Her Best Friend. Sarah MayberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
was home, but his words caught her by surprise. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was thinking about the wedding. The night before, actually. How you and I went down to the lake and drank all that beer. Remember?”
“I remember.”
How could she forget? She’d matched him beer for beer, desperate to prolong every last second with him before he stopped being her best friend and became one half of Mr. and Mrs. Quinn and Lisa Whitfield.
Would it have been easier if Lisa hadn’t been her close friend, the third musketeer? Would it have hurt as much if Quinn had fallen for a stranger from out of town?
Amy would never know.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. This was why she’d hesitated over calling. So many memories, all washing over her.
Time to get this conversation back on track.
“Listen, I, um, don’t want to keep you too long. Is Lisa around? I need to ask her advice on a legal thing.”
There was a short pause as Quinn registered the abrupt shift in conversation. She’d been too sharp, too quick to cut him off. She held her breath, waiting for him to ask the questions that were bubbling beneath the surface of their conversation.
Why did you stop returning my calls?
Why aren’t we friends anymore?
What did I do wrong?
“Lisa’s not around at the moment. Is it anything I can help with?”
“It’s fine. I’ll wait for her to call me back.”
“What’s the problem, Ames? Lisa might have gotten better marks than me but I made partner before her.” Quinn was joking, but there was an edge to his tone.
Because, of course, Quinn was a lawyer, too. One of the many things he and Lisa had in common. He could just as easily answer her questions, yet Amy had made a point of asking for Lisa, of thinking of Lisa and not him when she’d realized she needed legal advice.
“It’s not that. I didn’t want to bother you,” she said quickly.
“But you’re happy to bother Lisa?”
Because I haven’t been in love with Lisa for more years than I can count. Because talking to her doesn’t make me think about all the hours I’ve spent aching over you, wishing you loved me instead of her. Making myself sick with jealousy and guilt and lust.
“No. It’s just we haven’t spoken for a while, and I don’t want to be one of those fair-weather friends who calls out of the blue and hits you up for a favor because I need some legal advice.”
Quinn made an impatient noise. “For Pete’s sake, Amy. We grew up together. You’re my oldest friend. Tell me the problem.”
She hesitated a moment longer. But he was right. She was being stupid. She’d always been stupid where Quinn was concerned.
“I’ve been negotiating with the council for the past few months to buy the Grand. We have a contract all ready to go—”
“Whoa. Hold on a second. You finally got the money together to buy the Grand?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Ames. That’s fantastic. What an amazing achievement.”
It scared her how much his praise meant to her, how much it made her chest ache.
“Well, I’m not there yet.”
“Right. You’ve got a contract …?” he prompted.
Over the next few minutes she briefed him on the situation. It made her feel sick and angry all over again as she thought about the peremptory way Reg Hanover had delivered the news. As though she was a pesky child to be shooed from the room.
“If the contract wasn’t signed, there’s not much you can do to hold them to the agreement. You know that, right?” Quinn said.
“This isn’t about my contract. I need to know if there’s anything I can do to protect the Grand. It’s on the town’s heritage register. Surely that means Ulrich can’t knock it down?”
Her voice broke on the last few words and she felt immeasurably foolish.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to need some time to do a bit of research, find out more about the local heritage register and council bylaws. In some municipalities, what Ulrich is proposing is acceptable—a compromise between heritage preservation and commerce. Can I get back to you?”
“Of course.”
“Probably won’t be until tomorrow morning, okay?” “Sure.”
“Try not to freak out in the meantime.”
“Too late. And thanks, Quinn.”
She could almost see his shrug, even though he was hundreds of miles away. “No worries, Ames.”
He ended the call. She slid her phone into her pocket and started walking to her car.
She hadn’t spoken to Quinn for months, had dodged his phone calls and avoided responding to his e-mails. And he’d responded to her request for help without hesitation. Without question.
It was one of the things she’d always loved about him the most: his generosity. But then there had always been a lot to love about Quinn Whitfield. His clever mind. His kindness. His sense of humor. Then there was his body—tall and broad and strong….
Stop it. Stop it before you’re right back at the same old place again.
She had bigger fish to fry than lost loves and old regrets. It was far better to channel her energy into a battle she at least had a chance of winning.
Because she’d lost Quinn long ago.
QUINN SAT QUIETLY for a moment after he’d hung up the phone.
For the first few seconds of the call he’d thought Amy was calling because she knew, because his mother had let something slip or Lisa had made contact to tell her the big news.
But Amy hadn’t known. And he hadn’t told her.
“I’m going home now, Mr. Whitfield.”
Quinn glanced up to see Maria hovering in the doorway of his study.
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he said.
“You have a good holiday, okay?” she said. “You work too hard. You need to rest.”
“I will. You enjoy your break, too.”
She waved her hand as though he was talking nonsense. He knew she cleaned a number of houses as well as his own. She probably never stopped working.
“And maybe you should try to eat some more while you’re away,” she said.
“I’ll do what I can.”
She gave him a last wave before disappearing and he let the easy smile fade from his lips. She was worried about him, just as they’d been worried about him at the office. Lots of hushed conversations about “poor Quinn” and how he was working too late and how much weight he’d lost. Hence the holiday. Two weeks up north on Hamilton Island, whether he liked it or not.
“Take some time off, Quinn. Look after yourself. No one expects you to be a machine,” his boss had said.
Not an order, but close enough.
Quinn sighed and raked a hand through his hair. At the moment, work was his solace. He had no idea what he’d do without it. Face the wreckage of his marriage, he supposed.
Hard to get too enthusiastic about that.
Even