car."
Quentin looked, and sure enough, he was standing in front of the CEO spot, and the car he had just hit was Darius's Porsche, not his Benz. And there was, in fact, a dent where he had struck it.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it, man. I'm more worried about you. What's going on?"
For a moment Quentin considered telling him everything, spilling his guts about everything that had occurred in the past eight months. But that would cause all sorts of problems, and there's no way Darius would understand.
"Nothing. I'm fine. Bill me for the repair." He got in his car before Darius could say anything else. Quentin was supposed to be hard to read, but after so many years Darius could tell when he was lying. He was the emotional sort, and Quentin really didn't want to deal with that right now.
How was it possible for Em to keep acting like this? She had to be faking it. There was no way she didn't like him after they'd been fucking for so long. The connection they had was beyond anything Quentin had experienced before. He had hooked up with dozens of other women in his life, some of whom were the most highly trained escorts money could buy, and they still couldn't compare to her. What was it? That smile? The look in her eyes while she rode him? His heart began to pound just thinking about it. He was going seventy on the interstate, headed to his mansion on the outskirts. His brothers were probably home already. They would notice if something was off with him. Maybe he would sneak in the back.
Quentin loved his brothers more than anything, but he didn't want to talk to them. He didn't want them to see the depth of his feelings, the way that he had been possessed by this woman. He couldn't talk normally while he was thinking about her, and he was almost always thinking about her. It took all his willpower to get through the workday without melting into his daydreams. When he let himself slip, he'd start imagining plowing her into his mattress, pressing kisses down her back. When he really let himself slip, he would start imagining even more ridiculous things, like going on dates. Holding hands walking downtown to see a show, wrapping his arms around her while she cooked, falling asleep with her curled up beside him. He imagined coming home to her. That hurt the most.
Quentin had worked his whole life to build a happy home for his brothers, away from their father's machinations. He had taken whatever he could from his father and used it to build his own company, to make his own fortune, and to build a house where the three of them could live without any ghosts. After years of work, he'd finally made it happen. They were all supposed to be happy here. His brothers were happy. Quentin was happy, really, on the days he wasn't completely consumed by Em. But those days were becoming few and far between, and his brothers were going to notice.
His plan to sneak in the back failed immediately, because Edgar was outside in the garden as he pulled into the drive. Edgar was seven years younger than him, and despite being an adult of legal drinking age he still had a boyish look about him. When he saw Quentin he jumped up and ran towards him, his clothes and face still covered in dirt.
"Q!" Edgar lunged to hug him.
"Ed! Suit!"
"You have a billion suits. I haven't seen you in forever…" Edgar pouted. He was far too old to be pouting, and if it was anyone in the world but his little brother Quentin would have been incredibly annoyed. But this was his brother, and he was adorable. And it was true. Quentin had been… out… a lot lately. He pulled his brother close and patted him on the back.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry about that. I'll try to be home more."
"It's okay. I know you're busy." Edgar looked up at him. "How was work today?"
"Nothing special."
"You always say that."
"And it's always true." Quentin tousled Edgar's hair. "Let's go inside. I want to put my bag down." Edgar reluctantly let go of him, and the two of them headed inside. Their childhood home had a large staff, butlers and maids and valets and gardeners. Quentin always found it rather chaotic. Instead, he only kept one person in their employ, a kind older lady named Mattice who did all the simple housekeeping. She greeted him with a smile at the door.
"Good evening, Master Quentin."
"I told you to stop calling me that."
"Of course, my liege." Quentin rolled his eyes, and she laughed.
"You have a weird-ass sense of humor." Edgar said.
"Don't be rude, Ed."
"It's true." He pouted. "You're not upset, are you Matty?"
"At you, young master? Never." She smiled and patted his head, and he stuck his head out at Quentin.
"Don't spoil him, Mattice."
"Oh, it's a bit late for that, Master Quentin. I'll have dinner ready by eight." She patted Edgar on the back and then walked towards the kitchen. They had only known Mattice for about four years, since they'd bought the house, but she felt like family. She was kinder to them than most of their actual family. At the company, Quentin felt very strongly about maintaining appropriate workplace boundaries with his subordinates. It was different with Mattice, though. She listened to everything that Edgar yammered on about and she took care of Martin when he was sick. She was certainly someone Quentin wanted to protect. What is that, if not family?
Quentin had all of these ridiculous daydreams about being with Emilia for real, getting to do all of the silly things he swore he'd never want, and in not one of those fantasies did he ever introduce Em to his father. Than man had nothing to do with them anymore. But he often thought about what would happen if he brought Em home, introduced her to Mattice as his girlfriend. They would certainly love each other, if they ever met. The problem is that Em was completely against coming to his house. He'd invited her a few times, claiming he was too lazy to drive, or didn't have time to go to her place. Every time he did, she simply suggested they meet up another day. She'd said 'what am I going to do, tell your brothers I'm the sneaky link? That would be insane. I live alone, so just come over here'.
If he had his own apartment, would Em come there? Would he finally get to fuck her in a proper bedroom, in a bed where his feet didn't hang off the end? He would buy the finest sheets money could buy, the comfiest mattress and the fluffiest pillows and by the end of it she would be begging to spend the night there.
Quentin laughed. Even in his fantasies, she stayed for the sheets. Not for him. He had always been confident, self-assured, yet she made him question everything. Quentin collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, asking the same question he found himself asking most nights.
How can I be good enough for her?