Loving the Chase (Heart of the Storm #1) (31 page)

Chapter Two

Q
uinn stood outside the big wooden double doors, looking up at the knocker as if she actually had a choice. She rolled her head on her neck to hear the satisfactory popping of stress relief and took a deep breath.

“Get on with it,” she said under her breath, adjusting the big purple-and-silver wrapped package under her arm. “No time to mess around.”

Reaching for the handle, the door opened in front of her.

“Quinny!”

Quinn widened her eyes and stretched her mouth into a smile; then her gaze dropped to her sister’s feet.

“Phoebe!” she cried through her teeth. “I’m so sorry I’m late—give me your shoes.”

Her sister’s eyebrows lifted in question. “What?”

“Say your feet hurt,” Quinn whispered in a rush, pointing to her bare feet. “I changed in the car and I forgot to pack shoes.”

“Why did you change in the car?”

Quinn sighed and worked to dial back her impatience. “I had to work, that’s why I’m late. We were filming on the other side of Fort Worth, and it ran over so I changed in the backseat going down the highway. Please?” Quinn pleaded. “Don’t make me go before that pack of wolves like this.”

“Jesus, Quinn,” Phoebe said dramatically, kicking off the black Manolos. “Just so you know, I love these shoes.”

“And I’ll love them, too,” Quinn said, rubbing her sister’s belly. “Besides, aren’t pregnant women supposed to wear flats or something? Lord, you’re huge.”

Phoebe’s mouth dropped open, and she swatted at Quinn’s shoulder. “Don’t you know better than to tell a hormonal pregnant woman how big she is?”

Quinn cringed and slipped on the probably-eight-hundred-dollar
shoes. She’d forgotten how comfortable money could feel.

“Sorry,” she said. “Can hardly even tell you’re pregnant.”

Phoebe laughed and looped an arm around Quinn’s neck and pulled her into the foyer, steering her toward their mother’s sitting room. Cackles and diva giggles could be heard.

“Is your hair wet?” she whispered.

“It was raining,” Quinn whispered back.

“Y’all!” Phoebe called out as they entered the room. “Look who’s here!”

The crowd didn’t exactly erupt into applause, but there were some respectable
oh
’s and polite
yay
’s and broad smiles. There was one
Who’s that?
mumbled within Quinn’s hearing, but nothing unexpected. It wasn’t her crowd. It never had been.

Phoebe squeezed her neck in another hug before she let go, and Quinn took a cleansing breath as she smiled at all the camouflaged sharks in the room. It was worth it for her sister. Even the dropped gazes as many of them did the head-to-toe assessment. That was okay. She had good shoes.

“Hey, Quinn,” said a soft-spoken woman she remembered from Phoebe’s wedding two years back. One of the few of her sister’s friends that Quinn hadn’t instantly wanted to throw her champagne glass at.

“Hi,” Quinn said, smiling, unable to recall her name. “Good to see you. Sorry I’m late, y’all. I had to work.”

Yep. There was the look. Work wasn’t something most of these women had a clue about.

“What’d you bring me?” Phoebe whispered loudly with a wink at the others. She took the box from Quinn’s hands and tilted it back and forth. “Feels like the new baby playtime station—y’all know the one? Attaches to the car seat
and
the stroller?”

“And it has the baby-to-mommy talk button on it, like a baby cell phone!” cried a redheaded woman with a perfect chignon. “Carter loves that!”

“Megan does, too,” said a brunette in a red dress that looked party-ready for a whole other kind of party. “She can entertain herself for
hours
.”

“Probably does,” Quinn mumbled to herself.

“What?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh, I was asking, where’s Doug?” Quinn said, thinking quickly.

Her sister waved a hand. “He’s in the kitchen,” she said. “Probably eating all the hors d’oeuvres.”

“Sounds like the place to be,” Quinn said, chuckling. Alone. No one else found that funny.

“Quinn,” said a voice behind her that sent her hands in search of each other. She clutched them together as she turned. “I didn’t hear you come in, honey.”

