Rise of the Notorious (6 page)

“That man is always having a bad day.” Grant turned to her, feeling sorry for her having to deal with the crazy Spaniard. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Quinn managed a small smile as she brushed at the white apron she wore, embarrassed he had seen her getting yelled at. “He’s just angry because I’ve invaded his kitchen.”

“This is not his kitchen, it is the hotel’s kitchen,” Grant reminded her. On impulse, he reached out to gently rub a smudge of flour from her cheek with his thumb.

She looked up at him in surprise, her jade eyes warming as they met his. It was rare that he showed her affection this way, but when he did, he was unbelievably kind. “I can handle him. Just give me time to break him in.”

“I don’t want to hear him yelling at you again,” Grant murmured, shifting so he was standing right in front of her, his hand cupping her face and brushing against her loose, ebony curls. His eyes held hers, smoldering with sudden heat spawned by the contact. “I want you to be happy here, Quinn. Happy with me.”

She smiled, tilting her head up in invitation as his mouth lowered to hers. Reaching for his practical gray-diamond tie, she tugged him closer until his lips brushed over her own. “A girl in love is always happy.”

As she kissed him, her heart filled with joy and the thrill of his hands sliding over her back. When he pushed her up against the stainless steel kitchen island, pressing against her greedily and desperately, her mind whirled with both need and desire.

She began to loosen his tie, her hands snaking under his suit jacket as her mouth roamed from his lips to his jaw to his neck eagerly.

He groaned, the urge to take her consuming him as he buried his face in her hair. But his propriety and sense of duty outweighed the desire, so he rested his forehead against hers with a long, frustrated sigh.

“Why, Mr. Vasser, I do believe this is incredibly inappropriate.” Quinn grinned as she nibbled on his lower lip, only to laugh at the tormented look he gave her as he pulled away.

“I want you to come home with me tonight.”

“You mean like last night?”

“And the night before.” The memory instantly flashed in his mind of her arching beneath him, her dark hair splayed across his bed as her hands fisted in the sheets. It was a memory that did little to cool the fire flooding his system at that moment. “I’ll be back to get you at six.”

“I’ll be here, like always.” She reached up to caress his cheek, saddened to notice the exhaustion still lining his features, the stress darkening his eyes. These last several weeks had not been easy on him, and the next few months were not likely to get much better. “Are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale.”

His thoughts immediately went back to his sister and he tried to push whatever he was feeling aside. He could tell Quinn, but part of him wanted nothing more than to forget about the horror of it for now. “I’m fine. Go mince some onions and I’ll see you this evening.”

She laughed again as he pulled away from her, straightening his tie as he left the kitchen. The moment he was gone, however, her concern for him returned. There was definitely something on his mind; she would just have to find a way to ask him about it later. She wanted him to trust her, to know he could come to her with anything.

What had started as nothing more than a mild friendship months earlier had grown into something so much more. Quinn liked to think back to the day she first met him, and how formidable and powerful he had seemed to her. Her quiet, workaholic boss, so capable and determined. While he still exuded that same incredible strength, she knew that she understood him better now. She knew the warmth of his heart, for he had finally given in and shown it to her. Quinn would never be the same now that Grant Vasser of the illustrious Vasser Hotel family had become a part of her life.

With a wistful sigh, she returned to mincing onions, only to pause moments later as she heard the quick snap of heels outside the kitchen. She braced herself for what she knew was coming.

Charlene Vasser strolled into the kitchen, one eyebrow arched as she scanned the room.

“Was my son just here?” she asked, eyeing Quinn imperiously.

Quinn managed a polite smile. “Yep, you just missed him.”

Charlene let out a sigh of exasperation. “I would ask you to tell him something for me but you’ll probably just forget. I’ll find him myself.”

With one last condescending look, Charlene left the kitchen in a flurry of sapphire silk, diamonds, and Liz Taylor perfume.

Quinn absorbed Grant’s mother’s words painfully, appalled at how carelessly rude the woman could be without any provocation. While she knew Charlene did not approve of her nor like her very much, that did not give her an excuse to be cruel.

Raoul was hostile, but he was nothing compared to Charlene. Quinn returned to the onions, unable to forget how out of place she was surrounded by these kings and queens of New York City.

Linc lit the
cigarette gratefully, sucking in the smoke and releasing it with relish as he shut his eyes. He hadn’t smoked since college, but his sister’s confession had been just enough to push him over the edge and splurge on a pack of Parliaments. And coupled with the strange text messages Lynette had received from her father just days earlier, he was in a bad place. A bad enough place that he’d take up bad habits just to ease his mind in any way possible.

Walter walked into Linc’s office and handed him a Red Bull, his eyes widening as he saw his boss smoking.

“Seriously?” Walter managed, eyes jolting from the cigarette to Linc’s face and back again.

