L.E. Truscott's Blog, page 17

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Nine

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Nine.

*****

Fraser’s mansion – Quinn had decided long ago that the description was apt – was brilliantly lit up the next night. The front gardens were vividly green under the glow and the trees were magical, threaded with fairy lights.

There was little activity coming from within. Fraser had ordered him to be among the first to arrive to be part of the official greeting line. It had sounded strangely formal, but his father had never been as normal as everyone supposed him to be. Quinn had known that even before he knew Fraser was his father.

He stepped out of the limousine the Fraser had sent over to collect him, thankful that he hadn’t had to take a cab. He was in no mood for small talk with cab drivers. He was focused. Tonight was the night.

He had hope again because of three small words Libby had found the courage to say. ‘I miss you.’

But her other words had puzzled him. What had she meant by saying she was afraid of herself? What could there possibly be to fear from her own judgement?

Quinn walked up the path to the front doors, which were standing wide open in anticipation of the expected guests. An usher in a traditional black and white uniform greeted him.

‘Good evening, sir.’

‘Good evening,’ Quinn said in return, strolling through the hall and into the ballroom. And it truly was a ballroom. Not two rooms cleared out just for the evening. A true ballroom with polished floors and crystal chandeliers, one wall lined with mirrors to reflect the grandeur of the couples swaying rhythmically to the music coming from the string quartet.

For the moment, though, the ballroom was empty of couples. The string quartet was still setting up in one corner on a raised platform.

Quinn had to smile at the size of Fraser’s home, just as he did every time he visited. He couldn’t imagine having grown up here, as he would have had his mother not been so stubborn and married Fraser on one of the dozen occasions he had proposed. There was an east wing and a west wing, plus the main body of the house. Fraser had asked him to move in after his mother’s death, but he had still been in a raw state, and he hadn’t been sure he wouldn’t take it out on his father. Since then the subject had not been reopened.

‘Quinn!’

He turned at the sound of his name to see Fraser coming towards him. He suffered Fraser’s hearty slap and shook his hand.

Fraser stood back to take in the sight of him in his tuxedo. Quinn suffered the inspection, too, studying his father in a similar manner. Tonight more than ever they looked like father and son.

Fraser was as debonair as usual in his own tuxedo, his silver hair swept back, gold cuff links glinting at his wrists.

Quinn wondered, not for the first time, when someone would notice their similarities. No-one had yet. They had kept their biological link a secret, Fraser not willing to have their private lives dragged through the indignity of the tabloids, and Quinn not willing to see Fraser upset. He had come a long way from the angry young man of twenty-one, confused about life in general. Few things would have given him greater pleasure than to announce his relationship with Fraser, but one of those few things was making sure Fraser was happy.

He shook off the thoughts. There were only so many serious thoughts he could handle on one night. And this night he had already determined to be consumed by thoughts of Libby.

People began arriving about half an hour later but there was no sign of Libby. Strange, Quinn thought, that Fraser had not requested she be part of the reception line.

He shook hands and chatted with the stream of over one hundred people, surprising even himself that he knew most of them. Libby’s policy of interaction had been a complete success.

The people who flowed past him on the reception line were an array of colour, the men all decked out in the black and white of tuxedos, the women a variety of shades of ball gowns, ranging from the traditional safe black, the virginal pure white, the sensual raw red, to the brooding navy blue.

Julia floated in wearing a full-skirted maroon gown, with a daring neckline and only spaghetti straps maintaining her modesty.

‘Hello, Quinn,’ she greeted him, formally offering her red gloved hand. He took it and raised it to his lips in a mock gesture.

‘Careful, my fiancé might get jealous,’ she warned, nodding at the man standing next to her. ‘Quinn, I’d like you to meet Ben.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Quinn said, shaking Ben’s hand and introducing him to Fraser. He chatted to Julia, brushing off her attempts to talk business. ‘Not tonight. Tonight is about having some fun. Business may have brought us together but if you insist on talking about it, I’ll have to ignore you.’

At some point during his spiel, he became aware that Julia had stopped paying full attention.

‘I think you’re probably going to ignore me anyway once you get a load of Libby.’

Quinn followed Julia’s gaze over his shoulder. Libby was standing in the doorway being greeted by the usher. She was the picture of an angel in a strapless lilac gown. The neckline came straight across her chest, covering more than modesty demanded. The dress followed the shape of her body, in to her small waist, flaring slightly at the hips and travelling straight down, disguising the shape of her legs. But Quinn knew from having them wrapped around him that they were slim and finely muscled.

Her long chocolate hair was parted on an angle and had been left to cascade over one shoulder, resting in ringlets over her left breast as she leaned to whisper to her companion.

Quinn had been so caught up in his awed inspection of Libby that he had failed to notice the person she had arrived with.

Dee was similarly attired in a ball gown, but had chosen eggshell blue for what was no doubt her debut black tie outing. She was almost as tall as Libby, and just as beautiful, the dress skimming her teenage figure. Her shoulders were also bare but sleeves covered her upper arms, the neckline veering down into a V. The dress came only to her knees but a train attached at the back from hip to hip fanned out behind her as she came toward Quinn.

‘Well?’ she prompted, taking the hands that Quinn held out to her. A matching diamond bracelet and necklace complemented the outfit perfectly.

‘Dee, you’re beautiful. I’m going to have to get Fraser to make an announcement that you’re only fourteen, otherwise all the guys from the mailroom and the design department will be after you.’

She blushed happily but said, ‘I’m fifteen. I had a birthday about two months ago. Surely there are some eighteen-year-olds here I can toy with?’ She tucked a hazel lock behind her ear and peered into the crowd of people, as if searching for the first victim.

‘That’s it. Fraser will not leave your side for one moment tonight.’ When she pouted, he added, ‘You know I trust you, Dee. It’s all those good-for-nothings I work with I don’t trust.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll treat you like a princess,’ Fraser promised over Quinn’s shoulder.

‘Fraser!’ Dee giggled, reaching up to plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘It would be hard for a girl not to feel like a princess, dressed like this, and in a setting like this. I swear, a girl feels like Cinderella coming to this place. I’ll never get used to it no matter how many times I come here.’

‘Do you two know each other?’ Quinn asked in surprise. He knew Fraser had his secrets but he wasn’t aware that Dee was one of them.

‘Of course, we’ve known each other for years,’ Dee said in a world-weary tone over her shoulder. ‘By the way,’ she whispered, ‘that Cinderella reference wasn’t just idle. Remember? You’re all tuxed up and she’s—’

‘Got the Cinderella thing going on, I remember,’ Quinn reiterated from their conversation yesterday.

‘He was paying attention,’ Dee remarked to Fraser, sliding her arm through his as they entered the ballroom together, the gallant gentleman and the elegant lady. He watched the look that passed between them, and was unsettled by it. If he hadn’t known that Fraser had been planning the Verbatim Ball for months now, Quinn would have sworn it was merely a strategy Fraser and Dee had cooked up to throw he and Libby together again.

‘Hello, Quinn,’ Libby’s voice said behind him, and he swung around.

She was standing right there, smiling sweetly, studying his figure in the sharply cut tuxedo. ‘You look nice,’ she said demurely.

‘You look beautiful.’

She blushed as Dee had done, and just as prettily.

‘Shall we go in?’ Quinn suggested, breaking out of his trance to offer her his arm. She took it after a moment and allowed him to lead her into the ballroom. The party was in full swing, the string quartet playing a waltz and Fraser and Dee dominating the floor as they danced grandly. Other couples were joining in, the atmosphere contagious.

Quinn and Libby stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure about what to do or say next. Libby fussed with the train of her dress. Then she flexed her fingers in the white elbow length gloves and studied the face of her gold watch, which was secured over the left glove.

‘Ready to leave already?’ Quinn asked, noticing her action.

‘No, I’m just…I’ve never been to such a fancy party before,’ she confided in a whisper. ‘Am I even allowed to call it a party? Or do I have to call it a ball?’

‘You can call it a barn dance if that makes it easier.’

Libby laughed nervously. She watched Dee floating gracefully in Fraser’s arms, and Quinn could tell that while she was truly happy to see Dee in high spirits, she was envious of her younger sister’s flair and joie de vivre. Not that Libby didn’t have her own certain joie de vivre; she was just more reserved about letting anyone see her expressing it. Quinn knew he was one of a privileged few. He just had to figure out what it was he had to do to recapture the magic he had experienced with her before. Tuxedos and ball gowns in a palace setting wasn’t a bad start, as Dee had said. But the start had never been his problem. It was the happy ending that kept slipping through his fingers.

The fairytale metaphors seemed inescapable. But Libby wasn’t some oppressed step-daughter being held back by her evil step-mother. And he certainly wasn’t Prince Charming. Libby was an intelligent, confident woman being held back by some secret. Quinn was sure by now that it was the secret that was keeping them apart, and not the fact that they worked together. She had breached that rule so many times as to make it irrelevant in any considerations.

And Fraser knew her secret. He was unwilling to share the knowledge so as not to betray Libby, but Quinn sensed his father wanted to tell him. Because he wanted his two prodigies to end up together.

Quinn wondered if he could impose upon his relationship with Fraser and force the secret out of him. It seemed unlikely. As strong as the relationship between them was, the relationship Fraser shared with Libby seemed just as solid.

The thought occurred to him momentarily that maybe he should just ask Libby what the secret was, but he doubted she would tell him.

He shook his head and decided not to think about it anymore tonight. The whole evening could be consumed with thoughts of Libby’s secret, but he would rather the evening were simply consumed with thoughts of Libby.

He looked at her standing beside him. She was taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter while still watching Dee and Fraser dancing. The issue of Dee’s knowledge of Fraser came into his mind again.

Quinn looked around the room for somewhere to sit and spied the adjoining sitting room.

‘Shall we sit down? You can keep an eye on Dee from the sitting room.’

She followed his lead but said, ‘Fraser will take care of her.’ It was the perfect lead in to his question.

‘How long have you known Fraser?’ he asked as they sat down on a sofa where they could continue to watch the action in the next room.

Her eyes probed the ceiling as if searching for the answer. ‘About four years, I think.’ The answer was definitely something to ponder. She had been at Verbatim for six months and spent a year at Society, so that left two and a half years of their acquaintance unaccounted for. Quinn knew she had worked at the literary agency for over four years prior to her employment by Fraser. How would Fraser Graham, multimillionaire and entrepreneur, have come across Libby Freeman, talented nobody and ordinary girl?

But then he remembered that although she was an ordinary girl, her mother and two sisters certainly weren’t. Models, all three of them. And models moved in exalted circles. But most of Fraser’s acquaintances were other rich business people.

However, Quinn knew many of his father’s friends were ‘little’ people; the people who worked hard to make his many businesses successful, like Libby and Julia; the people he had attended school with all those years ago; the people who had befriended him without knowledge of his immense wealth.

He wasn’t condensing the options, merely opening up more possibilities.

‘How did you meet?’

Libby took a long sip from her glass of champagne, still watching Dee and Fraser. ‘Um, he was a friend of a friend of a…friend.’ She hesitated over the last word.

This wasn’t getting him anywhere.

‘Which friend?’

‘George Bannister,’ Libby answered without thinking, then turned to look at him. ‘What’s with all the questions?’

George Bannister? ‘The talent agent?’ he asked without responding to her question.

‘Yes.’

So maybe she had simply met Fraser through her mother’s or one of her sister’s representative. But she had said friend. She hadn’t said mother or sister. And if he represented her mother or sisters, she would just have said so.

It was a good thing he was a whiz with numbers, Quinn thought. He was hopeless as an investigator.

Libby was studying him with narrowed eyes and he said the only thing he could think of to make her stop wondering what he had been up to. ‘Would you like to dance?’

It was extremely effective. He could see it in her eyes that she instantly forgot all about his questions. But her answer wasn’t the one he had been expecting.

‘No.’

It was an abrupt refusal. Quinn looked at her with a blank expression, surprised. When she saw his face, she said, ‘I don’t know how to dance. Not this sort of dancing, anyway.’

He stood up and relieved her of her glass anyway. ‘I’ll teach you.’

‘I’d rather not,’ Libby said, reaching for the glass Quinn had set down on the table beside the sofa. He intercepted her movement, clasping her hand in his and pulling her to her feet.

‘I insist.’ His arm went around her waist. And as she looked fearfully in the direction of the ballroom, he continued, ‘We’ll dance in here. We have the whole room to ourselves.’ And as he took a step backwards, turning her around, she was forced to put her hand on his shoulder.

She didn’t protest further, and they twirled in small, contained circles around the carpeted floor of the sitting room. Her eyes watched his shoes to ensure she went in the same direction as he did, and after a while she felt confident enough to watch his face instead of his feet.

The waltzes that the quartet were playing ended and were replaced by something more modern, infinitely slower and more soulful, though Quinn couldn’t identify the piece. It was a few moments after the change in the music that he became aware that what they were doing was no longer dancing. He let go of her hand to connect his hands around her waist. Her own hands linked behind his neck, and her forehead rested in the place between his shoulder and his throat.

They were still moving to the music, further and further away from the sofa into the middle of the room, leaning into each other. When Quinn pressed Libby backwards, she removed one hand from his shoulder and held her train out of the way of her feet. He took advantage of the moment, holding her hand at her back and removing her other arm to pin it behind her as well. His head bent to press warm lips to the pulse point in her neck, his tongue snaking out to electrify the intimate action as she had once done to him.

‘I don’t think that’s dancing,’ Libby whispered, and he twirled her out, then twirled her back in to hold her arms behind her back once more.

Quinn could feel her warm breath on his neck, evidence of their exertion, evidence of her response to him, and her breasts were rising and falling quickly beneath the soft lilac silk. But he restrained himself from any feelings of triumph. This reaction had never been hard to engender.

Sexually, they were so compatible it was surprising that he hadn’t gotten her into bed by now. Sexually, he knew there would be no problems.

Emotionally, however, he knew there was a lot of work to be done. Emotionally, there was still much to be achieved.

It was not forefront in his mind, though, when Libby’s body was pressed against him and his lips were on her skin.

But such feelings would have to be reigned in, he realised, when he saw Dee and Fraser standing in the archway between the ballroom and the sitting room, just watching him and Libby.

‘We’ve got company,’ he whispered to Libby, letting go of her hands, which automatically slid back up around his neck. Her head rested on his shoulder and he heard her sigh with frustration. Quinn held back his own irritation at being disturbed, but wondered silently why he hadn’t whisked her down to the guesthouse the moment her interest had become evident.

Dee and her damn alarm clock again! There didn’t seem to be any way of escaping it.

Fraser and Dee lingered by the archway, both wearing smug smiles. Quinn would be wearing one right now if they hadn’t interrupted.

He let go of Libby and she wandered over to reclaim her glass of champagne. She downed the contents, swallowing and taking a deep breath, then squared her shoulders and turned to face their audience.

Fraser strode towards Quinn and Libby returned to where they had been dancing. He had better have a damn good excuse! Quinn thought.

‘I’m sorry to have to do this to you, but something’s come up. Business, I’m afraid. The urgent kind. I’d deal with it myself but I am hosting the ball. And I didn’t think you’d appreciate my making major decisions regarding Verbatim without your input.’ Fraser took Libby’s arm and led her back towards the ballroom.

Quinn followed behind, cursing his bad luck.

‘The limousine is waiting for you out front. Henry will take you to where you have to go. When you arrive, there’ll be documentation waiting for you.’ The group of four filed out past the throngs of people enjoying themselves. Fraser helped Libby drape her lilac silk shawl over her shoulders.

‘Before you go, I would just like to say this. This issue is of the utmost importance. And I want it resolved tonight. I’m counting on you.’ Fraser pushed them towards the front door being held open by the usher.

‘Wait, I can’t just leave Dee here,’ Libby protested, holding her hand out for her sister, but Dee held back, as if knowing Fraser would speak in the manner he did once Libby was finished.

‘I’ll take care of Dee,’ Fraser promised, slipping an arm around Dee’s shoulder.

‘I’m not ready to leave yet anyway,’ Dee said with a pout.

Quinn could see Libby was still not convinced. ‘But…’

‘Dee will stay here tonight,’ Fraser decided suddenly. ‘That way, if your business runs well into the night, you won’t have to worry about her.’

‘Can I sleep in the Princess suite?’ Dee asked with enthusiasm, hanging off Fraser’s arm.

‘Of course,’ he responded, looking down at her warmly. They both looked up at Libby at the same moment and to Quinn, looking on, it seemed like a carefully choreographed moment from a movie.

‘Thank you, Fraser,’ Libby said after a pause, although she also seemed to have picked up on Dee and Fraser’s strange ‘Father Knows Best’ routine. She and Quinn were both fairly pushed out the door, turning in time to see it slammed in their faces. The music of the string quartet was muffled behind the closed door and Quinn watched Libby shaking her head as she climbed into the limousine. Henry, the chauffeur, held the door open for Quinn as well, then closed it with long practised silence and strode around to the driver’s side door.

Quinn watched Libby huddle into the leather seat, shivering in the late autumn cold. He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and offered it to her. She accepted it gratefully, disposing of her wrap and sliding her arms into the black warmth.

The limousine had been moving for a number of kilometres when Libby looked over at him. ‘Where exactly are we going?’

It was a sign of what was between them, the strength of her distraction, and his, that she hadn’t asked that question earlier, hadn’t asked Fraser where exactly this business emergency was taking them. And as Quinn hadn’t asked either, he picked up the internal telephone and buzzed Henry.

‘Henry, where are we going?’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ came the raspy response, ‘but I’m not at liberty to say.’

Quinn jerked the phone away from his ear as the receiver in the front of the car was replaced sharply.

‘What did he say?’ Libby wanted to know.

‘He said he’s not at liberty to say,’ Quinn relayed.

‘Liberty,’ Libby giggled for a moment, then her face froze as she repeated, ‘He’s not at liberty?’

‘That’s what he said.’

At that moment the automatic locks on the limousine clicked down like another moment from a movie; this time a tacky B-grade thriller.

‘Quinn…’ He looked at Libby who seemed to be having trouble deciding whether to laugh, be afraid or get very angry.

‘I’m getting Fraser on the phone right now.’ He picked up the phone again and dialled Fraser’s mobile. Fraser answered on the first ring as though he had been expecting the call.

‘Fraser, what the hell is going on?’

‘You’re attending an urgent business matter,’ Fraser said and Libby leaned in to hear his response.

‘What urgent business matter? Where is Henry taking us? And why does he feel he’s not at liberty to say where we’re going?’

‘Because that’s what I instructed him to say.’

‘Fraser!’ Libby grabbed the phone. ‘What is this?’

‘This is business. As I said, you’ll receive the documentation when you arrive. Don’t fail me. This needs to be done. This had to be done.’ The phone clicked dead and Libby almost threw it back on its hook.

Quinn picked it up and dialled Fraser’s number again but was connected to his message service. ‘He’s turned his phone off,’ Quinn said in disgust, putting the phone down and turning to look at Libby. Her cheeks were red with anger and he knew why. Her control had been taken away and she hated that. She hated that she wasn’t the one calling the shots, especially when, Quinn suspected, this had nothing to do with business.

