Lost the Handle (Nashville Assassins: Next Generation #8)

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

Emery

I drum my fingers against the desk while I make sure firewalls and other systems are in place to protect the new company I just took on. I didn’t even need to hack in to this one. They came for me and offered me a good amount of money to protect them. There is a chance they’re working with the mob, but once more, that could be my overactive imagination. I really need to read some rom-coms; these mafia romances are making me paranoid.

Though, one thing I’m not imagining is Quinn keeping his distance.

He hardly has spoken to me in the last three days. He comes home from work, eats dinner with me, but he doesn’t say more than three words. I think he turns the TV on just to put up a barrier between us. I almost want to make the TV disappear, but it’s bolted to the wall. I have left my shit scattered around the apartment so he’ll complain. He hasn’t. I left my toiletries all over the bathroom, and he acts like they’re not there. I’ve tried to walk in on him in the bathroom, but he locks the damn door or walks out once I enter. I make him lunch every day with a little note and my keys, and every day, they’re gone when I wake up. But he hasn’t said thanks or even mentioned driving my car. If anything, it seems as if he’s pained to be around me.

Some would think he’s not interested.

I’m not some.

I chew on the inside of my lip, a nervous tic of mine, as I finish up my task. While I mindlessly do what needs to be done to protect the company’s sensitive data, I try to piece together what I’ve learned in the last four days.

Quinn has a pretty consistent schedule—he works out, he works, he eats, and he sings. My heart almost burst from my chest last night when I heard him recording a slow, acoustic version of “Espresso” by Sabrina Carpenter. The way his guitar added to the rough timbre of his voice had me rushing to take a cold shower. It didn’t work. I had to get myself off with the shower head, and I’m not ashamed. Not even a bit.

But there isn’t much I’m ashamed of.

Well, how I pushed him away is a burning regret I don’t think I’ll ever learn to live with, which is why I’m here. I will right my wrongs. Another thing I’ve noticed is that his phone never rings. I know Elli Adler’s ringtone, Boys II Men’s “A Song for Mama,” and I know Shea’s, “Carry on Wayward Son,” for their shared love of Supernatural , and those are the only tones I’ve heard. Not even a normal tone has rung.

It’s not right.

Now, if I were engaged to Quinn Adler, I would be calling him. Not only to hear his voice, but because I miss him. His fiancée has not set foot in his apartment since I’ve been here, and I get that they’re waiting for the wedding, but I have no illusions that they’re waiting to have sex. Not with how fucking sexy Quinn is and how I know for a fact that he knows how to use what he’s packing.

I taught him how to please a woman.

And now, I fucking want to kill anyone else he’s touched.

I have issues.

But that’s a problem for another day because, for real, aren’t they planning a wedding? I guess they could do it over text, but he doesn’t really get on his phone. It stays on the kitchen counter while he does whatever it is he is doing.

I’m truly perplexed.

So, of course, I looked into his fiancée .

For the ninth time.

What? Don’t judge me.

Ava Mettison is the only child of two very well-known songwriters here in Nashville. She comes from old money and lives a very privileged life. I mean, she doesn’t drive a Bugatti, but she is well-off. She has more money than I expected in her account, and she even has offshore accounts that, if her accountant said weren’t traceable, then he was a liar, because I found them in seconds.

She should hire me.

Her account isn’t that fat, but it’s a good nest egg, should she need it. She graduated with a 3.8 GPA from high school and a 3.9 from college. She was accepted into medical school in Boston, where I guess she met Quinn. She’s doing her residency at Saint Thomas’s ER and has very high performance reviews, but she does have some complaints on her bedside manner. Saying she lacks empathy and is too direct. Which is odd to me because Quinn is the most empathetic and sweetest guy ever. How do they mesh? I remember he was dating this one girl who cussed at a waitress, and Quinn literally got up and left her.

So, what is their dynamic? Is she nice to him? Does she appreciate him? Does she get heart-eyes when he talks to her?

I hate her.

She has good teeth, no cavities or fillings. Lucky bitch. She broke her arm in college by falling down the stairs. No, I wasn’t there to push her. She keeps up with her yearly exams but isn’t on birth control. She’s not on any meds. Must be nice not to have anxiety. She’s perfect, and I hate that.

Ignoring that, though, I pull up a tracker I have installed on her social media. It alerts me when she posts or comments on Quinn’s stuff. Ava has a very minimal social media presence, and she’s never commented on or liked any of Quinn’s videos since I’ve been monitoring her. The only thing she has posted of Quinn is their hands with the caption: Engaged.

That’s it. No hearts, no doves, no sparkles, just Engaged .

Weirdo.

And why didn’t she include their faces? Quinn is a stunner. She’s lucky to be able to show him off. She’s not ugly either, unfortunately. With her perfect face and a stylish bob, I can see why Quinn is attracted to her. She would look good on his arm. Not that I’ll allow her to be there for long. The only thing keeping me sane right now is that Quinn didn’t make an engagement post. He shared her post in his stories, but that was it. I find myself tracking his comments, and like Ava with him, he hasn’t commented on any of her stuff. It’s so damn strange.

To me, it seems so clinical, almost like an arranged marriage. Great, there goes my overactive imagination. I really need to stop living in books. I roll my eyes since I know for a fact that the only arranged marriage that could possibly happen would be between Quinn’s family and mine.

Now, that’s an idea…

Before I do something stupid, like ask my parents to offer the Adlers a cow, a goat, and some land for my hand, I look into Ava’s transactions to see what her day looks like. She’s addicted to subscription boxes, and I can’t blame her; I love them too. She does a lot of online shopping and spends a lot of money at the hospital on food and coffee. Understandable. It can’t be easy to work such long shifts, and Lord knows I’m not trying to make my lunch every day. It’s hard waking up to make Quinn’s, but I want him to think of me during the day. As I click through her charges, I consider hacking in to her cameras when I see that she pays a monthly fee for a security system at her penthouse, but I don’t do that.

I know I’m a hacker, but I toe the line of what’s right and wrong. Yeah, my lines blur a bit and sometimes I take it too far, but one thing I won’t do is watch someone in their home. It’s not my thing. I am well aware that I’m okay with bank records and medical files, but spying on someone in private isn’t something I do. I could have spent the last three years watching everything Quinn did, but I didn’t.

That small fact about me probably stems from my love of morally gray men.

Not that Quinn is morally gray—he’s a good dude—but I also know he’d burn this world down for me.

If he weren’t set on being “engaged.”

I roll my eyes as I hide the screens with all her information and the sites I’m watching. Quinn knows his way around my computer, and I don’t want him to find out I’m watching her. I don’t know why. Maybe because I know he’ll look down his nose at my antics. Not that he’d be surprised by them, but he’d be disappointed in me.

I chew on the inside of my lip as I tap my toe. I feel like he is forcing himself to ignore me, and that needs to change. I’ve tried to just be in his space, to make him notice me, but he’s doing a good job of ignoring my existence. As much as I don’t want him to assume I only want sex, I might have to pull out the big guns on him. I need to get him to talk to me, even if it’s just to reprimand me.

I need his attention.

I need him.