“Mom, hey,” Quinn said, moving to hug her carefully. “I know I’m late, we had to work, and I had the guys drop me off—”

“Drop you off?” she asked, pulling back.

“So I could give Pheebs her present,” Quinn finished.

“Looks like the playtime station,” Phoebe said, widening her grin like a child at Christmas.

Phoebe
was
a child at Christmas. All her life, Quinn’s younger sister was the epitome of the sweet, naive, helpless rich girl, and everything made her happy. Gleefully happy. And why wouldn’t it? She had a beautiful home, a beautiful man, and a beautiful life unencumbered by things like financial worries or stress. Now she would have the beautiful child, too.

And Quinn wouldn’t have it any other way. She adored her little sister and had spent her life looking out for her, but consistently hearing how she herself fell short did wear on the occasional nerve.

She noticed her mother’s mental note-taking of her outfit. She knew it didn’t measure up, but—

“Lovely shoes, Quinn,” her mother said.

“Thanks,” Quinn said. “Phoebe, why don’t you open your gift.”

“We’ve already done the gifts,” her mother said. “The guests are eating.”

“I don’t think anyone will be offended if she opens another one while they eat,” Quinn said softly. “It’s okay.”

“Works for me,” Phoebe said, maneuvering her body down onto a chair and balancing the package on her knees.

“Phoebe, where are your shoes?” her mother asked.

Crap.

“My feet hurt,” Phoebe blurted.

“Well, you can’t just walk around in your bare feet,” her mother said under her breath.

“Sure she can,” Quinn said. “She’s pregnant and home and among family and friends. Who cares if she has shoes?”

Phoebe glanced up at Quinn as she ripped into the purple paper, an eyebrow cocked as if to say
listen to your own words
.

“And pregnant,” Quinn repeated, for her benefit.

“So you had to work at that place?” her mother asked. “You couldn’t ask off? I mean, this has been planned for months, honey.”

That place.
It was bad enough in her mother’s eyes that Quinn chose to work after getting her fine arts degree. The least she could have done is take a position as a media consultant or something in her father’s company if she was hell-bent on working. But choosing to forego that route and struggle with a job search on her own—taking some business courses and settling for a management position at a big-box media store like Snap Depot—was tantamount to treason.

If Quinn didn’t favor her mother so strongly, she was pretty sure there might have been DNA testing done around age nine.

“Wasn’t there today, Mom,” Quinn said. “I told you, they dropped me off. We had a shoot today on the other side of Fort Worth, and it ran long.”

“Ah, your little show,” her mother said, picking up an abandoned plate. “Have you ladies heard about Quinn’s TV show?”

“Um, it’s not my—”

“I’ve seen it,” a pretty blonde said, raising her hand like she was in school. “Very exciting!”

“How much of that is real?” the redhead asked.

“All of it,” Quinn said. “What you see is what we’re doing.”

“Seems a crazy way to spend a rainy day to me,” the redhead said.

“I’d be terrified,” the blonde said, smiling. “That first episode where y’all nearly got taken down? The one with the cell phone video? Oh, my God, I couldn’t breathe through that.”

Quinn’s stomach still tightened at the memory of that day. She’d been in the other vehicle with Eli while Zach chased down Maddi in the Infinity van, but when they got to them and Simon was missing? Quinn swallowed hard against the sour taste that filled her mouth. She’d never felt fear like that before. The absolute devastation of thinking someone you care about might be—

But he wasn’t. He was okay. She’d latched on to him that day like never before. Quinn was normally careful around the Chase brothers to avoid any impropriety. She did have to work with them after all, and they were her best friend’s brothers. But Simon was different. He was her friend, too. And on that day, in that moment, nothing had mattered except feeling him wrapped around her, alive and breathing.

Nothing inappropriate about it. Celebrating a return from the dead warranted a little boundary crossing.

“But you don’t have kids to worry about coming home to, I guess,” the blonde woman continued.

Quinn pasted on a tolerant smile. “Yep. No kids. If I die, no one cares.”