‘Do you have anything to do with this?’ Libby asked, and while the question surprised him, he couldn’t blame her for asking it.

‘No.’ He shook his head. Perhaps even more surprising was the speed with which she seemed to accept the answer.

The limousine kept driving, and driving, and driving. He and Libby sat in silence for over an hour but still the car did not arrive at any destination. And as familiar landmarks passed, Quinn felt a sinking sensation, one that he had to voice.

‘I think I know where we’re going.’

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Eight

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Eight.

*****

‘What’s the matter with you?’

Fraser’s voice broke into Quinn’s reverie as he toyed with the plate of food in front of him.

‘You’ve been like this for months. I’m starting to get sick of it. I hope you’re not like this at work.’ As usual Fraser’s first thoughts were of his businesses.

Quinn didn’t answer. He had been like this for months, a black mood consuming him, trying to hide it but obviously failing, putting everything that was in him into restructuring Verbatim Press. He had been more of a workaholic than even Libby, which he knew meant something.

‘Are you okay?’ Fraser’s voice was infinitely softer this time.

‘No.’ Fraser deserved that at least.

They were dining at Fraser’s favourite restaurant, Reginald’s, the restaurant where he and Libby had been Fraser’s guests almost six months ago. Quinn dined with Fraser at least once every month but recently he had been finding excuses not to attend, not willing or able to pretend any interest in interacting with anyone. He spent his weekends roaring up the coast to his country cabin, isolating himself with his thoughts. It wasn’t a solution because his thoughts were always of Libby, and the enigma of her emotions, but he felt it appropriate that he didn’t inflict himself on other people while he was under this black cloud.

Was any woman worth what he was putting himself through? He tried to resurrect the last vestiges of bachelor pride but it didn’t work. The bleak answer was yes, and that woman was Libby.

‘I know you don’t want me to pry,’ Fraser said with an obvious sympathy, ‘and I know you’ve said a million times that your private life is private. But I hate having to see you like this.’

‘I hate having to feel like this,’ Quinn echoed, pushing his plate aside and grabbing his glass of wine. He held the dry taste of it on his tongue for a moment, then swallowed, wishing he had ordered a beer.

‘Is this about Verbatim?’ Quinn had to smile at that. Fraser’s life was his businesses. So naturally he assumed that any problem anyone had must be related to work.

‘No, Verbatim is doing fine. I’m not sure that I’ll have much left to do after a few more months. Julia and I have done the hard work.’ He deliberately didn’t mention Libby’s role in the process. ‘Now it’s just a matter of continuing on. To tell the truth, Julia could probably do it by herself. And I can’t really justify monopolising her as my assistant for much longer.’ He was babbling about the one topic he could speak on logically at the moment.

‘So it has to be about a woman.’ Fraser was matter-of-fact.

Quinn raised his head. ‘Why?’

‘What else could it be about if it’s not work? Besides, you are your father’s son.’

Quinn didn’t deny it.

‘So?’ Fraser was expecting details.

‘I think I love her.’ Quinn looked up as Fraser’s cutlery clattered against the side of his plate.

‘Really?’ When Quinn nodded, Fraser smiled, suitably proud, but lost the expression almost immediately. ‘Then why are you so glum?’

‘She doesn’t love me back. Or maybe she’s just afraid. Or maybe I don’t have the first clue why.’

Fraser sat back in his chair and watched Quinn, hunched over the table. ‘This is sounding far too familiar.’

‘I know.’ The younger man ran his hands through his already dishevelled hair, ruffled from many similar previous actions. ‘I’m trying to avoid the comparisons with Mum but I can’t.’

‘Just remember that this is about you. Not about your mother. Not about me.’ Fraser went back to his meal.

Quinn looked at his father with different eyes. For years he had hated his father, not knowing it was Fraser. And Fraser hadn’t known the child his one true love had conceived was his son. For twenty-one years, they had simply been friends, drawn together by their mutual love for Quinn’s mother. And only on her death-bed had she revealed their biological link.

Quinn had been torn by the revelation. After years of thinking he hated the man who had fathered him, it was not easy to change. And he just couldn’t hate his mother, despite what she had kept from him. He didn’t doubt she must have had her reasons but she had died before being able to inform him of them. So he and Fraser had been forced to work through their new relationship without any buffer.

It hadn’t been easy. And ten years after the discovery, Quinn still couldn’t bring himself to call Fraser ‘Dad’. But Fraser was his father is every sense of the word.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’ Fraser was instantly attentive.

‘Why did you throw Libby and I together six months ago?’

‘I needed to know if you could work together. And nothing speaks more of the ability to work together in demanding executive roles than the way two people interact on a personal level.’ He forked a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed for a moment before the enormity of Quinn’s question hit him.

‘Libby?’

Quinn smiled bleakly but didn’t respond verbally.

‘You love Libby?’

‘You know the strange part? She responded to me. I thought she felt the same but when I tried to take it further, she was like a stranger.’

Fraser sat back and twisted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Libby is Libby. I’ve never tried to understand her because…well, she has a history. Not an enjoyable one. And it’s impacted on her.’

‘What history?’

‘It’s not my place to tell you. But she’s lost a lot of people she loved. Her father, her mother, her sisters have moved away…’

‘But there’s something else.’ Quinn could sense it.

‘There always is,’ Fraser said simply.

‘Why didn’t she just tell me?’

Fraser laughed and put down his cutlery again. ‘Tell me something. Did you tell her that I’m your father?’ It must have been obvious from the look on Quinn’s face that he hadn’t. ‘We all have our secrets, Quinn.’

‘Should her secret make something between us impossible?’

‘Probably not.’ Fraser ate another piece of steak. ‘All I’ll say is this: if you really love her, then she’s worth persistence.’

‘I know she’s worth it. I’m just not sure whether she’d appreciate it.’ And he’d virtually given up already. ‘Besides I walked out on her six months ago. I’ve barely seen her since then.’

‘Mutual avoidance, I’m sure.’ Fraser was altogether too wise sometimes.

‘Probably.’

‘Well, you’ll have some time together soon. The Verbatim Ball is coming up and you’ll both have to be there. And you’ll have to interact. It wouldn’t do to have the press think there was something wrong. My stocks would plummet. You’re my golden children, after all.’

‘Well, there are things wrong.’

‘Nobody besides Libby, you and I has to know that. And I am speaking of your business relationship,’ Fraser reminded him. ‘Having said that, though, I’ve always thought of Libby as the daughter I never had. I’d be very happy if you made her the daughter-in-law I do.’

There was nothing Quinn could say to that. But it lingered with him throughout the next two weeks. He played the usual game of avoidance with Libby. Julia had become the emissary between them, ferrying messages and becoming increasingly annoyed with their childish behaviour. Quinn stayed in his department and Libby stayed in hers, in complete contradiction of the policy of interaction she had introduced to encourage mixing within the company. Everyone else had taken the policy to heart but Quinn hoped he was above it. Anyway, it seemed Libby was.

Quinn took the afternoon off the Friday before the Verbatim Ball and was cruising down suburban streets on his motorbike. The lapels of his leather jacket flapped open with the force of the breeze, the cool stream of air blowing down his shirt. The time away from the office was doing him good. He had spent the past six months working and not much else, so one afternoon was a welcome relief.

He was concentrating so hard on the road in front of him he almost missed the familiar form waving to him from behind a fence and the muffled sound of his name being yelled. He pulled to the curb and yanked off his helmet, strolling to the patterned wire fence where Dee stood in her school sports uniform.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey, Dee, what’s up?’

She frowned. ‘Nothing is up and everything is down. Where have you been?’

‘Around,’ he said in a non-committal tone.

‘What happened with you and Lib?’ She was like an enquiring mother, with her daughter’s best interests at heart.

‘I think that’s between Libby and I,’ Quinn said, almost not recognising his own fatherly tone.

‘Everything was going so well and then we didn’t see you for six months.’

‘Yeah, I’ve been busy.’ Moping over Libby’s rejection.

‘Are you busy now?’

‘No,’ he said without thinking of the consequences.

‘Can you take me home? School gets out in ten minutes.’

‘I’ve only got the bike with me,’ he said, gesturing at the black machine.

‘I don’t mind,’ she shrugged. ‘I’ll be out front in ten minutes.’ She skipped away to rejoin a group of her friends.

‘Is he your boyfriend, Dee?’ they chorused.

‘No, my sister’s boyfriend,’ he heard her say as they walked further and further away.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Quinn muttered, going back to his bike. But what was wrong with that? A little wishful thinking never hurt anyone.

He rammed the helmet back on his head and rode around to the entrance of the school. He removed the second helmet from its stowage area under the motorbike’s seat.

Dee emerged ten minutes later, the sound of the bell still hanging in the air.

‘That was quick,’ he commented.

‘Well, we could hang around if you like. You’ll be the subject of much speculation from parents, teachers and students, but heck, I don’t mind. It doesn’t hurt my image.’ She stood back, the child-woman image of a biker chick, tucking her helmet under her arm.

‘Here, put this on,’ he directed, shucking off his leather jacket and handing it over. The image was complete. He put his helmet back on to protect his identity from the awe-inspired expressions of Dee’s classmates who were emerging from the front drive of the school. She was waving to them all, basking in the attention.

‘Let’s go, Dee.’

She tightened the strap on her helmet like a pro and jumped on the back of the bike, her hands clutching the sides of his t-shirt as he drove away from the school. The journey lasted five minutes. Quinn could have sworn Dee was whooping under her helmet the entire time.

‘Do you want to come in?’ she asked as she handed back his jacket and helmet.

‘I’d better not,’ he said, stowing the second helmet and resting his own on the handle bar of the bike. He didn’t think Libby would be too impressed to learn he had been here, let alone that he had given Dee a ride home.

‘Come on, she won’t be home for hours. She’s lucky if she makes it before seven most nights. I’ve been spending a lot of time at grandma’s lately.’

So Quinn followed her into the house after wheeling his motorbike onto the lawn behind the bushes lining the footpath.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ Dee was the ever-efficient hostess.

‘No, thanks, Dee.’ He sat at the kitchen table, savouring the feeling. Why did it feel like home?

‘So what have you been doing?’

‘I’ve been spending a lot of time at my cabin down on the coast.’

‘Cabin?’

‘Yeah. It’s not as rustic as it sounds. Running water and everything. Just very out of the way.’

‘Isolated?’

‘Very.’

‘Private?’

‘Yes.’ Dee seemed very interested.

‘I’d love to see it sometime,’ she said, confirming his suspicions.

‘Well, I guess that’s up to Libby.’ It seemed an unlikely prospect.

‘I bet Libby would love to see it, too.’ Quinn smiled vaguely and wondered if he had mastered it as well as Libby. Dee frowned, piercing him with an uncomfortable stare. He suspected Dee’s mind was ticking over, full of questions he didn’t want to be asked and wasn’t sure he could answer, because they were about his relationship with Libby. The relationship they didn’t have. He waited until she decided which question to ask.

‘Why did you leave?’ Dee was thinking back to that Saturday night six months ago. He could have pretended not to understand the question but it seemed pointless. And at least it was a question he could answer without revealing too much of himself.

‘Because she wanted me to.’

‘You’re not the aggressive type, are you?’

‘I suppose not.’ Not compared to Dee, he wasn’t.

‘But you do love her, don’t you?’ She was the nosy type.

He wondered if there was any reason to deny it. ‘Yes.’

‘She loves you, too. She just doesn’t know it yet. And if she does, she doesn’t want to.’ That didn’t seem very positive.

‘Why not? I’m lovable.’

‘You don’t have to convince me. You have to convince her. And I think tomorrow is the perfect day to start.’

‘Why not today?’ Quinn wondered aloud.

‘Because tomorrow you’ll have the perfect setting. The ball,’ she reminded him. ‘You’ll be all tuxed up and she’ll have the Cinderella thing going on.’

Dee was always thinking; that was for sure.

But her Cinderella reference was too close to reality to be simply metaphorical, because by midnight he would be falling for her as deeply as he had previously and she would be running as fast as she could.

At least he didn’t have to worry about upsetting her before time. Dee had said she wouldn’t be home before seven. So he was surprised when he heard her voice calling out, ‘Dee, I’m home,’ a little before five.

He fixed Dee with a glare and she shrugged her shoulders angelically. ‘I said most nights.’

Quinn wondered if he could duck out the laundry door, but shook himself at such a cowardly thought. Besides, Libby had probably already seen his bike on the lawn. But by the shocked look on her face when she eventually came into the kitchen, he guessed she hadn’t.

‘Hi, Lib,’ Dee greeted, skipping over and kissing her sister on the cheek.

‘Dee,’ Libby said tightly in return. She didn’t say anything to Quinn and he didn’t say anything to her. He was still trying to get over being duped by a fourteen-year-old.

‘Quinn gave me a ride home,’ Dee answered Libby’s unspoken question. ‘It was so cool. And he let me wear his jacket, too.’

For obvious safety reasons that weren’t obvious to Dee but still Quinn kept silent.

‘Anyway,’ Dee said after an extended silence, ‘I need to go get changed. So I’ll leave you to it. And don’t make me have to come back out here. I want you to play nicely.’

Quinn immediately placed her right next to Fraser in his mind as being far too smugly wise. She left them alone then, Quinn sitting uncomfortably at the table and Libby standing uncomfortably a few metres from him, wrapped in her thick overcoat and still clutching her briefcase and numerous folders.

‘I’m sorry,’ Quinn said instantly, the first thing that came to his mind.

‘What for?’ Libby asked after a moment. She set her things on the table and shrugged out of her coat, laying it over the back of a chair. She was dressed in a subtly stylish pale blue suit, her hair traditionally captured back in a french roll.

She was the epitome of elegance, but it didn’t stop – rather, it contributed to – his body’s inelegant reaction to her.

Quinn crossed his legs under the table in a silent warning to himself to stay oblivious. It was virtually impossible. Thank goodness he was sitting down, was all he could think.

‘Intruding,’ he answered shortly.

‘You’re not intruding,’ she said as though that at the very least should be obvious. The smile left her face with speed, however, and she continued politely, ‘Thank you for giving Dee a ride home.’

Libby smiled vaguely in the same way she had done when they first met. He wondered if she realised it drove him insane.

‘My pleasure.’ But the real pleasure was simply being here, being close to her once again. But he knew she didn’t want to hear that. So small talk was the safest option.

‘Will I see you at the ball tomorrow night?’ It was very small talk. He knew she would be there. She was a vice president, just as he was, and their presence was required.

‘I’ll be there,’ she responded in the same manner, but her reply wasn’t a yes or a no. And Quinn had a vision of the night being something similar to the past six months, two people in the same building, ducking out of sight whenever the other came into view, safeguarding emotions that may have been better left unguarded.

Quinn looked out the long window that took in the green view of the backyard and was surprised to find Libby seating herself opposite him when he looked back. She flattened her hands on the top of the pine surface and looked openly into his face.

‘We’re playing nicely, aren’t we?’ she asked, humour twisting her mouth into a small smile.

‘Are we playing?’ Quinn returned. She lost the smile immediately and her hands folded themselves in her lap under the table. He mentally shook himself. Why did he always seem to know exactly the wrong thing to say?

And then, in a voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her, she said, ‘I’m not playing.’ And then a little louder, ‘I miss you.’

And then Quinn wondered whether he had merely imagined the words. But whether he had or not, he wanted to say them back to her. ‘I miss you.’

She smiled at his response, but didn’t look up.

‘So if that’s the case, then why are we doing this to ourselves?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Making ourselves miserable.’

‘Fear?’ she proposed with a lift of her shoulders.

‘Are you afraid of me?’ Quinn asked, a small river of his own sudden fear running through him.

‘No,’ she said quickly with feeling. ‘I’m afraid of myself.’

Before Quinn could process all that information, she looked up and said in a horrified voice, ‘I didn’t say that out loud, did I?’

‘Yes. And a few other things. And, Libby, I’m not going to let you take them back.’

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Seven

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Seven.

*****

He stayed for dinner.

‘We always cook together on a Saturday night,’ Dee informed him when she returned from showering. ‘Think you can handle the challenge?’

‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m a gourmet cook.’

‘Great,’ Dee said, propping her feet up on the table and folding her arms behind her head. ‘I guess Libby and I can sit back and relax while you whip up something?’

‘Sure,’ he said, pretending to tie an apron around his waist. ‘I hope you like lamb’s brains. I do them with a white sauce that is delicious,’ he added with a flourish like a French chef. Dee digested the information and decided she wouldn’t be able to digest the actual meal quite so easily. Libby laughed at the expression on her sister’s face.

‘I was thinking more along the lines of chicken,’ Libby said and immediately Dee concurred, ‘I second the motion.’

He was relegated to vegetable duty, slicing carrots and peeling potatoes, snipping the ends off beans and chopping off sections of a head of cauliflower, while Libby deposited them in pots of boiling water, keeping a watchful eye on the cheese sauce she was making. Across the bench from him, Dee was sifting flour and sugar into a large bowl, before adding milk, eggs and butter.

‘Crepes with orange sauce,’ she proudly informed Quinn with a smudge of flour on her cheek. He pointed the blemish out to her and she said, ‘Where?’

‘Here,’ he said, using his own cheek to demonstrate.

‘Here?’ she repeated, reaching up to stroke a finger down his face, leaving him with the very same imprint as she had.

He stood there very still for a moment, while Dee laughed until tears came. Libby finished stirring the sauce and set it to one side off the hot plate. She was trying to hold her laughter in but followed Dee’s lead, dissolving completely.

‘Do I need to remind you both that I’m standing here holding a very large knife?’ All they did was laugh harder. He supposed it was difficult to be taken seriously with a dish cloth thrown over one shoulder and a streak of flour down one cheek.

Libby relieved him of the knife and said, ‘Let me get that for you.’ She took the dish cloth from its resting place on his shoulder and carefully wiped the streak of flour from his face. She then stood on tip toes and kissed the place where the flour had been, Quinn feeling her tongue dart out discreetly so Dee would not be aware of the erotic gesture.

Libby moved away with an expression of innocence on her face, and walked around the bench to remove the flour from Dee’s face as well. Dee was sitting with her head in one hand, a wistful smile on her face beside the flour, the crepe mixture abandoned. She sighed as she watched Quinn watching Libby. He sighed as well, although only to mock Dee. She resumed stirring the crepe batter and Libby returned the stove while Quinn wiped the chopping board, which was covered in vegetable refuse.

‘Are you two going to get married?’ Dee’s question came from nowhere, and had both he and Libby spinning to face her.

‘What?’ Libby was the first to remember how to speak. She laughed nervously and asked, ‘Why would you think that?’

‘Well, because you kiss all the time. And you spend all that time together at work, just to come here and spend a whole lot more time together. I mean, you have to like someone a lot to spend all that time with them.’

‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean we would get married.’ Quinn finally found his voice.

‘Do you love each other?’ Dee persisted.

‘We’ve only known each other for two weeks,’ Libby said with a laugh at the same time as Quinn said, ‘Love is a very complex thing.’

