He was very late.

The chef he had hired for a trial run eventually showed up, bringing with him a hundred and one excuses. Quinn ripped into him. It didn't matter if you got hit by a bus on the way back from your grandmother's funeral – you were never late for a restaurant shift. Except for Marnie, he thought, remembering his business partner back home.

The finance director for their new brewpub started out as a waitress in Lucy's restaurant. She was a single mom putting herself through graduate school and waitressing to make ends meet. Once he heard about her circumstances, he decided to amend his rule. But only for Marnie. Single moms were the toughest people he knew, and he'd spent time as a bouncer in some of Boston's seediest bars. He knew that true strength didn't come from fists.

He normally would have fired the chef on the spot, but at the moment he needed him. Already, Lucy had to go on to the party by herself, he was meeting her there. If he'd fired the chef, he'd have to take the shift himself and miss seeing her entirely that night. It was not an option.

So, he gave Chip a shot against his better judgment. Quinn watched him carefully, saw how he was in his kitchen and with his staff while evaluating his cooking technique. He had to admit; they guy wasn't bad. Once Quinn was satisfied the guy knew what he was doing, he reluctantly left the restaurant in his hands.

Quinn had been on the line almost every night helping the cooks since he came to New York. After spending so much time in other places, his own restaurant kitchen was familiar territory, but his heart wasn't in it anymore.

Gavin called earlier with details for the party and to let him know the potential buyer wanted to move the deal forward for the place. Soon, the busy restaurant would no longer be his problem.

He focused on the future, and his future was with Lucy in Nova Scotia. He enjoyed working with her in the slower pace of their new brewpub. Only running it part of the year freed him up to pursue new passions, like writing. And with any luck, they'd be starting a family soon. They hadn't really talked about that, and he hoped she'd be on the same page. Ever since little Nathan came into their lives, Quinn couldn't help but feel that something was missing from his. The little boy was adorable, and Quinn could easily see himself with a kid or two somewhere down the line.

He thought about the elegantly wrapped little package in the safe of the hotel room and was reassured that buying the ring was the right decision. Just maybe not for right now. That was OK — he was willing to wait for the right moment. As long as she needed him to.

Quinn quickly showered for the stupid party, wishing there was time for a proper soak in the tub. Later, with Lucy in his arms, he thought as he reached for his dress shirt.

He winced; the cut on his shoulder stung. Fucking hell, he thought, going to the bathroom to rummage for a fresh bandage. He glanced at it in the mirror and noticed the wound was getting red around the edges. He covered it with the bandage and hoped he'd broken the evil hipster's jaw. Maybe he'd think twice before trying to rob and stab another distracted fool on the sidewalk.

Quinn passed by the tub, then stopped suddenly and backed up. He picked up the bottle of his favourite organic bubble bath from Nova Scotia. Lucy brought it for him. He smiled. It was the little things she did for him that made him love her even more and reinforced his decision to buy the ring. He would show her his appreciation later on, over many hours. His pulse quickened at the thought.

It had been days since he'd seen her, looked into her wide, dark eyes, felt her warm, silken skin against his, kissed her full, sensual mouth. It seemed like forever since they were together, even though it was just a few days.

He'd arranged for Lucy to take the limo and ordered a second car for himself. He hoped she wasn't too intimidated to walk into the party alone. A big, fancy ball with boring-ass rich people was the last place he wanted to go on a Saturday night in New York City.

Lex fucking Brady...

He hadn't clapped eyes on the elusive billionaire since their time in the CIA.

After earning an English literature degree from Harvard, Quinn abandoned his plans to become a writer once the passion for cooking grabbed him. He chose the Culinary Institute of America for his culinary studies because it was one of the best in the world. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it right. He loved every minute of his time in the CIA, learning the scientific foundations of food at a deep, rigorous level.

He worked his ass off there and so did all of his classmates — except Brady.

Quinn remembered him as a pain in the ass who bragged constantly about his wealth and did very little work. He got caught plagiarizing his senior thesis presentation and was bounced out — rich daddy or not. The last Quinn had heard, the spoiled jerk went into the tech sector before taking over the family media conglomerate. Now, Brady set his sights on reality TV, buying his own network like some people picked out a new couch.

Quinn never liked the guy, and now his bullshit detector was on high alert.

His phone pinged and he was delighted to see a text from Lucy. She was on her second glass of champagne in the limo. She didn't seem to mind going solo to the Sugar and Spice Ball. A natural extrovert, she came alive around other people and was completely comfortable in a room full of total strangers. He needn't have worried.

She asked him for a selfie, and he texted her a photo of him in his open shirt and underwear. She texted back emojis of hearts and eggplants, and he laughed. She was into the champagne, alright. Lucy was a notorious and charmingly cheap drunk. If she had a third glass, he'd have to carry her home.

He saw the Prada bag on the dresser and smiled, thinking of the sexy selfie she'd sent him earlier in the day, wearing her new, strategically placed designer bag and nothing else. Just thinking about it heated his blood, and stoked anticipation for all the catching up they'd do later. If he had his way, it'd be another all-nighter. The best nights were the ones they spent making love, eating late night snacks and talking until the sun came up. He loved those nights.

The phone rang in his hand, jarring him out of the pleasant daydream. He held it to his ear, while he buttoned his shirt.

"Nice eggplant," he said, anticipating Lucy's big laugh and saucy response.

"Excuse me?" Oh, Christ.

"Gavin, I can either talk to you or get my ass to this party, your choice." He put his manager on speaker while he finished dressing.

"I was going to ask what kind of a mood you're in, but I guess you just answered my question." He sounded nervous, which was strange. Gavin was always cool and calm, just like his Mum.

"I'm in a late mood, what's up?" He slipped on his Rolex, quickly located his wallet and scanned the room for anything else he might need. He was glad he remembered to throw the ring in the safe after the frantic race through Manhattan in pursuit of the evil hipster. He vowed to take better care of it until it was safely on Lucy's finger.

"Would you say you're in a firing mood, or..." Gavin was being uncharacteristically vague, and Quinn didn't have the time or patience to play games.

"Spit it out, man. The car will be here in five."

"I'm really sorry, Quinn. But there's one small but important detail you need to know about this party."

Quinn winced as he put on his stiff, expensive new shoes. Moving his arm in certain ways hurt, and he hoped he wasn't bleeding through the bandage and onto his white shirt.

"Gavin, if you don't get to the point, I'm going to fly to Toronto right now and throttle you with my bare hands."

Gavin sighed before pressing on with the details. Quinn stopped what he was doing, his eyes widening. "You're kidding." Gavin filled in more of the details. "What the fuck did you get me into?"

Us. What did he get us into? Lucy was on her way. In fact, she'd likely be arriving at the place at any moment.

"Gotta go." He hung up on Gavin in mid-sentence and bolted out the door.