Linc opened the Red Bull single-handed and began to gulp down the elixir eagerly, forcing the caffeine into his system. He slammed the can down upon his desk and took another drag on his cigarette.

“I’m in a mood, Wally,” Linc said bitterly, tapping out ash into an empty Coke can sitting on his desk. “Did you get the mail?”

“Yeah, there wasn’t anything for you.” Walter sat down in one of the chairs facing Linc’s desk, leaning over conspiratorially. “Dude, if you need something to calm you down, I can get it for you.”

Linc snorted out a half laugh, amusement in his eyes. “What, like pot?”

Walter nodded, his eyes serious. “It’s better for you than cigarettes, man. Seriously, I’m getting worried about you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.” Linc grinned darkly, leaning back in his chair. “You see that interview Jorja-the-whore did on the news this morning?”

“No…what did she say?” Walter looked apprehensive, knowing this was the main subject that had been irritating his boss for the last week. Ever since Win had died, Jorja Hale had been making the rounds with the networks, proclaiming the Vasser family to be at fault for his suicide. It was, for the most part, a load of shit. But even Walter had his doubts over who had tampered with the drugs that Win had consumed before going mad and killing himself.

Linc’s eyes flashed with barely controlled rage. “The usual. Though now she’s claiming
I
convinced him to do it, which is just ludicrous. She just likes knowing she’s twisting the knife in my goddamn back.”

“Well, you can’t let it get to you,” Walter insisted, tapping his hands against his knees restlessly. “Everything will work out, just give it time.”

“God, I hope you’re right.” Linc dropped his cigarette in the Coke can, exhausted. “Why don’t you go get me a sandwich or something?”

“Ham or turkey?”

“Roast beef, extra meat. I need a manly sandwich today.”

Linc watched as his assistant got to his feet and left, leaving him to brood in peace. He immediately let out a heavy, burdened groan and rubbed his face with his hands.

Not only was Jorja a continual thorn in his side, but this whole business with Lynette and her father was weighing on him as well. They had yet to find out what the hell Shaw had meant with those text messages, but Linc had a bad feeling about them. As much as Lynette wanted to brush the whole thing off, he couldn’t let it go. The entire scenario had begun to consume him, and Shaw had now become an enemy.

Hell is coming for the Vassers. You must not be there when it does.

What did Shaw mean? Was he planning some kind of coordinated attack on the family? Or was he just being foreboding for the sake of trying to scare his only daughter away from the Vassers?

Either way, Linc was convinced that Shaw was up to something. And he would not rest until he found out exactly what it was.

Madison watched, unseeing,
as the city lights glittered around her. They penetrated through the tinted glass of her black town car as her driver took her home.

Her secret was out—exposed for her family to see, to dissect, to judge. Her brothers now knew the real reason behind her instant rise to the top, and she suspected their trust in her would be greatly diminished from this point on.

Could she blame them? Not really. Had she been in their shoes, she would have been livid, would have felt betrayed and manipulated. Yet, despite her uncles’ horror, her cousins’ suspicion, and her brothers’ disbelief, she would not have changed one thing. Regardless of his crimes, Cyrus had given her everything. So she would deal with this situation and persevere, just as he would have done.

Her thoughts swept back to her cousin Duke, remembering his callous attack of her. He may not have been as obvious as Cy had been, but his intentions were just as clear. Duke felt he deserved the spot she now inhabited as head of the family and he was letting his bitterness over it cloud his judgment.

It pained her to remember that at one time, long ago, they had been friends. Back in Las Vegas, he had been one of her closest confidants, her mentor and her colleague. She had helped him get over the rough patches in his doomed marriage and had welcomed his advice when she needed guidance in her own life.

But the man who sat before her earlier that day was not the same man she had known. No, this man was hardened and bitter, aged and alone. His dark hair was now going gray, his once brilliant blue eyes were dulled and filled with anger. He despised her now, a fact which bothered her more than she wanted it to. After all, she didn’t need him to like her, didn’t care what he really thought of her. He was just another pawn on the chessboard she had to play, and as much as he tried to fight back against her, his efforts would be in vain.

She’d give him and the others some time to come to terms with everything, but after that, she intended to go through with the plan her grandfather had laid out for her.

There would be no backing down.

As the car pulled up to her town house on the Upper East Side, she spotted a dark figure standing on the stoop outside her door. When she saw him put out his cigarette with his boot, she felt her heart sink.

The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was speak to
him
. Not when she was desperately in need of rest, aching from the events of earlier that day. She just didn’t have it in her for a battle of wits or for a war of hearts.

But it appeared she had no choice in the matter.

She thanked her driver as he opened the door for her, wishing him a good night as she walked across the sidewalk and up the stairs to her front door.

“I don’t remember inviting you over, Wyatt,” she said coldly, eyeing him in the yellow light of a nearby streetlamp.

He smiled cagily at her, the restlessness of his mood sending sparks into the air. “I wanted to see how you’re doing, sweetheart.”