Libby looked at him with her eyes open very wide and he wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Could she interpret anything from that very obscure and abstract reference? Before he drove himself insane with the worry of it he said, ‘My mother knew my father all her life and loved him all her life but never married him.’

‘Why not?’ Dee was enthralled by the mention of his mother and Quinn pursued it to ensure some respite from her inquisitiveness into their love life.

‘I don’t know. I never understood why. He even said he loved her but that she refused his offers of marriage from the moment they met.’ He looked at Libby’s back. She had returned to tending the stove and was stirring the cooling cheese sauce again. ‘They were from very different backgrounds, very different people. Maybe love just wasn’t enough.’

Dee thought about his answer. ‘I think I still have a lot to learn about love and relationships.’

From across the room, Libby said quietly but pointedly, ‘Like tact.’

‘I suppose,’ she said in a very un-Dee like manner. ‘Mum always said, though, if you loved someone, you should tell them. That love is always about being honest.’ After a pause, she blurted, ‘I love you, Libby.’

‘I love you, too, sweetie,’ Libby said with surprise in her voice, but meeting her little sister halfway across the kitchen and enveloping her in a hug.

‘Quinn?’ Dee said in a voice that meant she expected him to join in. He said, ‘I’m very glad I have you two in my life.’

Dee let go of her sister. Her eyes were filling with tears.

‘Are you okay?’ he whispered as she passed him.

‘Yeah,’ she said, but hurried out of the kitchen, throwing over her shoulder, ‘I’m just going to check my email.’ He watched her leave then turned back to Libby, who was once again keeping a watchful eye over the pots on the stove, conveniently with her face away from his gaze.

‘Libby?’ She didn’t turn around.

‘I thought you said you never knew your father.’ It wasn’t an accusation; in fact, Quinn sensed it was the only thing she could draw from their conversation with Dee that wouldn’t lead them into a discussion of their relationship.

‘I didn’t. At least, not for most of my life. I discovered my father’s identity just before my mother’s death.’

Libby turned her head slightly. ‘Oh.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘But something’s changed.’ He could sense it. The Libby who had kissed his cheek was gone and he wasn’t sure why. If she was upset about Dee, all she had to do was say so and he would understand. Heck, he was upset himself. It wasn’t often that women – or girls – burst into tears in his presence. But if Libby succumbed to whatever was afflicting Dee, it would be two in one day and he would have to consider that perhaps it was his presence that was affecting them.

‘Should I check on Dee?’ It seemed like the safest subject to bring up.

She finally turned to look at him and her eyes were clouded, her face a mask.

‘No, I will.’ She walked over to the kitchen archway before turning back to speak. ‘I’m sorry about what she said. It’s just the timing, I suppose. I…’ She stopped speaking for a moment.

‘I’ll understand, Libby, whatever it is.’ And he truly knew he would.

‘Tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of our mother’s death,’ she said after a long moment. Quinn let out a breath of relief and almost said, ‘Is that all?’ But he knew sensitivity demanded he wait for the rest of the explanation. ‘Every year on the anniversary of her death, Dee starts getting all these ideas about me getting married. The first three years there weren’t any men around for her to fixate on. But this year…’

‘There’s me,’ Quinn finished for her. Libby didn’t acknowledge that he had even spoken.

‘I guess she’s looking for a father figure. Perhaps when Mum was alive it was something she could ignore because she had one parent who loved her very much. But now she just has me.’ Her logic didn’t quite fit.

‘You’re the best mother Dee could have apart from her birth mother. Who better to let her know that she’s part of a family, that she’s the product of two people who love her a great deal, even if they are both gone.’ It was a subject he knew all too well.

‘I know. That’s the reason I became her guardian instead of handing her over to my grandmother when Mum died. But I’m still an incomplete parent. Maybe she just needs a father figure, another incomplete parent to feel like she’s got the whole deal again, to feel like she has something that is equal to what she had before.’

‘Maybe she just wants to see you happy.’ Quinn could tell by the look on her face that it was not a theory Libby had considered.

‘I am happy,’ she said, then added, ‘Besides I don’t think it’s about me at all.’

‘Have you asked her what it is about?’

‘I did the first year but she reacted so badly that it never crossed my mind to ask again. She was only eleven. It gradually transformed into the weekly humiliation session of reading the personals to me. And she treats it as such a joke now that I thought maybe…’ Libby’s hand went to her mouth and she absently ran a finger back and forth across her lower lip. ‘Sometimes I forget that she’s only fourteen.’

Quinn remembered what he had said about Dee the first day he had met her. That she was at an honest age. And Libby had scoffed at his comment.

Dee’s own remark about honesty weighed heavily on his mind.

How honest could he be? He knew that he and Libby had found something together, something that they felt comfortable with, comfortable enough to share the personal details of their lives. The words were coming out of his mouth before he had even considered the wisdom of them.

‘Libby, I think I’m falling in—’

Before he could complete the thought, her head came up and she said, ‘Don’t finish that sentence!’

‘Why not?’ She seemed afraid and as close to tears as Dee had been. Why would she be afraid to hear him say he loved her? It was the ultimate compliment a man could pay a woman, wasn’t it? Especially if it were true.

‘We’ve only known each other for two weeks.’ She reiterated her earlier remark to Dee.

‘I don’t want to bring Einstein into this but perhaps you’re not familiar with his theory of relativity, specifically the relativity of time.’

She smirked and stalked back to the stove, turning off all the hot plates. ‘You’re not being objective about this so I’d appreciate it if you left the theories out of it.’

‘Fine, then I’ll be subjective. I feel—’

‘Stop!’

‘Why? What are you afraid of?’

‘I don’t want to be responsible for you,’ she shouted, then looked beyond the entrance of the kitchen. Quinn could see she was concerned about Dee overhearing them.

Responsible for him? What did that mean?

‘I have to go check on Dee.’ She was gone before he could form the words that might halt her progress. He sat at the kitchen table wondering what had just happened. It was obvious from her reaction that she had been able to interpret his true feelings from his enigmatic statement about love being complex. But her reaction had also proved the statement true.

Of course, one thing that made love complex, the thing he hadn’t considered until now, was if it was one-way traffic. If she didn’t feel the same way he felt, or even remotely similar, then the complexity was a given. It was obvious she was attracted to him, and from what had happened today, he knew she was finding it just as difficult as he was to quell the attraction. But, of course, attraction didn’t always translate into love.

And it seemed the moment he had attempted to mention his growing feelings for her, she turned away.

Growing feelings? Quinn rolled his eyes at the euphemism. He was falling in love. He wasn’t sure why because apart from their physical involvement, she hadn’t done anything to encourage him. And she didn’t want his love. She had made that clear enough. But the question of why she didn’t want his love bothered him. He had a feeling that there was more to it than simple non-reciprocation.

Had it been any other woman, he would have been determined to find out why. But with Libby, when she made a decision, she tended to be difficult to sway. He knew that from his vantage point of working alongside her. And knowing why wouldn’t necessarily mean he could change her mind.

She came back into the kitchen while he was contemplating the knots in the pine tabletop. He looked up at her and she said, ‘Dee’s fine. She’ll be back out in a minute.’

‘Maybe I should go,’ Quinn offered, adding, ‘I don’t want to embarrass her.’

‘It would take a lot more than that to embarrass her,’ Libby said, then seemed to wonder why she had said it. He was giving her an out and she took it. ‘But maybe you should go.’

Because it took a lot less to embarrass Libby and her pink cheeks were evidence of that.

‘Yes, maybe I should go,’ Quinn said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. He turned to leave, but could not stop himself from uttering, ‘When you’ve figured out what it is you want, why don’t you give me a call?’

The look on Libby’s face was pure regret, but she tempered it with a dignity that seemed misplaced to him. He stared at her, giving her one last chance to halt his departure, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, and certainly didn’t give any indication whatsoever that she wanted him to stay.

He walked out without another word, stopping only to pick up his helmet. He roared away from the house on his motorcycle, trying not to think about the fact that he was walking away from the only woman he had ever loved. He tried not to think about the fact that his father had been forced to do the exact same thing. He tried not to think about the fact that his statements were turning out to be prophetic. Love was indeed complex and sometimes it just wasn’t enough.

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Six

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Six.

*****

It was two weeks later when he showed up unannounced at the Freeman residence and knocked on the door. He and Libby had been working harder than he suspected either of them had ever worked before. Now that he was working alongside her, he was privy to all the aspects of her that he had only been able to wonder about from a distance during their tenure at Society.

She was the easiest person he had ever had to work with. They seemed to agree on just about everything regarding what was best for Verbatim Press, and when they did disagree, it was only to reach mutually satisfying compromise.

The same could not be said for his attempts to move their professional relationship beyond the bounds of platonic. They were friends, just as Libby had proposed, but Quinn knew there was so much more between them. He also knew he was taking a chance just turning up at her house like this, but he hadn’t been able to restrain himself. Two weeks after that kiss, he was burning for more. He was sick of acting like Libby’s best friend, even though he suspected that’s what he was. He wanted to act like her lover. He wanted to kiss her again. And again. And again, until she gave in and admitted that all they were doing was putting off the inevitable.

When the door opened, he was prepared for Libby’s reaction to his unusual appearance. He always ditched the suits on the weekend in favour of jeans, t-shirts and his well-worn leather jacket. He clutched his motorcycle helmet under his arm and primed himself to deliver the speech he had practiced on the way over.

But it was Dee who was pulling the heavy wooden barrier open.

‘Hi, Quinn.’

‘Hey, Dee. What’s up?’

‘Nothing much.’ She was dressed in white shorts and t-shirt and her hair was captured back in a ponytail. When she noticed him studying her outfit, she said, ‘I’ve got tennis in an hour.’

‘You play tennis?’

‘No, I don’t just play. I compete.’ She stepped back to allow him inside.

‘Well, forgive me, Ms Freeman. I’ll assume from that little spiel that you’re good, so I won’t challenge you to a game. I don’t know that I could take being whipped by a fourteen-year-old.’

Dee smiled and shrugged, yes, she probably would whip him. It took her a few moments to stop thinking about the pleasure of that prospect and realise it was the first time she had seen him out of his work suits.

‘And who are you supposed to be? James Dean?’

‘I wish. If I were James Dean, Libby would be finding it much harder to resist me.’ Over the past two weeks, Dee had become something of an ally in his cause.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. She never was one to fall for the bad guy. She always went for those guys who had something rather unique. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on but it just attracted her anyway.

‘I don’t know what it is, Dee,’ Dee said, mimicking her older sister, ‘but he really does it for me.’

Quinn wondered if she had ever said that about him but seriously doubted it.

‘So where is she? And please don’t tell me she’s at the office. She promised me she wouldn’t go into the office today.’

‘She’s out the back with Bruiser. Come on.’ Quinn followed Dee to the glass doors that led out to the balcony and the back yard.

Libby was lying on a blanket spread over a patch of grass with a pile of books beside her. One was open next to her but her attention was focused on Bruiser who was kissing her face with enthusiasm while she attempted to push him away. Lucky Bruiser, Quinn thought.

When Dee moved to open the door, he put a restraining hand on hers. She looked up at him questioningly. ‘I just want to look at her for a moment.’

Dee stood back to allow him unhindered access to the view of her. Libby bent low to whisper in Bruiser’s ear and kiss his furry brow. With Bruiser she was open and free and unafraid. Quinn hoped it wasn’t too ridiculous to be jealous of a dog.

He looked at Dee, who smiled up at him, so heartbreakingly like Libby, and he guessed like her other sisters, Helena and April. ‘You’re going to break hearts one day, Dee.’

She just smiled and pushed the door open in a silent urge to go to Libby. So he did.

Libby was engrossed in her play with Bruiser and didn’t notice him until he sat down on the rug beside her.

‘Quinn,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious of the trace of dog drool on her face. He reached up to halt the progression of her hand to her cheek.

‘You might hurt Bruiser’s feelings.’

‘What are you doing here?’ He let go of her hand and she wiped her face dry, holding Bruiser back from inflicting another tongue bath.

Sensing Libby’s playful mindset was gone, Bruiser shifted his attention to Quinn. He endured Bruiser’s inspection of his armpits, and patted the dog until he seemed satisfied, and left to bark at the back fence.

‘I just thought I’d drop by to make sure you had done as you said you would and stayed away from the office.’

‘What are you, my mother?’ Libby mocked, immediately looking at the tartan rug they sat on.

‘I’m your friend, remember? Friends do things like this for each other.’ Quinn settled back on the rug and looked at the sky. ‘So what’s on the agenda for today?’ He turned his head to look at the pile of books beside her. ‘Those books look distinctively like work.’

‘Well, sort of. Some of them truly are a chore to read. But I have to get through them sometime. It’s not like I have much free time to read, so I make the most of my opportunities.’ She paused before speaking again. ‘What are you really doing here?’

‘Libby,’ Quinn said, closing his eyes, ‘you don’t want me to answer that question. So just accept that I’m here.’

‘Okay,’ she said simply, surprising him. She lay down on her stomach and picked up the book she had been reading, searching for the line she had last read before being interrupted by Bruiser. She read for half an hour in the comfortable silence between them while Quinn dozed, being careful not to fall asleep.

He wasn’t sure when it was that he became aware that she had stopped reading, but the absence of the quiet sound of pages turning made him open his eyes. Libby was studying his face and seemed unembarrassed about being discovered in her appraisal. She was still lying on her stomach, one arm propping up her head.

‘What are you thinking?’ Quinn broke the silence, simply because he couldn’t bear to have her break it by saying something he didn’t want to hear.

‘Just thinking,’ she responded, ‘about what ifs.’

About what if they didn’t work together?

‘Think about this. What if I kissed you?’ Quinn never was much one for restraint. Libby smiled demurely, and he watched it transform into flirtation.

‘Think about this. What if I kissed you?’ And she did, laying her lips on his. Memory had not done her justice, Quinn thought, reaching up into her hair and pulling her as close as he could. This was his reward for patience. This was both their reward for weeks of close proximity and little chance for anything that didn’t involve work.

She pressed little kisses along the edge of his lips, teasing him until he couldn’t bear it any longer and he opened his mouth under hers, urging her with his mouth to do the same. She didn’t hold out for very long, and soon they were both swamped by their passion.

While Quinn’s hands remained in her hair, one of Libby’s crept down to his waist and up under his t-shirt. Her hand was cool against his heated skin, smoothing over the sparse hair on his chest, and coming to rest in the small hollow between pectorals.

He concentrated all his attention on her mouth, not thinking about anything beyond this kiss. It was strange really. Had she been any other woman, his thoughts would have been leading them towards the bedroom. And there was no doubt that was where his body wanted to go. But his mind was completely happy to stay where it was, engaged in the enormously pleasant act of simply kissing her.

Their intimate moment continued until Quinn became aware of a shadow falling across them. For an instant, he thought it was Bruiser taking an unwelcome interest in what his mistress was doing. But when he opened his eyes and looked beyond Libby’s face, his gaze came to rest on one that looked all too similar to Libby’s.

He turned his face away from Libby and she questioningly opened her eyes when he broke the contact. At his urging, she looked up at Dee standing over them.

‘Believe me, I put it off for as long as I could, but I have a tennis match to compete in. And as much as I want you two to work out whatever it is that seems to be holding you back from a full blown love affair, I’m not going to forfeit a match just so you can suck face in the back yard.’

Libby sat up and cleared her throat, while Quinn felt a small amount of heat creeping into his cheeks. Dee and her damn alarm clock! He wondered if she had been watching them the whole time since he had come out to the back yard, but doubted it. That first half hour of them just lying there would have bored even the most eager of teenagers.

‘I’ll be right there, Dee,’ Libby said, collecting her books as Dee walked back up to the house. She tried to tug the blanket out from underneath Quinn, but he was still lying on it. ‘I have to drive Dee to her match.’

He stood up but kept his eyes on her. He wasn’t going to allow her to blow him off after that kiss. The first time he could understand. He had done the chasing; he had spun her into his arms and initiated the contact. But this time she had leant over him and asked, ‘What if I kissed you?’

But instead of trying to avoid him, to push him away or forget the incident, she said, ‘Feel like watching an under-fifteens tennis match?’

It was unexpected. ‘Sure,’ he said, and smiled triumphantly when she turned her back.

‘Friends do stuff like that, don’t they?’ she said as she walked away from him, and he didn’t know if she was referring to watching tennis matches or kissing passionately on rugs in back yards under the watchful eyes of teenage sisters. But he let it go. He followed her up to the house, and wondered if he had enough blessings yet to be able to count them.

Quinn sat in the passenger seat of her BMW and Dee lounged smugly in the back as they drove the ten-minute journey to the local tennis club.

Quinn couldn’t remember the last time he had watched fourteen-year-olds do anything, unless he counted all the times he watched them milling around bus stops as he sat in a taxi on the way to work.

He and Libby found seats at the back of the bleachers and settled in to watch Dee’s match.

Dee’s opponent was a heavily built blonde, almost the physical opposite of Dee, who had an overpowering serve and a smashing forehand. Dee’s style was sneaky. Quinn wasn’t surprised. She returned the speeding serves with as little power as was necessary and lulled the other girl into a false sense of security before slipping in a slower ball or dropping one short just over the net.

By the time Dee had taken the first set, 6-4, her opponent had almost run herself ragged and Libby’s voice was almost gone. She was the loudest person in the crowd, cheering effusively for her sister. She easily shouted over the other mothers, and Dee waved from the court cheerily, acknowledging Libby’s efforts.

While the players were changing ends, Quinn said to Libby, ‘She’s good.’

‘She takes after our mother.’

‘Your mother was a tennis player?’

‘No, she was a model. But she loved to play tennis.’

‘But not you?’

‘No, I was Daddy’s little girl,’ she said with a sigh.

‘Which means what exactly?’

‘Which means I played cricket on the boy’s cricket team until they said I couldn’t play anymore. Then I played squash, just like my Dad.’ Her eyes misted over.

‘Where is your father?’

‘He died just before Dee was born. I was twelve.’

‘She never knew him?’ Quinn felt an immediate empathy.

‘No. So she never had the chance to be anything but a Mummy’s girl.’ Libby inspected her open palm and ran a finger across the heart line. ‘What about you?’

‘I wasn’t a Mummy’s boy.’

Libby laughed. ‘No, I meant tell me about your family.’

‘Um, well, I’m an only child. I was brought up by my mother. I never knew my father, either. She said she loved him but I thought he had to be a bastard to leave her pregnant and alone.’ Quinn stopped speaking. He never spoke about his mother anymore. Except occasionally with Fraser. So why had that come so easily?

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Libby put her hand on his.

‘Don’t be. I never lacked for anything. My mother worked for Fraser at one of his newspaper offices. He was always good to her. I guess that’s how I ended up working for him, too.’ Well, it wasn’t quite the truth but it would do for now. ‘My mother died about ten years ago. I was twenty-one, just out of university. Fraser’s been good to me, too.’

He felt he’d said enough and Libby didn’t press him. Her gaze went back to the hand that was resting on his, and she lifted it. The moment was over, he supposed, but he didn’t want it to be. He recaptured her hand and laced their fingers, looking into her face as she stared at their joined hands.