“Quinn!” her mother admonished. “That’s not—”

“Oh, my God, this is better than the playtime station!” Phoebe squealed. She held up the box for the room. “A foot-massage kit!”

There were some definite
ooh
’s
that time around, as the spoiled genes poked their selfish little heads out.

“Thank you, Quinny!” Phoebe said, leveraging herself to push out of the chair. “I will use it every night!”

“What are you using every night?” said Doug, Phoebe’s husband, as he entered the room with a smile and a plate of hot, steaming crab, drizzled in butter.

The way all the women’s heads swiveled, Quinn figured they were picturing
him
drizzled in butter. Doug was quite the eye candy. But Quinn hadn’t eaten anything more than half a bag of Fritos all day, and her stomach grumbled at the aroma.

“For me?” she asked, putting on a cheesy grin.

Doug’s face fell. “No.”

“But you love me,” Quinn said, reaching out and gently tugging the plate out of his hand. “And I’m starving. I’ve been out in the rain all day.”

“Fine,” Doug said with a wink, huffing and pretending to be put out as he turned around and headed back to the kitchen. The longing sighs were heard around the room, and Quinn had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. “You Parker women, your powers of evil know no boundaries.”

“Just think if the baby’s a girl,” Quinn called after him with a mouthful of crab. “You’ll be voodooed in your sleep.”

“Won’t be long, and you’ll be having some little voodoo-ettes yourself, Quinn,” Phoebe said. “Wouldn’t it be fun if you and Eric got pregnant right away and we had back-to-back babies?”

Quinn stared at her. She couldn’t imagine anything less fun than that at the moment. Yes, she wanted kids. Eventually. Maybe. She was thirty, so it was . . . kind of . . . time to start thinking along those lines, probably. But being someone’s mother? That thought was terrifying.

“Let’s just get through the wedding for now,” Quinn said, her smile weakening. “And work all the bugs out with
your
kid.”

That brought some laughs, and Quinn felt the tension ease up in her neck.

“Speaking of,” her mother said quietly. Oh, hell, she had spoken of it. “Are those invitations in the mail yet?”

Sigh. The crab no longer tasted appealing. “No.”

“Quinn Elizabeth Parker,” her mother hissed. “Six weeks! Those were supposed to go out six weeks before the event!”

“Well, I happen to think that’s—ridiculous,” Quinn said, setting her plate down. “I throw things away if they’re on my counter or fridge that long. I’ll send them out this next week. I’ve been busy.”

“I hope with something more important than those silly jobs of yours,” her mother said. “Thank God that’s about to come to an end.”

Quinn frowned. “What’s coming to an end?”

“That Snap place job and the running around chasing tornadoes with the Chase family,” she said, gesturing with her hands.

Quinn laughed, a quick sound that sounded more acidic than humored. “Yeah, that’s not likely. Snap Depot pays my bills, and we have a contract for the show.”

Her mother looked at her with a patient smile. “Eric may have something to say about it once you’re married,” she said.

“Eric is fine with it,” Quinn said. “We’ve been together for three years, Mom. He knows me. He knows what’s important to me.”

“So have you been packing?” her mother asked, clearly deciding on a detour.

“For—the honeymoon?” Quinn asked. “No, that’s a month away—”

“Not for the trip, honey,” her mother said. “To move into Eric’s house.” She gestured as if that were the grandest plan on the planet. Darting a glance around to ensure the guests were talking amongst themselves and not listening, she continued. “Honestly, honey, in this day and age, with everyone living together first, I’m surprised you’re still batting about that dingy little apartment.”

Quinn absently ran a hand over her hair and then pulled her hand away as her fingers landed on the precariously placed clip.

“I like my dingy little apartment,” she said. “And you know most parents don’t want their daughters shacking up.”

Her mother gave a sound of disgust. “Quinn, don’t be crude.”

“Just saying.”

“Eric’s house is in a better part of town, more suited to you, is all
I’m
saying,” her mother said, holding up a hand to signify the discussion was over while others might overhear.