Millionaire's Christmas Miracle. Mary Anne Wilson

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Three

      Pulling back from the impulsive kiss under the mistletoe, then turning away from Amy and leaving, was one of the hardest things Quint had ever done.

      But it was the right thing to do. The situation with her wasn’t what he’d thought, certainly it wouldn’t be possible to do what Mike had said and “go with the flow,” not when a child was in the picture. He sure as hell wasn’t looking for anything long-term, and anything less than that would definitely affect a small child. He couldn’t be part of any passing fling. A two-year-old. God, he remembered Mike at two. A child was to be protected, so a “good time” wasn’t an option, at least not for him.

      He felt the doors to the center whoosh shut behind him, and he kept walking before anything beyond the need to leave could settle into him. His hesitation before had brought on the kiss, and he knew how thin the ice was that he stood on when he was around Amy.

      He entered the lobby where crews were starting to dismantle the temporary bar and take down the banners and reception desks. The guard standing by the front doors was the same man who had burst into the kitchen when the smoke alarm went off.

      “Everything okay in there?” the man asked as Quint got close enough to him to read the name Walt on his badge.

      Nothing was okay, Quint admitted to himself, but to the man he said a simple truth that became a fact when he walked away. “Everything’s under control. Thanks for your help.”

      “I’ll check it out later, just to make sure.”

      “Good idea.” He stopped by the glass doors. “I don’t know if my car’s still waiting for me, or if I’ll need a cab.”

      “I’ll check it out for you. What’s your name?”

      “Gallagher, Quint Gallagher.”

      “Quint Gallagher?”

      Quint turned when someone repeated his name, and saw a middle-aged man wearing a tuxedo with what looked like a tie-dyed bow tie at his throat, striding toward him. What was even odder was the ponytail of long graying hair, a number of studs in one ear and the total lack of the “corporate smile” on the man’s face.

      The man stopped in front of him. “So, you’re Quint Gallagher?”

      “That’s me. And you are?” he asked as the guard went outside to find his ride.

      “I’ve been looking all over for you,” the man said, but didn’t hold out his hand. “I’m George Armstrong, shareholder, and I’ve got questions for you.”

      “Well, Mr. Armstrong, I’m just leaving and it’s late,” Quint said, turning to look out the door and definitely relieved to see the guard motioning a limo to the curb. More corporate talk wasn’t what he wanted right now.

      “Your limo?” George asked, glancing past him.

      “I think so. Maybe you could call and make an appointment? I’ll be in the executive suites on the top floor, I believe, and you can contact Ms. Donovan. She’s an executive assistant, and she can—”

      “I’m leaving now and I could use a ride,” George said, cutting off Quint’s offer. “And since I’m what they call a ‘major stockholder’ in LynTech, I believe, technically, that that limo is partly mine, too.” Quint wasn’t given a chance to challenge that flawed reasoning, because as the man spoke he pushed back the entry door and glanced at Quint with a lifted eyebrow. “So, would you like to join me?”

      If it hadn’t been so late, Quint would have told the man to take the limo and have it drive him anywhere he wanted to go, and he’d take a taxi. But if he did that, he’d be stuck here for a while, and Amy was still in the center. And he wanted distance. “I think I will,” he said, and followed George out onto the street.

      George spoke all the way to the limo, a blur of words that ran on until they were both in the back seat, then George gave the driver an address. Quint recognized it as an industrial area. “Drop me at the hotel on the way,” he told the driver.

      As the limo pulled away from the curb, George started up the talk again. “I spent a great deal of time fighting what we called ‘the establishment’ years ago, until I figured out СКАЧАТЬ