‘Time,’ the referee called almost poignantly from his chair high above the court.

They held hands like teenagers for the duration of the tennis match, which Dee went on to win convincingly. It was strangely satisfying, Quinn realised. And when Libby’s head rested on his shoulder towards the last few games of the second set, he knew another boundary had been breached. Maybe it would be an agonisingly slow process, their relationship, but he had no doubt it was going to be exquisite torture.

They drove back to Libby’s house, stopping in a supermarket on the way to pick up a celebratory bottle of non-alcoholic wine.

Dee flounced triumphantly into the house while Libby and Quinn stood on the front porch.

‘I’m really glad you came by today,’ Libby said, clutching the brown papered bottle.

‘Me, too,’ Quinn agreed simply, although he was more accurately euphoric at the way things had turned out.

Libby looked at him for a moment, opening her mouth to speak when she seemed to catch sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Quinn followed her gaze to the front window where Dee was standing, waving her hands and making exaggerated gestures. He could tell she was mouthing the words, ‘Ask him.’ And so could Libby.

‘Well, it looks like Dee won’t let you escape. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t invite you to stay for dinner.’

He looked back to the window where Dee was giving the thumbs up at having her game of charades interpreted correctly.

‘I suppose she’d never forgive me if I didn’t accept,’ he said in return before asking, ‘What about you?’

She didn’t seem to follow. ‘What about me?’

‘Do you think you could forgive yourself if you let me escape?’ He was pushing it; he knew it. Even he could sense his own persistence. However, he let the deliberate double entendre remain hanging between them.

‘Quinn,’ she said, stepping forward. But no words came. He watched her processing a million words, a thousand responses, a hundred emotions that ultimately weren’t what she wanted to express. And then without warning, she kissed him, deeply but briefly. ‘That’s all I can think at the moment.’ She brought a hand to her mouth, covering something. ‘Is that a problem?’

He was never going to answer positively to that question. He decided not to answer it at all. ‘I guess it depends on how badly I’m going to end up getting hurt.’

‘You?’ She laughed with genuine amusement. ‘Why should you get hurt? Isn’t that usually something the woman says? Or thinks?’

‘Usually, I suppose it is. But you are not the average woman. And you seem to be holding all the strings here. Why do I feel like I have no power?’ It was the most honest thing he had ever said out loud. He looked back to the window where Dee had been standing but she was gone.

‘You know, it’s strange,’ Libby said, her arms going around his neck and her face tipping up to meet his. ‘But I was thinking the exact same thing.’

Quinn instantly backed her up against the wall of the house and kissed her. Why did this woman always have an answer for everything? Why did she always have the right answers? He didn’t know and couldn’t accurately assess if he cared at that exact moment. All he knew was that she had a hold over him that couldn’t be described. But it could be described, he decided. And it was an easy admission. He was falling in love with her.

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Five

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Five.

*****

The next morning Quinn was at Verbatim Press by half past eight. And he wasn’t surprised when the receptionist informed him that Libby had been in since just before eight.

As the receptionist escorted him up to the executive level, he continued the process that had kept him up most of the night. He couldn’t stop himself from replaying those last few minutes with Libby. How did she go from her legs wrapped around his waist to ‘I don’t get involved with people I work with’?

‘Who will be showing Libby and I around?’ Quinn enquired, trying to put his mind on the job.

‘I understand that Ms Freeman has already begun her tour. She should almost have completed her inspection. Mr Graham has arranged for Julia Thorne to guide you,’ the receptionist informed him.

‘Who exactly is Julia Thorne?’ he asked, trying hard to suppress his disappointment that Libby had gone on without waiting for him. Were they supposed to be a team or not? But if he was honest, he wasn’t thinking about business. He forced himself to concentrate.

‘She’s a junior in the finance department.’

‘Is she any good?’

‘I really wouldn’t know, Mr O’Connell. The different boundaries in this company are never really stepped over. I’m administrative, Ms Thorne’s financial, Ms Freeman’s editorial.’ She looked at him with a teacher’s patience, but Quinn didn’t appreciate it. ‘I only know who Ms Thorne is because I spent some time working in human resources when they were looking for someone to head up that department.’

‘Human resources?’ He knew what the term meant but had never been particularly enamoured of it replacing the more simplistic and honest term ‘personnel’.

‘The department formerly known as personnel,’ his companion informed him with authoritative knowledge. Quinn found himself employing Libby’s tactic of the ever useful vague but polite smile.

They arrived at the executive level at the top of the building and stepped off the elevator. The receptionist propelled him towards a suite at one end of a long hallway. ‘This will be your suite of offices, Mr O’Connell. Welcome to Verbatim Press.’

To Quinn it sounded like a long practiced and barely genuine greeting. He turned to watch her figure retreating down the hall. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name.’

‘Rebecca Hillard,’ she said.

‘Thank you for all your help, Ms Hillard,’ he said with an equal disinterest as she had shown him. She frowned for a moment, then nodded her head and continued back towards the elevator.

Quinn turned his attention to the young man sitting at a desk just outside the doors to what he had just been told was his office.

‘Hello, I’m—’

‘Mr O’Connell, of course. All the administrative staff were briefed on your imminent arrival. My name is Brent Collins.’ Quinn shook the hand that was held out to him.

‘Nice to meet you, Brent.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Brent responded and Quinn winced. He didn’t know what was worse: Mr O’Connell or sir. Under normal circumstances he would have asked Brent to call him Quinn straight away, but in some ways he was here in almost an espionage capacity. He had to observe and interpret and discuss his findings with Libby before he made any comments to the rest of the staff. Ms Hillard had already proved most useful, despite – no, because of – her distant manner.

Without waiting for Brent, Quinn opened the double office doors and strode into the lushly carpeted space. Inside, two young women and another young man were hard at work, their fingers tapping away on state-of-the-art computer equipment. When they noticed his entrance, they immediately stood and lined up like domestic servants welcoming their master home. He shook their hands and memorised their names; James, Sarah and Hannah. Apparently they were his assistants.

Hmmm. Well, he would have something to say regarding that state of affairs before too long. What did he need three assistants for? Plus Brent as his secretary? Quinn had a sneaking suspicion as to why this company had been floundering.

He opened the next set of double doors, which led into his private office. The décor shouted money. Heavy, dark wooden furniture, leather lounges, banker’s lamps, Monets on the walls – he hoped they weren’t the real thing.

The one saving grace was the view. Floor to ceiling windows took full advantage of a nearby densely treed park. He stood and stared at it for a moment, needing the genuine release it offered from the artificial surroundings he now found himself in. When he turned back to look at his open office doors, his three assistants and his secretary were standing there watching him.

‘So I understand a tour has been organised?’

Suddenly the ever-efficient foursome became dithering idiots. Brent said, ‘Ms Thorne was supposed to be here by eight-thirty to welcome you and whisk you off for your tour but she must have been held up. I know that’s highly unacceptable, Mr O’Connell. I’ll see if I can locate her.’ Brent took a reverent step back and turned to find himself face to face with a neatly presented woman with an open expression.

‘Julia Thorne, I presume?’ Quinn said.

‘Yes, forgive my lateness. I got caught up talking to Libby. Would you like to begin the tour now?’ She took a step back also, although there was nothing reverent in it, and Quinn almost sighed with relief as her arm gave the universal gesture for ‘walk this way’.

He bade a swift farewell to his office staff and followed her down the hall to the elevators.

‘How would you prefer I address you?’ Julia asked immediately.

‘Call me Quinn,’ he said almost desperately.

‘Please call me Julia. Just whatever you do, don’t call me Ms Thorne the way Ms Hillard does. It drives me crazy.’

He laughed with relief at finally discovering that someone real worked at Verbatim Press. Well, that made three of them so far; himself, Libby and Julia. It was a start.

She led him around the various departments, which were very much divided by their category of administrative, financial or editorial, just as Rebecca Hillard had informed him. He shook hands with all the staff in the financial department and shared a joke with the ladies in the typing pool and the one man amongst their midst who seemed to enjoy the attention his lonely gender brought him. The jacket designers waved and continued with their work, while the editorial staff emerged from rather odd places, like beneath their desks, to call out their greetings.

Julia also showed him the parking garage, although he didn’t bother to tell her he wouldn’t be using it, and the company gymnasium, which lay eerily dormant.

‘Does anyone ever use it?’ he asked and Julia nodded emphatically.

‘Oh, yes, the former management thought it imperative that everyone be physically fit in line with the company image of mental fitness.’ It was then that Quinn realised he hadn’t seen one overweight person throughout his entire tour of the building.

‘The company image was very important, wasn’t it?’ he surmised.

‘Yes, I’m afraid in the end it seemed to take over from more important financial and even ethical considerations.’ Julia’s turn of phrase seemed very familiar.

‘You wrote the summary of Verbatim Press that I received from Fraser,’ he realised out loud.

‘Yes, I did.’ She looked suitably proud.

‘What is your official title?’

‘Oh.’ Quinn immediately knew she didn’t want to tell him. ‘I’m the second junior assistant to a deputy division manager.’

He didn’t know exactly what that meant but he could assume enough. ‘So your immediate superior also has a first junior assistant and two senior assistants. And he’s only a deputy? Can I also assume there are a number of vice division managers above that and finally the senior division manager?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t look impressed by the number of people the explanation implied.

‘Julia, you’re fired,’ Quinn said straight away, deciding to utilise Fraser’s tactic.

‘Oh.’ He could tell she was disappointed. ‘Well, I accept that. I knew that a number of staff would have to be liquidated. I guess I just never thought I’d be one of them.’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds, Julia.’

‘It’s not?’

‘No. I’d like you to move up to the executive level to be my assistant. Not my second junior assistant, or my first junior assistant, just my assistant. How does that sound?’

‘Really?’ she asked, trying hard to subdue an excited smile.

‘Really,’ Quinn said, and she grabbed his hand, pumping it enthusiastically.

‘Thank you, Quinn,’ she squealed before releasing his hand from her Superman grip. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he ordered, flexing the tendons in his hand. ‘It’s nice to see some real emotion. Everyone in this place seems to have been programmed to respond with either false politeness or genuine kiss butt reactions.’

She remained diplomatically silent but coughed with amusement.

They made their way back to the executive level and Julia showed him the other end of the hallway from where his office was situated.

‘This is Libby’s office,’ she announced as she stopped outside the outer double doors which mirrored his own.

‘You’ve talked with Libby. What were your impressions of her?’ Quinn wanted to know.

‘I think she’ll be good for this company. She has both the creative knowledge necessary and an understanding of employee relations that this place needs direly. I know what she did for Society Magazine. I think she’ll be a breath of fresh air.’

Quinn smiled down at Julia, thinking he had found a smaller, feminine version of himself, when the double doors opened to reveal Libby.

Quinn and Julia swivelled to look at her. Libby said, ‘Quinn. Good, you’re here. Have you finished your tour? We need to talk.’ She stepped back and allowed Quinn and Julia to enter. Straight away, he noticed three individuals placing items in cardboard boxes, much as Libby had been doing yesterday. Libby walked past them without acknowledgement and into her inner office. Much like Quinn’s, it was a tribute to excess.

Libby stood in the middle of it for a moment, looking helplessly at the décor and finally decided to sit in a leather armchair. She motioned for Quinn to take up a position on one of the long couches, which he did.

From the doorway, Julia said, ‘I’ll leave you to it. Welcome to the madhouse.’

Before Quinn could ask her to stay, Libby said, ‘Julia, would you mind sitting in on this meeting?’

‘Not at all,’ she responded, stepping into the room and closing the door.

‘She’s a real find,’ Libby whispered when Quinn turned his regard on her questioningly.

‘You can’t have her.’ he said in return. ‘I’ve already made her my assistant.’

‘You work fast,’ Libby said lightly, then seemed to rethink the words. Quinn held her eyes meaningfully until she looked away.

Julia sat beside Quinn, a notebook poised in her hands, but Libby motioned for her to put it away. ‘This is informal. I just want to hear first impressions and plans for the immediate future. Quinn?’

‘This place has run amok with political correctness, for starters. Everyone here called me Mr O’Connell. Brent even called me sir.’ He shuddered at the memory. What self-respecting weekend wild child wouldn’t?

‘It’s not just what they say, it’s the way they say it. Rebecca Hillard, the receptionist…well, I couldn’t even say what it was that annoyed me about her façade. Actually, I can. It was the façade itself. She couldn’t care less if I fell off the face of the earth.’ Libby sat back and crossed her legs, and Quinn noticed she was wearing pants today. A great shame, he thought, his mind again going to last night. But he was back to business almost immediately.

‘I noticed that too. She’s not the face we want representing us to whoever walks through the door. I’m surprised Fraser didn’t relocate her the moment he met her.’ It was not Fraser’s lot in life to suffer fools. He traditionally disposed of them rapidly.

‘I think he may have been leaving Ms Hillard to me. Well, gladly, I say. Gladly.’ Libby’s gaze went to the closed office doors. ‘I’ve already dealt with my three assistants. For Pete’s sake, what do I need three assistants for? I’ve reassigned them to the typing pool until I decide whether or not to keep them on with the company.’ She shook her head. ‘This whole place needs an overhaul.’

‘I haven’t informed my three assistants yet, but they will be reassigned, too. Julia will be my assistant. I’ll retain Brent for the moment.’

‘My secretary’s name is Miranda. She’s super efficient,’ Libby informed them, and Quinn noticed Julia’s head nodding up and down in silent agreement. ‘I haven’t seriously investigated the possibility of an assistant yet. I may have to advertise out of house. I’ve even been considering poaching Emma from Society, but I’ll hold off for the moment. Quinn, you won’t mind if we share Julia for the moment, will you?’

Quinn didn’t mind at all, but he looked to Julia for her approval. ‘It would be my pleasure,’ Julia said. ‘If you like, I can organise a list of candidates suitable for the position of your assistant and also contact the occupational placement firm we use for the hiring of new personnel.’

‘Thank you, Julia. I should have grabbed you as my assistant,’ Libby said, looking at Quinn.

‘I already had dibs on her,’ he said possessively. Julia was a real find, just as Libby had said. He suspected he would need Julia’s knowledge of the inner workings of Verbatim to get him through.

‘Why don’t you get onto that list now? I don’t think there’s much else to be said for the moment. Thanks.’ Julia rose from the couch before Libby resumed speaking. ‘Oh, two more things actually. I want a list of all personnel employed by Verbatim and then, I want an interior designer sent over. There’s no way I can work in this office. It’s like a cow exploded in here.’

Julia burst out laughing and said, ‘I’ll get straight onto it.’

‘Ditto on the interior designer for my office, Julia,’ Quinn said before she left he and Libby alone.

‘This place is a disaster area,’ Libby said, immediately jumping up from the couch and pacing her office.

‘I know.’

She turned to face him and her excitement was obvious. ‘But can you sense the potential?’

‘Absolutely. I think the biggest problems here are the inattention to work and the focus on the company’s image,’ Quinn summarised succinctly.

‘Well put. I mean, what image, for Pete’s sake? We sell books.’ She was immediately including herself in Verbatim.

‘So what are the immediate plans?’ he asked. He might have an equivalent title to Libby but he knew that she should take the senior role in their business partnership.

‘Well, I’m planning to read my way through the list of titles currently on our books. I guess you’re going to familiarise yourself with the accounts?’ Quinn nodded yes. ‘But I think perhaps our priority should be interviewing all personnel. We need to know who should stay and who should go. And once we’ve decided, we should hold a general staff meeting and lay down a few ground rules.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Libby sat at the desk that dominated the large office space and picked up the phone. She tapped in a few numbers and waited. ‘Susie, this is Libby. I…no, call me Libby, please. How many titles are on our list currently?’

Quinn watched her closely, noting the way her eyes avoided his. Last night might have never happened the way she was acting, although he was doing just the same.

‘Could you send up a copy of each title, please? There’s no rush. By the end of the day. I also want lists of who handled each title and a list of authors with current contracts with Verbatim.’

She paused while listening to Susie’s response. ‘Then work together on it. I don’t care if it’s not your department. You are part of a team, Susie.’

Quinn stood and walked to her desk, standing in her line of vision.

‘Fine. I expect I’ll see you later.’ She hung up the phone and stared at a point over Quinn’s shoulder, shaking her head. ‘What is it with these people? Their standard response is, “That’s not my department.”’

‘Rebecca Hillard did comment that the departments didn’t frequently mix. Administration, financial and editorial were all kept relatively separate.’

‘Item number one on our list of matters to talk to the staff about.’ She looked at Quinn for a moment. ‘I don’t think there’s much else to be done until Julia comes back with those lists of personnel. Perhaps you should take this opportunity to inform your assistants they’ll be required to relocate pending revision of their employment.’

‘Good idea.’ Quinn turned to leave but couldn’t leave well enough alone.

‘Libby, there is one other thing I’d like to talk about.’

‘Shoot,’ she said, opening her desk drawers and searching through them.

‘About last night…’

‘Quinn,’ she interjected, standing up straight away. ‘This is work. This is a working environment. We do not bring our private lives to the office.’

‘You don’t want to talk about it,’ he guessed with some accuracy.

‘In a word, no. I will say this though. Please don’t think I make a habit of acting like that.’

‘Just with me?’ Quinn asked hopefully.

‘Yes…I mean, no. I mean I don’t want to talk about it. It was an aberration.’ His gaze was unwavering. ‘Can you please stop looking at me?’

He laughed at her discomfort and couldn’t help comparing it with her behaviour last night.

Eventually he said, ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Libby. I just want you to be aware that I’m interested.’

‘Yes, I think I got that message last night.’ Her voice was deadpan.

He smiled slowly. ‘I thought I got the same message reciprocated.’

‘Well, maybe you did. But I made myself very clear. I don’t get involved with people I work with.’

‘So if I quit I might have a chance?’

Libby smiled then and Quinn basked in the warmth of it. ‘Quitting wouldn’t get you anywhere. If you quit now, I’d never forgive you. The only way we’re going to get this place back on its feet is together.’

He liked the way she put the emphasis on Verbatim’s success being something that they could only achieve as a team.

‘I’d like us to be friends, Quinn.’

‘I don’t think there’s any way of escaping it. Friends it is.’ He held out his hand and she shook it just before the phone on her desk buzzed. She picked it up with her free hand and said, ‘Yes?’ attempting to free her occupied hand from Quinn’s grasp. But he didn’t want to let go. Being friends was a poor second to being lovers.

‘Thanks, Miranda. Tell her to come in.’ Libby hung up the phone and said to Quinn, ‘Julia is on her way in.’

‘Guess that means there’s no time to kiss you.’

‘Quinn!’ He could understand her frustration. He had just agreed to their friendship and was now stepping over the boundaries of it.

‘Libby,’ he said silkily in response, and dropped her hand just before Julia opened the door.

His new assistant presented them with lists of everyone employed by Verbatim and he and Libby conducted interviews of them all. Libby refused to mask the truth, that at least a quarter of the staff would be made redundant. She was going to make these people earn their keep, Quinn could tell. Just as it had been at Society, no-one was going to be supported if they refused to pull their weight.

It took them all week to conduct the interviews and by Friday, a final list of redundancies had been put together. Working directly alongside Libby put Quinn completely under her spell. She was the most wonderful person he had ever known. And as much as he wanted to step over the boundaries of their agreed friendship, there never seemed to be time. Getting Verbatim Press into tip-top shape seemed to take all of their combined energies.

Once the new line up of staff and their revised positions were settled, Libby called them all into the auditorium on the second level of the building and informed them that there were new ground rules. Quinn had to laugh when he heard the first one. The next person to call her Ms Freeman was fired. From then on, she was Libby to everyone.

She effortlessly endeared herself to them all. He wasn’t sure how she did it. But that was probably because he was as enamoured with her as the rest of them.

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Four

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Four.

*****

‘I recently bought a book publishing outfit because it was a bargain and I knew I already had the people to turn the profit margin around.’

Quinn strolled over from the elevator to where Libby and Fraser were standing by the boot of her green BMW.

‘Publishing? You want me to head up a publishing company?’ Her voice was quietly serious, hiding deeper emotions.

‘Well, not quite. You wouldn’t be quite the top dog. Of course, you’d be responsible to me.’ Of course. Fraser would not run his businesses any other way. ‘And there’d be one other person at the same level of responsibility as you.’

Quinn could sense what was coming. But he wasn’t sure of the logic in the decision. He didn’t know the first thing about books beyond how to read them.

Libby could sense it, too.

‘Quinn.’ It was a statement.

‘Yes,’ Fraser acknowledged. ‘He’s been as much a part of the turnaround of Society as you have. You make a formidable team. So I want to apply it to my latest acquisition.’

Would his being part of the package influence her decision?

Quinn watched her closely, and could see her mind ticking over as she processed the information.

‘You’re obviously thinking long term here. I wouldn’t be able to make a success of something like that in the short term,’ Libby said, placing her cardboard box in the boot of her car and slamming it shut.

‘Well, longer term, anyway. Two years is my estimation at the very least. The structure you’ve set up for the magazine wouldn’t work in this case. The company needs strong creative leadership, someone to bring a variety of texts together to add up to a powerful reading list. You’ll have to ride out the decisions of the previous staff and then you’ll have a lengthy wait to see the fruits of your own labour.’

Quinn had to admit that when Fraser wanted to, he knew how to sell something. If Libby had been enthralled by the idea of turning Society around, then the idea of an entire list of new titles would have her salivating. And Quinn had that small insight into the private Libby. He had seen the library at her home that belied her interest. Nobody who had that many books could deny an attraction to the industry. He wondered if Fraser had been to her home and been inspired by that sight. Perhaps he had simply assumed that her experience at the literary agency he had poached her from would set her in good stead for the task.

‘And no publicity?’ It was still foremost in Libby’s mind.

‘Well, that would be up to the marketing department, but I think you and I both know that the authors are the ones who receive all the glory in this.’

‘I want you to stipulate, Fraser.’ She was determined.

‘It will be in your contract. Besides, you’ll be the boss. It’ll be your call.’

‘Quinn wouldn’t have a say?’ she wanted to know.

‘Quinn doesn’t know diddley about that side of the business. He’ll be there in a purely financial capacity.’ As derogatory as that sounded, Quinn was glad Fraser realised it.

It seemed as though Libby was satisfied by Fraser’s responses but there was just one more thing she had to know.

‘Why didn’t you just offer me this job in the first place? You knew I’d take it.’

Immediately, their boss looked at Quinn.

‘What?’ He didn’t see that it had anything to do with him.

Fraser said nothing until he looked back to Libby. ‘I knew you’d accept this job, considering what happened before I offered you the Society editor’s job.’ Libby looked uncomfortable at Fraser’s words and glanced at Quinn. Hmmm, more intrigue. Quinn was going to know this woman better if it killed him.

‘I wanted to know how you and Quinn worked together. That’s why I sent him after you.’

‘Oh. And, of course, there was a full debriefing from Quinn before you came to offer me this job.’

‘Of course,’ Fraser admitted without embarrassment. ‘I don’t leave these things to chance.’

Libby looked at Quinn for a long time before speaking again. ‘What did he say about me?’

‘He said I shouldn’t call you a pushy, stubborn broad to your face. He said you were the best thing to happen to the magazine since it’s inception. And he said he didn’t think he’d be able to match your passion for the job.’

‘He’s right,’ she said without any embarrassment of her own.

‘He also said that you’d complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses. And I agree. I think the two of you together will be an unbeatable team.’ Fraser could be passionate himself when he wanted to be.

Quinn wondered if his presence was really necessary for this conversation. He didn’t seem required to say anything. Fraser was convincing her all on his own. But he liked being around Libby. He couldn’t deny that.

‘So when do we start?’ she asked and that was the end of negotiations. They went back to the restaurant where the saga had begun. Libby drove her car and Fraser and Quinn rode in the limousine. For anyone who didn’t know Fraser, which was a great many people, they might think it was a symbol of his incredible arrogance and tendency to show off. But it was simply that the limousine was the only car Fraser owned and that he didn’t know how to drive. He had been a rich man all his life and had never needed to learn. He had been too busy building his father’s businesses from moderately successful to monumentally lucrative.

They were seated at the same table as before and Libby was immediately in business mode. The conversation was held mostly between Libby and Fraser. Quinn gleaned most of what he had to know from them. The information that would fill in the gaps would come from a thorough study of the company’s accounts. No quantity of words could speak to him the way numbers did.

Quinn learned the company’s name was Verbatim Press, that his title would be Vice President – Financial and that Libby’s title would be Vice President – Editorial. Fraser would, of course, be the President, just as he was president of all his subsidiaries, despite his limited day-to-day involvement. Quinn knew, however, that he did enough to warrant the title. He and Libby might be the golden children but Fraser’s ability to grab the opportunities was uncanny. There had been many allusions in the media to Fraser’s having the Midas touch. Quinn didn’t doubt it.

Fraser produced sheafs of material for them to study. Libby immediately delved into hers, skimming the pages before closing them. She would pore over them later tonight; Quinn just knew it.

He briefly opened the file Fraser had presented to him, noting the contents and flicking through the report. It was impressive, even from that brief glance he had taken.

‘Who put this together?’ he asked.

‘A junior at the company.’

‘I think I’ve found my assistant,’ Quinn said quite seriously, and Fraser grinned.

‘I knew you’d appreciate her. She was one of the first people I met who I instinctively knew would be staying on.’

Quinn shook his head almost imperceptibly. He and Fraser were alike in so many ways. It was strange. Or perhaps it wasn’t, considering their history. But he didn’t want to think about that now. It was complicated and he needed to concentrate on the job at hand.

‘Who put my report together?’ Libby wanted to know.

‘Someone in middle management,’ Fraser responded and Quinn could see the Libby he had seen when she had first come to work at Society.

‘Hmmm,’ was all she said, but Fraser could read her as could Quinn.

‘I think she’s found the first person to put on the redundancy list,’ Fraser commented in an aside, and Libby looked at them without apology. It was her hiring and firing that had made their previous assignment an out-and-out success.

‘Well, I think that’s about as much as I can tell you. Report to the address on the files tomorrow morning and there’ll be someone to show you around. You’ll have the week to get settled and I’ll expect your preliminary reports by Friday week.’ Fraser stood and buttoned his suit jacket. ‘I’d wish you luck but I know you’d throw it back at me saying luck has nothing to do with it. And I’d agree. So just make me proud. And rich.’

‘You’re already rich, Fraser,’ Libby pointed out.

‘So make me richer,’ he amended and she laughed, a genuine peal of amusement. It was such a tempting sound. Quinn was glad to be alone with her again. They both watched Fraser cross the room and walk through the front door held open for him by the doorman, then slip into the back of his limousine.

Quinn kept his gaze on the front of the restaurant until the black stretch drew away, and when he turned back to look at Libby she had her head bent over her folder of notes. He ran a hand over his own folder but felt little inclination to open it and follow Libby’s lead.

He checked his watch, noting it was after five.

‘So…?’ He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted to say but he wanted Libby to be focused on him, not the sheaf of papers that held their immediate occupational futures.

She looked up at him as if she had forgotten his presence. It was the second time she had done it that day and it frustrated Quinn to think he didn’t disturb her in the way she disturbed him. He was constantly aware of her presence, and couldn’t seem to stop looking at her.

Maybe he should take the hint and keep their relationship on a business footing. After all, they were going to be working side by side now. In such a close business relationship there was often no room for anything personal. And Verbatim Press now had to be their number one priority.

Business, he decided; their relationship had to be about business.

‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’ he asked, immediately breaking the covenant he had just silently agreed to. ‘We really do need to discuss the company,’ he clarified, for both her benefit and his own.

‘I can’t,’ she said straight away, then frowned and searched the ceiling for a reason why. She was so easy to read, Quinn thought. ‘I have to get home to Dee.’

She began collecting the various papers and shoved them inside the folder Fraser had given her. ‘But we do need to talk about the company.’ She dithered at his side before speaking again. ‘Would you like to have dinner with Dee and I?’

Quinn was shocked.

‘It won’t be anything home-cooked. I tend to be a takeout specialist on weeknights. Or a gourmet defroster.’ She frowned again, as if trying to decide which was worse.

‘I’d like that,’ he responded before she could take the offer back.

She smiled thoughtfully as if she was wondering why she had asked him. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’

* * *

They arrived back at Libby’s house an hour later, bearing a dozen little white containers full of rice and noodles, black bean beef, honey chicken and sweet and sour pork. She effortlessly pulled her BMW into the garage at the side of the house and switched off the ignition.

Sitting in the passenger seat and watching Libby drive was another opportunity for Quinn to study her. She was a safe but confident driver and her technique had immediately put him at ease. He never drove a car himself, much like Fraser, but owned a motorcycle that he bummed around on during the weekends. He felt it was inappropriate to show up at the office on it, so he cabbed it to and from work. Besides he felt strange on his bike wearing a suit.

He speculated how Libby would feel riding on the back of his bike, her arms tightly around his waist, her thighs parted to accommodate him.

‘Are you coming in?’ She got out of the car without waiting for an answer, retrieving her bag and folder, and opening the boot to take out her cardboard box full of personal books. Quinn emerged, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, with his own folder and a box full of little white cartons of Chinese food.

They went inside and were immediately accosted by Dee.

‘Lib, where you been? I’m starved,’ she said, grabbing the box of food from out of Quinn’s arms. ‘Hey, Quinn.’ She headed to the kitchen.

‘See? I told you she liked me.’

‘Don’t start,’ Libby said sternly but Quinn caught her smile as she turned away.

They ate at the scrubbed pine kitchen table, and for the first time in a long time, Quinn felt like part of a family. He watched with contentment as Dee and Libby talked and joked and included him in their joviality. Libby was a completely different woman around her sister.

When they had all eaten their fill and pushed the little cartons aside, Dee brought out the local suburban tabloid and began flicking through the pages.

Libby was standing by the dishwasher, inserting plates and stowing cutlery. She looked up at the very quiet sound of Dee turning the pages.

‘Dee, I don’t think that’s appropriate tonight.’

‘What? It’s just Quinn,’ Dee said, and stopped when she found the page she was searching for. Quinn felt that strange warmth that had been enveloping him all evening strengthening considerably. He liked the way Dee included him after such a short period of their knowing one another. Apparently she felt she didn’t have to scare him off. She hadn’t called Libby ‘Mother’ once since they had arrived back at the house.

‘I’d prefer it if we didn’t do this tonight. Quinn and I have work to do.’

‘Lib, if you and Quinn aren’t dating, then we need to do it. Maybe we’ll find someone for Quinn, too.’ Dee began running her finger down the columns of the paper and Libby was suddenly smiling.

‘What is this?’ Quinn asked.

‘This is our traditional Tuesday ritual of Dee humiliating me by finding suitable candidates for the future Mr Libby Freeman. But as long as she’s humiliating you as well searching for the future Mrs Quinn O’Connell, I’ll go along with it.’ Libby sat back down at the table opposite Quinn, watching him with amusement.

‘Oh, well, I’m always on the lookout for the future ex-Mrs Quinn O’Connell,’ he quipped in return. ‘Match me up, Dee.’

‘Oh, God, I’ve found one for Lib already,’ she said, struggling not to laugh. ‘Get this. This is the entire ad. “Are you looking to get pregnant? Look no further.”’

They all laughed at that one.

She moved over to another column and scanned down the ads. ‘Quinn, you ready? This one definitely has ex-potential written all over it.’

‘I’m ready,’ he said, sitting forward in anticipation.

‘“Married professional lady, mid-40s, seeks young, hung stud for discreet fun times.” Like I said, ex-potential.’ Dee looked up to gauge Quinn’s reaction and tried not to laugh.

‘Well, I’m thirty-one now. I don’t know that I qualify as young anymore,’ he said pointedly and Libby burst out laughing as Dee turned bright red. Well, she was only fourteen. But she was old enough to realise that what Quinn hadn’t said was more informative than what he had.

‘You don’t look thirty-one,’ was all she said in response.

Quinn’s eyes rested on Libby and they shared a moment of something. Something happy and completely free of influence from the past or the future. It was just about the two of them sitting there at that exact moment.

Maybe it wasn’t just him. Maybe he was getting to her, too.

Libby looked away after a long moment, as did Quinn, to find Dee staring at them. She went back to the columns.

‘Okay, I have another one. Serious this time, Lib. “Handsome, mid-30s professional, kind, romantic, good sense of humour, loves kids and occasionally letting loose seeks similar for friendship, possible relationship.” Sounds like a keeper, Lib.’ Dee waited for Libby’s reaction and Quinn wondered about the ad. It sounded very much like the type of ad he would put in himself if he ever had the inclination. And then it hit him what Dee was doing.

‘No doubt he’s an egomaniac, workaholic, wild child who laughs at his own jokes,’ was Libby’s interpretation. Quinn grimaced. She wasn’t too far off, despite the extremes in her description. He was confident, but flatly denied any accusations of egomania; he did work hard although she really couldn’t point fingers on that score; and on weekends he did tend to bare his soul and let the inner rebel control him.

‘Maybe he’s misunderstood,’ Dee offered and Libby scoffed, getting up and going to the fridge.

‘Who’s for ice cream?’ she asked and both Quinn and Dee nodded their heads.

Dee turned her focus to Quinn.

‘Okay, Quinn, how about this one? She sounds interesting. I’m not sure about ex-potential though. “Attractive, mid-20s professional, genuine, shy but fun, with good sense of humour and lovable sister, seeks Mr Right, secure, loving, able to make me laugh. Serious applicants only need apply.”’

Libby paused in the action of reaching into the freezer for the tub of ice cream and looked at Dee past the open freezer door. ‘Dee.’

‘Libby, I swear that’s exactly what it says. So what do you think, Quinn?’

He looked at Dee and marvelled at her daring. Before he could arrange his tumbling thoughts into a coherent reply, Libby countered, ‘Quinn, for your health, I advise you not to say anything.’

He turned to watch her standing behind him, feeling somewhat like the meat in the sandwich.

‘Lib, for your health, I advise you to lighten up,’ Dee retorted, closing the paper and standing up. ‘Well, I feel my work for the evening is done. And I’ve got a hot date with Keanu Reeves. I really shouldn’t keep him waiting. ’Night, Quinn. ’Night, Lib.’

She left Quinn sitting at the table and Libby holding the frosted tub of butterscotch ice cream.

Quinn turned to look at Libby and raised his eyebrows at Dee’s blatant behaviour. She busied herself, scooping ice cream into two bowls and replacing the tub in the freezer, before setting a bowl and spoon in front of him and sitting down again with her own.

Delicately, Libby spooned a tiny portion into her mouth as if aware he was watching her. She licked the spoon clean with precision before spooning another portion in the direction of her mouth. The silver spoon halted half way to its destination and Quinn was almost disappointed at being denied the opportunity to witness her tongue come creeping out its moist cavern to engulf the creamy dessert. She looked uncomfortable at his unwavering scrutiny.

Instead of pressing his advantage, he said, ‘A hot date with Keanu Reeves?’

She looked relieved. ‘Not quite. She’s almost worn out her video copy of Speed. It’s her favourite movie.’

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Shoot,’ Libby responded, lulled by his reference to Dee.

‘Why are you so nervous when you’re alone with me?’

Her head came up suddenly, her eyes meeting his. He could see her mind processing the numerous responses she could give. In the end, he could tell she went for the easiest and truest response.

‘I don’t know.’

Well, at least she hadn’t denied it.

‘Are you afraid I’ll try to kiss you again?’ No-one could accuse him of subtlety. She smiled wryly.

‘Afraid isn’t the word I’d use. In fact, I’m sure it’s not an entirely unpleasant prospect. And the way we keep being thrown together, it seems inevitable.’ It was a surprisingly frank admission. She smiled again and said with humour in her voice, ‘Maybe we should just get it over with.’

Quinn was stuck to his chair. Get up, his body urged. Go to her. Take her face between your hands and kiss her senseless. Don’t let her even think about getting out of it now.

But he remained where he was, struck dumb by her words. She looked down at her bowl and ate another small portion of ice cream, and he could tell she was surprised he had responded so passively to her statement.

Even he was silently reprimanding himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! But the moment was over and still he couldn’t even pick up his spoon and eat any of the dessert.

‘Maybe not.’

If she had kept quiet, he probably would have sat there stupidly for another ten minutes, going over and over her words and his lack of response to them. But the one thing he wasn’t prepared to do was let her think he wasn’t interested. He looked at her again, as she rose from her chair, taking her unfinished bowl of ice cream with her and depositing it on the sideboard of the sink.

Quinn was out of his chair in seconds and by her side. He grasped her arm, spinning her about to face him, and paused for a moment to take in her stunned expression. Then he was too close to see anything else and he closed his eyes and kissed her.

He could feel her surprise in her response or rather initial lack of one. But once he started on the course he had chosen, he found it difficult to stop. And he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to go on kissing her for as long as she would let him.

He opened his mouth over hers and could taste butterscotch. For a moment he just savoured the sensation of her lips, cool and sweet from the ice cream, under his. But she began to open her mouth and kiss him back, and he was lost. His passion overwhelmed him and his last logical thought was to wonder how a woman he barely knew could affect him so much.

Her arms went around his neck and she deepened the kiss. There was no hint of any nervousness, only what he could perceive as a deeply felt response. And suddenly she was taking control, pushing him back against the sink. His arms left the controlling position they had taken around her biceps, going around her waist, and he parted his legs. She moved closer to him in the available space, pressing her body against his, moving sinuously against him. Every one of his muscles corded tightly and blood rushed faster throughout his body, every drop making its way towards the culmination of his desire for her.

His large hands measured her slim body, caressing up and down her back, while his mouth moved over her eyes, her cheeks, her neck and the shoulder he exposed to his touch. This woman was all woman. This woman was all fire. And Quinn was on fire. He could not get enough of her. He couldn’t get close enough to her to satisfy himself. He knew that one or two kisses would do little to quench his hunger for her.

His tongue touched hers lightly, and again he could taste the butterscotch, the sweet, creamy residue lacing her tongue and adding to the thrill of his mouth on hers, her mouth on his.

Libby’s hands went in his hair, her fingers running through his soft, thick brown locks, and she made a sound deep in her throat that sent Quinn insane. He immediately pushed his frame off the edge of the sink and stood up to his full height, his arms remaining in place around Libby’s waist and his mouth remaining in place on hers. She dangled there for a moment before he allowed her feet to touch the floor again. But he didn’t allow her any time to get comfortable. He cupped his hands underneath her rear, momentarily savouring the perfect fit, unconsciously moving his hips in an effort to feel even millimetres closer, and then lifted her to sit on the kitchen counter.

Her legs instantly splayed and then joined at the ankles around his waist, bringing them into breathtakingly intimate contact. The little skirt she had been so self-conscious over earlier in the day now seemed to cover far too much and Quinn pushed the hem up further, past her thighs to bunch at her hips. She wasn’t wearing stockings, he noted in aroused approval, and he ran his hands over the length of her long, toned legs, his hand going around one ankle, circling the joint.

Her hands pulled back from the softness of his hair to frame his face, and as much as Quinn felt the impulse to continue kissing her, he felt an even stronger one to stop for one moment to look into her eyes. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, watching her face until she did the same. They were both refilling their lungs in great gasps, their bodies simultaneously demanding respite and completion.

‘Libby.’ He wasn’t asking anything, or demanding anything, or doing anything beyond savouring the texture of her name on his tongue.

‘Quinn.’ She said it softly, like a purr, her voice devoid of any identifiable emotion but the position of her body said quite enough.

‘Libby!’

It was a voice he hadn’t been expecting to hear, and a name that he thought would only come from his lips at that exact moment.

Libby twisted her head to take in the sight of Dee standing by the pine table, her smile one of wicked incredulity, her eyes wide, taking in the sight of them in their intimate embrace, their bodies still pressed fervently together.

Libby’s legs immediately unfolded from around Quinn’s waist and she pushed the hem of her skirt back down to a respectable height as Quinn stepped away from her, with a mixture of relief and regret. The one thing he had been hoping for had happened, pleasurable and perfect, only to be interrupted. Dee seemed to have some sort of alarm clock to tell her when the most inconvenient time to disturb them would be.

The older Freeman slid down from the bench, her cheeks vividly crimson. ‘Dee—’

‘Way to go, Quinn!’ said the fourteen-year-old, going on twenty.

‘Dee!’ Libby was embarrassed. He didn’t need to look at her to know it. He was embarrassed himself. Adults acting like teenagers caught by a teenager who acted too much like an adult.

‘I came back for ice cream but maybe I should go for popcorn. This is better than the movie. And you know how much I love Keanu Reeves, Lib.’

‘Dee—’ Libby’s hand went to her forehead with frustration.

‘Geez, Lib, don’t get all upset. It’s not like I don’t know that guys kiss girls and girls kiss guys. And even though you acted like you’d forgotten how since Mum died’ – Libby’s eyes immediately went to Quinn’s – ‘I knew you still had it in you.’

‘Dee!’ Libby’s cheeks, from which the colour had been receding, flamed again.

‘What?’ She seemed, if not oblivious, then completely unsympathetic to Libby’s situation. Quinn guessed it wasn’t often that Dee wandered into the kitchen to find her older sister virtually making love to a man. The thought made him smile with a sort of perverse possessiveness.

You barely know her, he reprimanded himself. And the censure returned severely dressed down. You know her well enough to kiss her senseless and start out on the path to making love. Sex? he put in with the last vestige of bachelor hope. Making love, came the silent response. And he knew it to be true.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all, Lib. Feel free to kiss Quinn any time you wish.’ Dee poked a finger into the dish of melting ice cream Quinn had abandoned on the table and licked the tip of her finger clean.

‘Dee, go to your room.’ Libby had had enough. Quinn watched her transformation. Like she had said earlier, she was the adult here. And if she had a man in her bedroom – or in her kitchen, as in this instance – she wasn’t going to be manipulated by her fourteen-year-old sister into feeling shame.

Dee smiled demurely, picking up Quinn’s untouched bowl of ice cream and the spoon that lay beside it, and exiting the kitchen. ‘Later.’ She was still smiling widely, and if it had been a cartoon, there would have been a tiny little devil sitting on her shoulder. Quinn wasn’t sure that he couldn’t see one whispering in her ear right now.

Her departure left Quinn and Libby alone in the room, and as much as he wanted to resume where they had left off, he didn’t think Libby had the same inclination. She continued to stand in the middle of the room with her back to him. He didn’t approach her and for a long time she didn’t turn around.

When she did, her face was composed, the passion he had glimpsed momentarily, long gone.

All she said was, ‘It’s late, Quinn. Maybe you should go.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Sorry?’ She was confused, and so was he.

‘After what just happened, that’s all you have to say? It’s late? And maybe I should go?’

She swung away from him again, walking out of the kitchen, and Quinn followed her.

‘It was just a kiss,’ she said, picking up Quinn’s folder of notes from the coffee table in front of the television where he had left them. She continued moving across the polished floorboards towards the front door.

‘Just a kiss?’ Quinn echoed, tracing her footsteps and finally catching up with her by the heavy wooden door at the front of the house. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten a few things in four years. That was not just a kiss. That was so much more than a kiss, Libby. That was passion. That was you and me. That was us.’

Libby reached up to unhook his jacket from a spoke on the hat stand, shoving it at him along with the folder, then opening the door. She pushed him through it then said the words that sounded all too familiar, yet far too late to be relevant.

‘I don’t get involved with people I work with.’

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Three

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Three.

*****

At the sound of that interrupting voice, Libby’s eyes went wide and she started dithering like she didn’t know what to do. And all Quinn could think was, ‘Mum?’

He voiced his thought and Libby stared at him as if she had forgotten he was there.

‘Oh my God. That’s my…that’s my—’

‘Daughter?’ Quinn supplied almost incredulously.

‘What am I doing? What am I doing?’ she cried, heading for the door, then stopping. ‘I can’t go out there. What’s she going to think?’

‘Libby, we didn’t do anything wrong,’ Quinn soothed her, then added wryly, ‘In fact, we didn’t do anything.’

He watched Libby open the door and peek out.

‘Libby—’

‘Shhh. She’ll hear you.’ She immediately closed the door.

‘Libby, who’s the mother here? You or her?’ Quinn sat down on the bed, rather amused, and watched Libby pace around.

‘It’s not that simple.’

He stood up again and grasped her shoulders. ‘Libby, how old are you?’

‘Twenty-six.’ She looked at him and he could see her mentally grasping at the suggestion of her power. ‘You’re right. I’m twenty-six. I’m the adult here. And if I have a man in my bedroom, then…Oh, God, she’s never going to let me forget this.’ But she straightened her shoulders and shook her ponytail and then yanked open the door.

Quinn watched her descend the stairs, shaking his head. She could stand up to Fraser and him but her daughter seemed to scare the wits out of her.

He moved out of the bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs. Libby’s daughter was crouching by the television. She turned to greet her mother.

‘Hi, Lib—Mother. And who is that?’ the girl asked, noticing Quinn mid-sentence.

Libby, standing at the bottom of the stairs, spun around to see Quinn standing casually at the top.

‘Uh, sweetie, this is Quinn…O’Connell. He works at the magazine with me.’ He thought for a moment she had forgotten his last name but she recovered just in time.

‘Really?’ the girl said, standing fully to reveal her height. She was much taller than Quinn had originally thought and he wondered about her age. Libby must have been virtually a child herself when she had given birth.

‘Dee, don’t start,’ Libby warned, but the look on her daughter’s face was distinctly mischievous.

Quinn was at the bottom of the stairs by now.

‘Quinn, this is Kennedy Freeman.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Kennedy,’ he said, moving forward to shake the hand she was offering.

‘Oh, no, it’s my pleasure.’ He could have sworn the look on her face, rather than mischievous, was pure evil.

‘So, Mother, I think you have some explaining to do.’

‘Dee, kitchen, now. And stop calling me Mother.’ Libby turned to Quinn to flash her teeth at him, but he wasn’t sure it could be called a smile. ‘Would you excuse us for a minute?’ She marched Dee into the kitchen and out of Quinn’s sight but he could hear them whispering.

‘Who’s that guy? He’s gorgeous, Lib. You’ve hit pay dirt this time.’

‘I haven’t hit anything. Yet.’ Quinn could hear the threat in her voice.

‘What were you doing up in your bedroom?’

‘I was showing him around the house.’

‘Hmmm, and how did he like your room? Nice comfy bed?’

‘Dee, I don’t need this from you right now.’

‘You always need this from me, Lib.’

‘Keep your voice down. Quinn will hear you.’

‘Too late,’ Quinn said, leaning against the kitchen wall. They both jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘Is there something going on here that I should know about?’

Libby smiled, but it wasn’t vague or real. Quinn filed the image, classifying it under fake.

‘Quinn, I’m trying to have a conversation with my…’

‘Daughter?’ he filled in.

‘Mother?’ Dee queried, the question implied, but Quinn didn’t understand. It was obviously between the two of them.

‘Dee, cut it out. Quinn and I just work together.’

‘Are you sure you’re not dating him? I kind of like this one,’ Dee said, going to the fridge and taking out a bottle of juice.

‘We’re not dating,’ Libby said emphatically, and Quinn could see the rock and the hard place on either side on her.

‘We’re not dating.’ Quinn backed her up. ‘Yet.’

Dee paused with her glass half way to her mouth. ‘I definitely like this one.’ She jumped off her stool and put the juice back in the fridge. ‘I’ve got homework. Later.’

Quinn watched her saunter out of the kitchen and across the lounge, past the billiards table and through the door to the bedrooms. ‘Cute kid.’

‘Hmmm.’ Libby sat at the kitchen table and Quinn followed her lead, sitting opposite her.

‘So what was that?’

She smiled one of her real smiles.

‘It’s just something Dee came up with.’ Quinn raised an eyebrow. He had to know. ‘She’s not my daughter. She’s my sister.’

‘Then why’d she call you Mum?’

‘Easiest way to put a man off,’ Libby revealed. ‘So whenever she’s not sure about a man or wants to get rid of someone, she does that little routine.’

‘But she didn’t know I was here,’ Quinn pointed out. ‘When she first came in, I mean. She called out, “Mum, I’m home.”’

‘Oh, she wasn’t talking to me. There’s a portrait of our mother in the sitting room. She talks to it.’

‘Where is your mother?’

‘Dead. She died in a car accident just before the house was finished.’

‘So it’s just you and Dee?’

‘No, we have two other sisters. They’re both models. Helena lives in Milan and April lives in Paris. They moved there before Mum died and since I could take care of Dee, there wasn’t any need for them to cut short their careers. And our grandmother lives just a few blocks away. She takes care of Dee when I have to work late. But since she turned fourteen, she thinks she’s old enough to take care of herself. The scary part is I think she’s right.’ Quinn could see she was speaking from the heart but he could also see she was beginning to babble. And he wanted to get back to the routine.

‘Didn’t you want to scare me off?’ he asked, aware of the intensity in his voice and unable to disguise it. He watched Libby and could tell he had just pushed her out of her comfort zone.

‘We’re not…I’m not…you’re not…um,’ she stammered, then smiled that fake smile again. ‘Want me to call Dee back? I bet together the two of us could scare you off, no problem.’

‘I don’t scare that easily,’ Quinn returned. ‘Besides, I think Dee liked me.’

‘She’s my sister. She’ll like who I tell her to like. Or she can sleep in the kennel with Bruiser.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble. We’ll just stop talking about her.’ He thought back. ‘Where were we when we were so inconveniently interrupted?’

She thought back, too, and he could see the moment that it occurred to her exactly what they had been doing when Dee had called out her greeting.

‘I think you were leaving,’ she lied, getting up from the table. Quinn rose from his seat as well, his eyes on her the whole time.

‘I don’t think I’d gotten that far.’

‘No,’ she said suddenly, coming around to stand right in front of him. ‘You’d gotten to about here.’ She positioned her mouth right under his and when she spoke, he could feel her warm breath on his lips. ‘And that’s as close as you’re getting.’

She stepped away from him, her professionalism seeming to reassert itself. ‘I don’t get involved with people I work with.’

‘Ah, but you don’t work with me anymore,’ Quinn said, pouncing.

‘You’re right. But I do have a fourteen-year-old girl in the house who seems to find it amusing to read the personal columns to me. And I’m not giving her any more fodder than she has already gotten out of you. Besides,’ she continued, ‘we have to get back to the office.’

That remark shook him. ‘You’re coming back to work?’

‘No, you’re going back to work and I’m coming with you to clear out my office and collect my car. And surely Fraser will be expecting your report. But this is one situation you won’t be able to troubleshoot.’

Quinn waited by the front door as she phoned for a taxi and told Dee where she was going.

‘Don’t let this one get away, Lib,’ Dee called from her bedroom, loud enough for Quinn to hear. ‘He’s one of the good ones, I can tell. And he’s cute.’

Libby emerged from the bedroom wing and slammed the door, shutting them off from any further remarks from her sister. She laughed nervously as she made her way over to where Quinn was standing.

‘Dee thinks it’s a good idea,’ he pointed out.

‘Dee is fourteen years old.’

‘An honest age.’

‘You don’t know much about teenagers, do you?’ Quinn shrugged as a horn sounded out the front. ‘The taxi’s here,’ Libby announced needlessly. ‘Let’s go.’

* * *

Quinn watched Libby packing things into a box through the plate glass window of her office at the magazine’s headquarters. She was chatting to her assistant casually, and did not seem to have one single regret that she was leaving what he had no doubt was the most satisfying job she had ever had. A job she had loved. He couldn’t figure her out.

He paced the distance to the elevators and took the first carriage that arrived up to the seventh floor where Fraser’s office was located.

‘Hi, Mindy, is he in?’ Quinn greeted Fraser’s secretary. She smiled back.

‘He’s been waiting for you. Go through,’ she urged, picking up the phone to tell Fraser he was on his way in. Quinn entered the next office where Fraser’s two assistants were working. He knocked on the next door and opened it when Fraser called out.

‘Well?’ Fraser was shrugging into his jacket and peering into the mirror in his office bathroom.

‘Well, she’s back but I don’t think you’re going to like the circumstances.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘She came back with me—’

‘So mission accomplished.’ The publisher came out of the bathroom, pushing silvery hair off his forehead.

‘Not quite. She’s clearing out her office.’

Fraser stopped what he was doing, his arm hanging in mid-air. ‘She’s one pushy, stubborn broad,’ he commented, sinking into the leather seat behind his desk.

‘I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.’

‘I’d better get down there and talk to her.’

‘Why’d you do it? You had to know she wouldn’t agree to the publicity,’ Quinn pointed out.

‘Of course, I knew,’ he said. ‘I’m not the publisher for nothing.’

‘Then why do it?’ Quinn thought he was a relatively smart man but he couldn’t think of one damn good reason to risk losing Libby’s talents.

‘She’s done all she can for Society.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s time for Libby to move on.’ Fraser stood up and smoothed down his tie.

‘Are you insane? She’s the best thing to have happened to this magazine in thirty years.’ Quinn’s passion had to be obvious but he couldn’t help himself. Either the old man had finally gone senile or there was some underlying, very sly plan underway here that only someone like Fraser could dream up.

‘I agree, Quinn. She’s done a fine job. She’s set up a structure that allows the staff to work without the supervision of a traditional editor. Which means I can put someone else in as editor and utilise her talents elsewhere.’

‘Are you telling me you did all this just to make sure she was available for another job?’

‘Not quite.’ He came around from the desk and leaned against the edge of it. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened after you left the restaurant?’

‘Well, you saw me get in the taxi with her. She went home. And to tell the truth, we didn’t even talk about the job that much. She showed me around her house. I met her sister. But she didn’t seem at all upset about not having this job to go to tomorrow.’ Quinn had to admire the self-assurance she projected. But he also had to wonder? Why didn’t she care?

‘So you got along well?’

‘I suppose you could say that.’ Although it wasn’t how he would have termed it himself.

‘Did you kiss her?’

The question hit Quinn from way out of left field. ‘Excuse me?’

Fraser didn’t repeat his query, just stood there waiting for the answer, knowing Quinn had heard him perfectly well.

‘Fraser, we’ve discussed this before. My private life is just that unless I choose to share it.’

Fraser remained quiet until Quinn finally said, ‘No, I didn’t kiss her.’

And he knew instantly that Fraser sensed something hadn’t been said.

‘Did you try to kiss her?’

Dammit, Quinn thought. Why did Fraser insist of knowing all the juicy details? Not that they were particularly juicy, but if Quinn lied now, he knew Fraser would be able to recognise the untruth. His boss had an uncanny way of being able to spot a lie. Not as physical as the method used by his parish priest when he was boy – ‘Quinn, stick out your tongue; you know I can tell if you’ve been telling lies’ – but just as effective at making Quinn feel he had no other option than to be completely honest.

‘Maybe,’ Quinn answered, trying to seem non-committal, but Fraser was unsatisfied. ‘It was entirely consensual, but we were interrupted by her sister and then afterward she told me she didn’t get involved with people she worked with.’

Fraser smiled serenely. ‘And I always thought you were the irresistible sort.’

‘I’m a man, Fraser, not a god.’

‘Your father never had too many problems.’

‘I don’t want to get into that right now, if you don’t mind.’ Quinn immediately backtracked to cover the emotions that always arose at the mention of his father. ‘So why all the questions?’

‘Do you think she’s someone you could work with?’ Fraser asked, and Quinn wondered about that old adage of responding to a question with another question.

‘What are you talking about? I do work with her. At least I did before you forced her to resign.’

‘No, you haven’t worked with her. You stayed in your department, she stayed in hers; you never interacted. I’m talking about working with her side by side. A true team.’ He was leading up to something; Quinn just didn’t know what.

‘We’d have substantially different methods of problem solving. And her passion for the job is something I don’t think I could match. But having said that, we’d probably compliment each other. Her strengths would cover my weaknesses and my strengths would cover hers. What is this about, Fraser?’

‘Quinn, you’re fired.’

‘What?’ He certainly hadn’t been expecting that. He was Fraser’s golden boy, his saviour, his troubleshooter. At least he had been until Libby had taken over. She had worked wonders at the magazine that Quinn would never have been able to achieve. But he knew he had played a part in that success. Why would Fraser want to get rid of him? Surely not because he had tried to kiss Fraser’s golden girl?

‘Don’t get all hot under the collar. It’s not what you think.’

‘Thank God, because I thought you’d gone mad.’

Fraser laughed at his frankness. ‘I have a new assignment for you, Quinn.’

Quinn was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He thought he had experienced all of Fraser’s oddities but this was definitely a new one.

‘Let’s go see Libby.’

* * *

The news of Libby’s departure had filtered through the building pretty quickly. And everyone at the magazine’s headquarters seemed to be stuffed into her office, demanding an answer to the very sudden and very unexpected departure of their mentor.

Quinn followed Fraser down the hallway as they stepped off the elevator on the second floor. He felt out of place on the second floor. It housed the creative staff, while he and the financial division worked one floor up. He tended not to mix with these people very much. It was like Fraser had said of his working with Libby; he stayed in his department and she stayed in hers – it applied to most of the people Libby worked alongside as well.

‘Libby, you can’t leave. You’re the reason the magazine is doing so well,’ Reid Solomon was saying, and a sea of heads nodded their agreement.

‘Nonsense,’ Libby replied. ‘The magazine is doing well because of the team structure, not because of some easily replaceable figurehead.’

‘Easily replaceable? I don’t think Fraser will see it that way.’

‘You’re right, Reid. I don’t see it that way. Libby will be impossible to replace,’ Fraser said from the entrance to Libby’s office. ‘But it seems I’m going to have to try.’ The sea of heads turned to look at the publisher, including Libby’s, but she continued placing her belongings in a rectangular cardboard box. Quinn noticed that most of her personal items were reference books.

‘What am I paying all you people for?’ Fraser asked with mock severity, and his employees filed out of the editor’s office, leaving only Fraser and Libby. Quinn remained outside. He watched while they talked and it seemed perfectly cordial. But Libby continued packing her things.

She poked her head out her office door and said to her assistant, ‘Emma, type this up for me, will you?’

Emma took the handwritten sheet of paper and looked at it. Libby didn’t wait for a response. Emma looked at Quinn, teary-eyed, and said, ‘Her resignation.’ Quinn shifted uncomfortably, hoping she didn’t break down and bawl, but she got on with the job of officially ending her immediate superior’s tenure.

A few minutes later Libby came out of the office, the cardboard box cradled in her arms. She looked at Quinn, leaning against her assistant’s desk, but said nothing to him. She took the pen offered to her and put her name to the typed resignation letter after a brief read.

‘I’ve written down all my passwords and left my files for the next editor to work from. Here’s the notes for future article ideas I was working on. Cancel my appointments with Chester and Shilton, but make sure you reschedule once the editor’s position is filled. Also that environmental reporter is coming in for an interview next week. You should co-ordinate with Mindy so that Fraser can conduct the interview in my place.

‘I think that’s all. Goodbye, Emma,’ she said, determinedly not looking at Quinn and walking down the aisle between desks towards the elevators. No work was being done on the second floor. Everyone was watching Libby’s purposeful exit.

Fraser came out of the office and looked at Quinn with frustration, shaking his head. ‘Come on.’

Again he followed Fraser, this time back to the elevators and stood with his boss and Libby while she waited for a carriage to arrive.

Fraser said nothing until it came and the three of them were enclosed in the privacy of the box. He would have to be quick, Quinn thought. The parking garage was only three floors away.

‘Libby, I have another position available for you if you’ll consider it.’

‘Fraser, I’m not going through this again. We had a deal which you infringed. Why should I trust you?’ She pressed the button for the parking level.

‘Because there’s no necessity for the sort of publicity that the magazine requires.’

Libby sighed quietly but Quinn heard it.

‘What’s the job?’ she eventually asked.

‘Something right up your ally. A financially struggling outfit that needs someone instinctively creative to head it up. Interested?’ Fraser was the man with the carrot. Quinn doubted whether Libby would be interested in playing the role of the donkey.

‘Specifics, Fraser. Specifics.’ The elevator doors opened and she strode out, Fraser following on her heels. Quinn stepped out of the carriage and allowed the doors to close.

No, she wasn’t going to be the donkey. She was going to be the carrot. And she wasn’t going to let Fraser have her without some serious negotiations.

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter Two

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter Two.

*****

Quinn stood on Libby’s porch for what seemed like a long time, studying the house that was hidden from street view by dense foliage. It was a huge two-storey structure, a monotony of dark red bricks and glass. Through the gaping curtains he could see an open space of polished floorboards and two staircases leading to upstairs sections of the house. Exposed beams in the ceiling contributed to the feel of a ranch-style country home, and while Quinn didn’t expect to see antlers decorating the mantelpiece, he somehow knew there would be an open fireplace and a large welcoming kitchen. This was not just a house; it was obviously a home.

There was no sign of Libby from his vantage point at the window, so there was no way to evaluate her reaction to his comments in the taxi. He debated whether or not to knock on the door but knew he had to. He was not the sort of man who skulked on front porches. He was take-charge and he was confident. And, at the very least, he was curious.

He rapped on the heavy wooden front door and waited for her to open it.

‘What do you want?’ Libby’s voice was muffled through the wooden barrier. He wondered if she had been standing with her back pressed to the door, waiting for him to knock. Or waiting for him to leave.

‘I’m not sure.’ It was the only thing Quinn could think of to say. And it was the truth.

The door opened fractionally and Quinn met Libby’s eyes. ‘Can I come in?’ The door closed again and Quinn could hear the chain being removed. It opened fully to allow his entry. He moved inside, but only far enough to be standing alongside her. Her mark was stamped throughout the house – he could tell even from his cursory inspection – and for some reason he didn’t want to intrude. He noted the enormous fireplace, imagining a roaring fire in its hearth, and wondered where the kitchen was, wanting to completely confirm his expectations.

‘Come through to the kitchen,’ Libby invited flatly, leading the way, as if she had read his mind. He noted that her glasses were gone, giving him the first opportunity to study the entire plane of her face.

‘I don’t want to intrude,’ Quinn said, staying by the door.

‘If you were intruding, I wouldn’t have let you in in the first place,’ she remarked logically, pausing by the left staircase. ‘Are you coming?’ She didn’t wait for his answer, disappearing around a corner.

‘Yeah, I’m coming,’ he answered for only himself to hear.

Around the corner was a scrubbed pine table and to the left of that, the kitchen he had imagined only minutes earlier. Libby was busying herself at the sink although there appeared to be nothing to wash. Quinn sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and watched her nervous movements, feeling emboldened by her reaction to his presence.

‘You’re not wearing your glasses,’ he said merely for something to say.

‘No.’ Quinn could see she wasn’t the informative type. He stayed silent and never took his eyes from the back of her head. She looked at him over her shoulder and relented with a sigh, saying, ‘I don’t really need to wear them.’ And then he had to wonder why she had told him.

‘So why do you?’ he asked, suspecting he already knew the answer. She didn’t comment. ‘Nobody hits on the girl wearing glasses, right?’

Again she remained silent and her lack of response told him he had assumed correctly. Why would this woman want to scare off potential suitors?

‘Are you scared of me?’ he asked quietly, wondering if she wasn’t scared of all men on a romantic level.

‘No. Neither you nor Fraser can make me do anything I don’t want to with regard to the magazine.’ She kept her back to him while she spoke.

‘You know I’m here to convince you to come back to the magazine. So why did you let me in?’

‘Because you knocked on the door and asked to come in.’

Of course. Well, he had asked for that response.

‘You are scared of something.’ Quinn could feel it.

‘Just because I refuse to do publicity? Fraser knew my conditions when I signed on for this job. Just because he seems to have selective amnesia, it doesn’t mean I do. He knows my temperament, too. He knows I don’t suffer fools, whether it’s some lazy, know-it-all writer or the publisher of the entire group.’

Quinn could see that she was always going to get the better of him while she was on a business footing. He had to do something to throw her off balance. He wondered if he should kiss her. But he had a feeling that would just throw him off balance and she would start throwing punches. No, it was just time to stop talking about work. That was his way in.

‘You have a great house here.’

‘Thank you,’ Libby said after a moment, her expression confirming his intention had been accomplished.

‘How did you find it?’ Quinn asked.

‘I…I didn’t find it. I used to walk down this street every day on my way to school and a few years ago, I saw it had been put up for sale. There was a really decrepit old, weatherboard house here and I could see the developers just salivating over the size of the block. They wanted to put up town houses or something. Which would have meant destroying the garden, removing all the trees and shrubs.’ She picked up a tea towel and twisted it between her hands and Quinn wondered why the telling of this story should cause such nervous behaviour.

‘The old lady who used to live here, I knew her a little. She loved her garden. She worked for hours in the garden everyday. So I made an offer for the place, promising that the garden would remain intact. And it has stayed almost exactly the same. I had the house demolished though, and this one built in its place.’ It seemed like that was the end of the story but Quinn sensed there was more.

‘So do I get the grand tour?’

Libby looked at him quizzically, which he understood. Besides the kitchen, it was basically just one big room without walls dividing the separate areas, though he could tell what was what. A dining table in one quarter, a formal sitting area in another, a lounge surrounding a big screen television next to the kitchen and a billiards table on the other side. All that could be left were the bedrooms, bathroom and laundry.

He stared back at her with an open expression until she eventually put the tea towel down and walked around the breakfast bar to the other side of the kitchen from which they had entered.

‘Laundry,’ she said, opening the door and pausing so he could look inside, then closing it again. Looked like a regular laundry, Quinn thought. He followed her back the way they had come in and watched her point out the different areas in the huge open expanse. He took particular notice of the large portrait of a woman that dominated the mantle above the fireplace. The style was classic but he could tell it was not recent. The woman in the portrait was, however, the spitting image of Libby.

Her enthusiasm for the house was obvious as she pointed out its features, but she somehow managed to sound like a real estate agent. There were no personal details, no warm anecdotes, only a monologue that sounded well prepared and long memorised. She would have given great tours of the White House, Quinn thought as she opened the back door and took him out onto the balcony.

The back yard was lush green lawn surrounded by more towering trees and leafy bushes that offered a reclusive privacy. He was beginning to think that the property was an inanimate version of its owner. Only the jasmine, creeping up the trunks of a number of trees and intertwined with the green bushes, hinted at something beneath the surface. He wondered if this garden metaphor could be applied to Libby as well.

Down by the back fence, under a line of bushes, a medium-sized dog was digging a medium-sized hole. When Libby noticed, she ran down the stairs from the balcony and onto the grass.

Quinn followed her but pulled up slightly when he heard her yell, ‘Bruiser! Stop that!’ Bruiser immediately lifted his head from his excavations and then bounded up from the fence line.

‘Your dog’s name is Bruiser?’ Quinn questioned, staying on the bottom step of the stairs. Libby smiled as she watched him lingering behind the handrail of the steps.

‘Yes,’ she answered, and he could see she was holding back her laughter. The dog jumped onto her lap when she sank to the ground and immediately began licking her face with enthusiasm. Her expression was one of pure happiness, and induced by a dog. Quinn wondered if he would ever be able to put such an expression on her face.

She set the dog away from her when she noticed the intensity with which he was watching her.

‘Don’t worry about Bruiser,’ she pacified, misinterpreting the look, maybe intentionally. ‘We called him that because he was abused by a previous owner. We took him in from a dog shelter.’ She got to her feet and brushed off her skirt.

We? Quinn let the slip go, although he was instantly filled with curiosity. Who lived here with her? Was she married? She didn’t wear a ring but these days that didn’t mean anything. It had never occurred to him that she might have let somebody through the barrier with which she protected herself from the world.

She walked up to the base of the steps and he finally stepped down to the grass, which brought them face-to-face. Quinn kept his hands by his side but their bodies were so close, it nearly didn’t matter.

‘Did you want to see the rest of the house?’ she asked, not stepping back, but not looking him in the eye either.

‘Yes.’ He still didn’t move. She looked down to where the tips of their shoes were touching. Bruiser was licking his hand in a friendly manner. He wondered if acceptance by the dog was a good sign.

Eventually he moved to the side to allow her to pass up the steps ahead of him. As uncomfortable as those short skirts made her, he doubted they made her as uncomfortable as he was feeling, watching her legs move under the scrap of material. It was, however, the most appreciated discomfort he could ever remember.

With a smile on his face, Quinn followed her up the stairs and re-entered the house. She closed the french glass doors and left Bruiser sitting outside, staring at them and wagging his tail. She led him to the left, and through a door. Immediately they left behind the polished floorboards and were walking on thick, luxurious shagpile.

‘These are the bedrooms,’ she announced, rapidly opening doors and then moving on. Most of the bedrooms seemed to be for guests. They were empty of anything that would suggest regular occupation. The fourth bedroom, however, was every teenage girl’s fantasy. Posters of rock stars and actors adorned the walls, a superb mini stereo was set up in one corner, a computer sat on a desk and a dressing table held baskets full of makeup. In the centre of the room, pushed against the wall, was a four-poster, double bed in mahogany, with a modern gingham bedspread smoothed over the mattress.

‘Yours?’ Quinn asked but Libby merely looked at him with amusement. He couldn’t tell if it was a yes or a no but his instinct told him this was not her room. Maybe that solved the issue of who lived here with her.

She showed him the bathroom at the end of the hall and then retraced their steps back to the main living area.

She mounted the set of stairs to their left and climbed them all the way to the top. What Quinn saw when his eye level reached over the remaining stairs astonished him. It was a mezzanine level library. The walls of the upstairs section, which ran at least half way around the second floor, contained books, more books and even more books. In the centre, at the top of the stairs was some sort of home office. A huge corner desk was pushed against one wall and on it sat state of the art computer equipment. An underwater ocean scene occupied the screen. Reference books lined the shelves around the desk and papers were scattered around in haphazard order.

Quinn picked up one of the papers and studied it. He should have known.

‘It’s not enough for you to work all hours at the office, but you have to bring it home with you.’ He didn’t know whether to admire her or accuse her of overworking herself.

‘Turning the circulation figures around wasn’t as easy as everyone seems to think. I had to work damn hard to make that magazine a success again. And that meant bringing the work home with me.’ She was on the defensive again. She snatched the paper out of his hand and gathered the others, shoving them into a folder and yanking open a filing cabinet to store them.

‘You are such an enigma, Libby. You love that job, I can tell. You work all hours of the day and night to bring it back to something everyone is proud of, but you give it up in an instant when Fraser tries to move you momentarily out of your comfort zone.’ He leaned his hips on the edge of her desk while she straightened various other things.

‘There’s a reason it’s called a comfort zone. I’ve explored the outer reaches of mine and I know my limits. If Fraser doesn’t have the good sense to recognise that I know my own abilities, then there’s nothing I can do.’ She pushed the high-backed leather chair into place under the desk.

‘And I did love that job, but I don’t need it. You know I could walk into the offices of twenty different magazines and newspapers right now and be employed in seconds, even if I stipulated the most ridiculous conditions. Fraser’s faith in me has made me a very marketable commodity. But if he thinks he can now exploit it, well… I can tell you that he won’t get very far.’ She moved around the bookshelves, straightening the books lined there and inserting volumes that had been removed.

She seemed to be in constant need of something to occupy her hands. Quinn would have loved to see what she would find to do with them if it were just the two of them in a starkly empty room. The description made him think of his soulless apartment and he couldn’t help but compare it to Libby’s beautiful home. There was really no comparison to be made.

He followed her at a distance, noting she was back in business mode again.

‘The era of workers being exploited by bosses is over.’

‘What are you, a communist?’ Quinn mocked.

‘No, I’m a person. And I quite like the idea of turning the tables.’

‘I can tell that about you.’

She smiled that vague smile again, and he wondered if he had lost her completely. He contemplated again the idea of kissing her out of it but held back.

‘Well, that’s about the end of the tour,’ she said, descending the stairs and waiting at the bottom for him to join her.

Quinn looked over to the opposite side of the open expanse where the other staircase loomed invitingly. He gestured to it without saying anything but Libby put her hand on his arm when he went to move towards it. He looked down at her touch with a raised eyebrow and she removed her hand almost immediately, a flush lingering on the edges of her face.

‘There’s nothing up there. Just another bedroom.’

‘Your bedroom?’ Quinn surmised.

Another vague smile emanated from Libby. One more and he didn’t think he would be able to hold back. The urge to shake her, to kiss her, to touch her, among numerous other unmentionable urges, to elicit some sort of real emotion was becoming overwhelming.

He wondered at her hesitance and suddenly the thought that had occurred to him earlier came back to haunt him. ‘Are you married?’

That stopped her. And elicited a reaction he didn’t expect. She began laughing. So he took it as a no.

‘What made you think that?’ She seemed genuinely amused.

He shrugged his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets, somewhat confused at the relief that flowed through every vein in his body. ‘So do I get to see upstairs or not?’

She sighed and moved towards the other staircase, climbing with an evident reluctance. Why didn’t she just refuse him?

At the top of the stairs behind a door was an enormous bedroom. The walls were painted a calming green and the ceiling, surprisingly, looked like a bright blue sky on a sunny day. Clouds floated above them, almost seeming to change shape the longer Quinn watched them. A queen size wooden bed frame dominated the floor space. Above the bed head was a half moon window. To the left and right were more doors.

‘En suite to the left, walk-in-robe to the right.’

Quinn was fascinated by the room; the whole house in fact. The entire structure was a magnificent monument to style and design.

On the bedside table were some photographs and he bent down to pick up a frame, knowing his inspection of her intensely personal space was much more intrusive than his guided tours of the other rooms had been. A little version of Libby smiled into the camera. Her sister, perhaps? He put the frame down and picked up another. This time, an older version of Libby. Another sister? Or maybe her mother, if the photograph had been taken a number of years ago. He decided not to ask.

He turned to take in the rest of the room and found Libby watching him through lowered lids, her head turned to the side. She looked away quickly when she realised he was returning her glance, but not quickly enough. He suppressed a smile and focused on the two paintings on the walls opposite the bed. In one, a woman dressed in an almost transparent orange sheath, which skimmed the curves of her body, was lying back on a bed or chaise of some sort, her form curled up. She looked uncomfortable but the painting was magical.

‘It’s a Frederic Leighton. Just a copy,’ Libby revealed, and though the information seemed impersonal, Quinn saw the opportunity for some further insight. He pounced on her interest.

‘And this one?’ he asked, moving across to the other wall. It was a painting of another woman, more formally attired though.

‘Leonardo da Vinci. Her name was Ginevra de’Benci. She was supposedly one of the most intellectual women of her time. I know everyone says the Mona Lisa has that secretive quality, that expression that made everyone wonder. But Ginevra has that and more. See that dark bushy background? It’s a juniper bush. Ginevra is Italian for juniper. I think.’

Quinn turned to look at her. The businesswoman was completely gone and in her place was someone enthused with passion. It was an interesting metamorphosis. And it was real. She truly felt it.

Something occurred to Quinn and he had to ask her about it.

‘Why did you show me around your house when you were so hesitant about it? I mean, I could sense your discomfort but you put it aside to give me the tour.’

‘So?’ She wasn’t defensive.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to show me around?’ He sat on the end of the bed and watched the muscles in her face tighten, then inexplicably relax.

‘You found my weakness. Whenever anyone shows an interest in my house, I find it difficult to restrain myself.’ She walked to the Leighton painting and put her hand on the wall beside it. ‘I designed it, you see.’

‘The house?’ Quinn hadn’t thought he could be any more intrigued by this woman, but she had just proved him wrong.

‘Yes. I dreamt of this house since I was a little girl. An architect friend helped me draw up the plans and then oversaw the construction. We moved in a little over four years ago.’ She trailed a finger down the edge of the painting’s frame. ‘And now it’s home, not just the house I dreamt of. It was the only thing I really ever dreamed of.’

‘You didn’t dream of a great career, or a big white wedding, or little Libby Freemans running around while you kept a watchful eye?’ Quinn queried, again leaving her mention of ‘we’ to the side.

She thought a moment before answering. ‘No. Just this house. And to be happy. Sounds pretty simple, I guess.’

‘The best dreams always are.’

‘Maybe.’ The silence sat comfortably between them for an extended time. Then Libby broke it.

‘Well, that really is the end of the tour,’ she said with what Quinn suspected was a real smile.

‘You have a beautiful home, Libby.’

‘Thank you.’

He knew he had to raise the subject of Fraser and her job again but he didn’t really want to. He was too enthralled by this vision of Libby, the Libby she hid from people, the mind behind the body that had attracted him from the start. He wasn’t sure which was attracting him more now. But Fraser has sent him on this mission to bring her back.

God, Fraser! Quinn checked his watch and realised it had been almost two hours since he and Libby had deserted him at the restaurant. He had to ask the question.

‘Are you coming back to the office?’

She came to stand in front of him. ‘I don’t think so, Quinn.’

‘Fraser isn’t going to be happy.’

‘He’ll get over it.’

‘What about the magazine?’

‘The magazine will be just fine. We’ve set up a great staff and given them their autonomy. You could bring in a complete moron as editor and they wouldn’t be able to undo the structure we’ve set up.’ Quinn stood up and she took a step back to maintain some distance.

‘What about you?’

The question threw her. ‘Me? I’ll…I’ll be just fine, too. Like I said, I can walk into another job tomorrow.’

‘I guess that’s it then.’

‘I guess so.’ Libby moved to turn away but Quinn put a hand on her arm much as she had done to him earlier.

‘Will I see you again?’

‘What do you mean?’ She turned back to face him but didn’t look directly at him. He suspected she knew precisely what he meant.

‘I mean…I want to see you again.’

Libby smiled nervously and looked at the floor. Quinn propped a finger underneath her chin and made her look at him. And despite the smile, he could sense she was pulling back. If he didn’t take this chance now, he might never have another.

‘Quinn, I—’

‘Libby.’ And suddenly, as if she couldn’t help herself, she was looking back at him, her face only inches away. He moved closer still and as the intention to kiss her was transforming itself into reality, Quinn heard a voice.

‘Mum, I’m home.’

Liberty’s Secret: Chapter One

I wrote Liberty’s Secret thirteen years ago when I thought I was going to be a romance writer (before I got bored by the formula). But when I decided that wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to do, my completed genre novel was essentially abandoned and forgotten. But sometimes I get nostalgic about the path I’ve taken as a writer (and that includes the path not taken). So over the next two months, I’ll be posting it here a chapter at a time.

This is Chapter One.

*****

Quinn O’Connell had never known anyone like Libby Freeman. She was pacing back and forth at the head of the conference room while chairing the weekly ideas meeting. As the editor of Society Magazine, she had become known as a gladiator of sorts. She had come, she had seen, and she had conquered. Which effectively meant that she had been headhunted by the magazine group’s publisher from a cubicle at a large literary agency that promoted glass ceilings, she had surveyed the operation placed in her hands, she had cleared out a number of the staff who had thought their cushy careers safe, and she had turned the appalling circulation figures into a financial success.

No small or easy task, but one she had achieved without the merest reference to numbers. She had no head for figures. Everyone knew that. And no-one cared. Her creativity alone was responsible for the turnaround in the magazine’s popularity. New focus, new writers, new advertisers, new daring. It had been as simple as that. She had dared to take the magazine beyond what anyone had thought it could be.

And it had worked. No-one was sure why exactly but it had everything to do with Libby.

Quinn supposed he should feel some sort of chagrin that she had been able to do what he hadn’t but after all he was just a numbers man. Fraser Graham, the publisher, had brought him in to troubleshoot the financial difficulties the magazine had got itself into. But it had been clear, even to a numbers man, that the problems were with the magazine’s content. It had been his suggestion to replace the previous editor. And the success of his suggestion now placed him squarely at Libby’s side, metaphorically speaking.

But literally, Quinn had never been at Libby’s side, or near any other part of her. Despite their being paired together as the reason for the magazine’s boosted sales figures, they had never met. There had never been any reason for them to meet. He could only remember being in the same room as her once before, on the day she had joined the magazine, but there had been a hundred other people in the room as well, all welcoming her as part of the goodwill and group enthusiasm Fraser Graham had been intent on fostering.

Since then she had worked innumerable miracles, and he had counted them as part of his continuing work as the head of the magazine’s finance department.

And today he was sitting in on a weekly ideas meeting at the request of Fraser Graham. It had been a revelation to watch Libby at work. She was quite obviously brilliant. Her creativity was inspiring to watch, not just for him. He could see the way the staff writers responded to her, driving themselves harder to please her, to try to match her enthusiasm. Studying business at university hadn’t left much time for psychology classes, but the few he had taken as part of his degree helped him to see that her leadership embraced encouragement. She drew everyone into the discussion.

In fact, so far he was the only person in the room who had not said a word. He wasn’t quite sure why his presence had been requested but he had no doubt Fraser would deal with him in his own time. Fraser had always done things his way with little regard for how others perceived him. No doubt it was why he was rich and successful.

Quinn’s gaze left Fraser and returned to the intriguing sight of Libby. Her long brown hair was pinned up tidily but its confining nature could not obscure the lustrous colour. Her thin tortoise shell frames perched in place under the bridge of her nose, and despite being comparatively small, they seemed to hide her face. He wondered what she looked like without them. Quite probably identical, the accountant in him returned waspishly. But he wasn’t just an accountant. He was also a man. And for some reason the desire to walk to the front of the room to remove her spectacles overwhelmed him.

It was a strange feeling to be overcome by because despite being intriguing, she was also a rather alien creature. From a distance, she was like any other woman in the magazine’s headquarters. Short skirts, tight shirts, jewellery glittering on her hands. But on closer inspection, she was nothing like the other women in the office at all.

She was habitually tugging on the hem of her mini skirts, as if she hadn’t tried them on before buying them, and had worn them to work only to discover her discomfort over their length. She never wore high heels with her skirts, but an endearing pair of Mary Janes that made Quinn wonder if she had stolen them from a little sister. The only jewellery that ever glinted from her hands was the gold watch on her left wrist. And he had never seen her with her hair free from its confining clasp or her face enhanced with make-up.

And he had never seen her take more than a platonic interest in anyone of the male sex. Or the female sex. She dealt with everyone in the same pleasant but professional manner and kept everything on a business footing.

Quinn mentally checked himself as the accountant reasserted some dominance. How exactly did he know so much about Libby? He was a naturally observant man, of course. He had to be, dealing with the sort of numbers with which he frequently dealt. But all the details he had noticed about Libby had nothing to do with the accountant in him, and everything to do with the man. So he was interested – he could admit it to himself. It mattered very little, however. Libby wasn’t interested in return. He wasn’t sure there was anything that interested her beyond her work. She always seemed to be at the magazine’s offices. She was here when he arrived in the mornings and she was still here when he left for the night.

‘Reid, let’s hear your ideas.’ Libby was all business as she resumed her seat at the head of the table.

‘I’m running low this month, Libby,’ Reid Solomon, the business writer, confessed, flicking through some notes in front of him.

‘Any reason why?’ There was no condemnation in her voice, merely a desire to know.

‘Something’s going down, something big, and it’s made everyone else more cautious. They’re all waiting to find out what it is. I just know it. None of my sources are even willing to say anything but I can feel it anyway.’

‘I want you to follow it. But I think I can point you in the right direction. I’ve heard whispers about one of the Big Four banks and a hostile takeover of a small but influential Asian bank. I don’t know which Big Four and I don’t know which Asian bank, but I’ve heard whispers.’

‘Thanks, Lib. I knew something was going down.’ Reid began scribbling furiously on the paper in front of him.

‘You’ll need a backup story, though,’ Libby reminded him and the reporter nodded. ‘Collaborate with Lucy on business lobby groups. If your story works out we can put it in the politics section or just hold it over until next issue.’ Lucy Stewart, the politics writer, immediately noted Libby’s instructions.

Quinn watched Libby shuffling some papers before she moved on. No-one else seemed surprised that she had access to obviously sensitive business information. But Quinn just stared at her in amazement for the longest time while she flicked through her notes. He immediately began reassessing his professional impressions of her. And instinctively he opened his mouth.

‘Fortuna Bank of Taiwan.’

Suddenly everyone was looking at him with expressions he imagined similar to the one he had just been gaping at Libby with. Except for Libby. She was looking at him, and at the same time, straight through him.

‘Thank you, um – I’m sorry, who are you?’ She was looking at him as if seeing him for the first time, despite the fact he had been sitting in the room along with everybody else for the past hour.

‘Quinn O’Connell,’ he informed her, without elaborating. There was no reason for her to know who he was, but it didn’t do his ego any good.

‘He’s with me, Libby,’ Fraser interjected from his discreet position at the back of the room.

‘Oh. Thank you, Mr O’Connell,’ she said absently, her mind already moving on. His ego was being deflated on a second by second basis.

‘Quinn,’ he said, determined for some reason to hear her say his name. But she merely smiled blankly and continued onto a new subject.

He frowned, knowing he shouldn’t take it personally but doing precisely that. Women were usually good for his ego. Why, he asked himself, should one rather strange, admittedly intriguing, but ultimately obscure woman be doing so much damage to his self-esteem?

Quinn stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting, but continued his scrutiny of Libby, her long smooth legs, her elegant fingers, her small waist and her large breasts, inadequately disguised beneath a loose white shirt. He studied her figure with narrowed eyes, hoping to appear intensely interested in what she was saying, but suspecting he simply appeared intensely interested. And he couldn’t deny it. He was. He shifted uncomfortably as his body responded to hers, willing the return of his self-control. He managed it just in time to hear Libby calling an end to the meeting.

‘Thanks, guys,’ she called out belatedly to the staff who streamed out of the conference room. She was still busy making notes of her own as Fraser Graham approached her. Quinn remained seated at the end of the table.

‘Libby?’ She looked up vacantly, and it seemed to take her several seconds to focus on her boss.

‘Fraser, hello. Why are you here?’ she asked without tact, although there was no malice in her tone.

‘I’ve been working on a little project for you and Quinn. But I don’t want to elaborate any further just yet. I’ve booked a table for us at Reginald’s. Let’s go.’ Fraser started for the door but Libby’s voice stopped him.

‘I can’t leave the office, Fraser. It’s the middle of the day,’ she admonished him.

‘Precisely. I knew you’d try to make excuses to get out of this. But I’m treating you to lunch.’ Libby looked at her watch, and Quinn could tell she was hoping for it to tell her it was either too early or too late to adjourn. Time was not on her side today.

‘So come on.’ Libby reluctantly stuffed her voluminous notes into a folder and collected her jacket and bag. Quinn got out of his chair at the other end of the room and followed silently.

At the front entrance of the building, Libby demurred about getting into Fraser’s limousine, murmuring something about her own car, but eventually sliding in anyway. Quinn slid in after Fraser, remaining quiet while their boss chattered away about Libby’s success, and Quinn’s role in it, and how it was in everyone’s interest to let as many people as possible know about what had been achieved. It was well known within publishing circles, but the broader community would want to know about it as well. The broader community was always interested in the triumphs of young people, traditionally deemed too young to be truly successful, especially in the long term. Fraser went on and on until they reached Reginald’s, only stopping to greet the maître d’ and to allow him to seat the party.

They were seated at Fraser’s usual table, and Quinn was studying the menu when Libby obviously decided she had had enough.

‘Fraser, why are we here? I have a job I should be doing right now. And I’m sure Mr, um…O’Connell has something else to be doing as well.’ Quinn was momentarily mollified that she remembered his name.

‘Just to set your heart at ease, Libby, I think I should tell you this is work. I’ve brought you and Quinn here together because I want you to get to know each other a little better.’

‘How is that work?’ Libby asked, as Quinn stared at Fraser, wondering if fate was on his side.

‘Because it’s all about publicity. I’ve organised for you and Quinn to be the subject of a young achievers special that one of my other magazines is putting together. And the more awareness we can raise, the more magazines we can sell. Like I said, this is work.’ Fraser sat back to allow a waiter to place a plate of oysters in front of him.

Libby remained rigidly in her place. Her next words confirmed Quinn’s suspicion of her discomfort at the prospect of what had just been announced.

‘I don’t think this comes within my job description,’ she informed Fraser with some dignity. Fraser let an oyster slide down his throat before responding.

‘Your job is to do whatever I tell you.’

For the first time, Quinn saw a hint of the Libby that was not part of the professional woman. No longer was she the vague, work-obsessed robot; she was incensed, although he could see she was containing it.

‘There is nothing within my contract that obliges me to engage in any publicity for the magazine. You and I both know my directives were merely to update the format and content of the magazine and ensure increased circulation figures. I have done so and I will continue to fulfil that role. But I do not do publicity.’ She beckoned the waiter and handed over her menu, thanking him for his attention but not ordering anything.

Quinn passed his menu over as well, but asked for iced water. He thought he might need it to douse the fire that was being lit by Fraser. Besides there was only one thing at this table he was hungry for.

And he remained quiet. He was too fascinated by this glimpse into the unknown, private side of Libby to interrupt the flow. He could also sense he was inconsequential to what was unfolding. Fraser knew he would do whatever was asked of him within reason. And a small amount of publicity work was within reason, no matter what Libby thought of the request. After all, it was due to their efforts that the magazine was enjoying such new found popularity. And not least of all, beyond simply being good publicity for the magazine, it would be good publicity for his career. Quinn’s time at the Society magazine had always been in danger once the publication was back on its feet. He was, after all, a troubleshooter. And there was not too much trouble to be shot now that Libby was working her magic month after month.

‘Libby.’ Fraser’s tone was calculatedly wheedling. The publisher could usually read people but Quinn wondered if this time he had landed a punch way short of the mark. As little as he knew of her, Quinn doubted Libby could be turned with pleading. In fact, he doubted if she could be turned at all.

‘Fraser.’ Her tone was firm and unbending, and Quinn could see the expression on Fraser’s face change from pleading into autocratic power.

‘I don’t want to take the position of boss with you, Libby. You and I both know our working relationship has never been of that sort. But if you force me into it, then I will wield my power gladly.’ Libby glanced over at Quinn to see him watching her and looked away in discomfort, obviously hating having a witness to her weakness, although Quinn did not look upon the confrontation in that way. It was merely a battle of wills, and he wasn’t sure that Libby wasn’t winning, despite Fraser’s threats.

‘This isn’t about me or you; it’s about an office full of workers who love their jobs and will not let you or anyone destroy what they have contributed to making a success once more.’ Quinn thought maybe Fraser was softening with that reference to Libby’s workmates, and he could see Libby’s response to the mention of them. She obviously cared about them and did not want to upset anyone, but even so, her own feelings in such a situation were the foremost consideration.

‘And I don’t want to have to remind you about the terms of your contract.’ Libby’s mouth opened slightly, but she clamped it shut only moments later to disguise her shock. What were the terms of her contract? Quinn wondered.

‘I know the terms well, thank you, Fraser. And I think you would well remember my terms. I was quite specific. It was the only reason I agreed to the contract you set out for me in the first place. But if you think you can hold the terms over my head in an effort to intimidate me into submitting meekly to your whims, then you are sadly mistaken.

‘I’ve greatly enjoyed being a part of the team who helped make Society a success again. But I think this episode has demonstrated that my part in it has come to an end. My resignation will be on your desk by the end of the day, effective immediately.’

Libby stood, grabbing her bag and jacket. ‘Goodbye, Fraser. Quinn.’

Well, he had his wish. He had heard his name from her lips. But the circumstances severely lessened his pleasure. He watched her stalk across the dining room towards the front door, and through the plate glass windows he could see her talking to the doorman. He lifted his whistle to hail a taxi.

Quinn turned to look at Fraser, who was finishing his oysters, seemingly unconcerned.

‘Fraser?’

‘Give someone a little power and it goes straight to their head.’ Quinn didn’t respond to his boss’s poorly timed attempt at humour, but his eyes continued to ask the question.

The older man slouched slightly, his crinkled eyes showing his regret.

‘Go bring her back.’

Quinn rose immediately, tracing the path Libby had taken to the other side of the room. She was climbing into the back of a yellow taxi, her face rigid. He made it out the door and to the open back window of the cab just in time.

‘Libby!’ She looked up at the sound of her name, and despite the timing, Quinn relished the way it sounded on his tongue.

‘Libby, come back inside.’

‘Why? You obviously don’t know Fraser very well if you think he would give up on this publicity idea. And you obviously don’t know me very well if you think I would give in.’ She sat back in the leather seat and looked at the driver in a silent communication to drive on. But Quinn would not let him move.

‘Would you mind removing your hands from the vehicle, Mr O’Connell? I’m leaving,’ she said pointedly.

‘Libby! Dammit, Libby!’ he muttered in frustration, then did the only thing he could think of doing. He ran to the other side of the taxi and jumped in, much to Libby’s obvious surprise. But she made no protestations of ‘how dare he’. She simply looked straight ahead, determined to ignore him, and told the driver to go.

Quinn turned to look at the front of the restaurant as he clipped his seat belt in place, and could see Fraser’s face watching the retreating taxi. Surprisingly, his expression was not the one Quinn expected. If Libby hadn’t gone as far as resigning, Quinn would have suspected Fraser had planned the whole thing.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m merely asserting my rights. My contract does not stipulate any involvement in publicising the magazine. It does, however, allow me to resign my position at any time now that I have fulfilled the requirements expected of me.’ Libby was looking over Quinn’s shoulder and out the window the whole time she was speaking.

‘Would you stop doing that?’ he asked, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

‘Doing what?’ She seemed truly oblivious.

‘Talking at me. Looking through me. Speaking as if you are a contract, instead of merely being party to one.’

‘I’m not going to apologise for the nature of my speaking patterns. What would you prefer I said? That I’m not putting up with any bull from egotistical publishers or sucking up just to keep a job?’ He had to admit that the casual speech seemed to come from a more natural place within her, but he didn’t think she wanted to hear that right now.

‘Well, that’s not who I am. Not professionally, anyway. It’s inappropriate and disrespectful.’ Libby stopped when she finally focused on Quinn’s face and saw his irritation. ‘What are you doing?’ She returned his question, but he looked down at his hands and lifted them as if to say ‘what?’ ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m bringing you back,’ he said weakly, unable to stop the smile that rose on his lips. And for the first time he could remember, Libby smiled too. It was a real smile, and it warmed him, despite her amusement being at his expense.

‘Fraser obviously doesn’t know me very well either if he thinks I’ll respond to any sort of male force, regardless of the package it comes in.’

Quinn was about to say he doubted anyone knew her well enough if she was this prickly with everyone, but the last portion of her sentence caught his words and refused to let them out of his throat.

‘Exactly what sort of package do I come in?’ he asked, trying hard not to sound arrogant.

‘You’re typically good looking and you know it. I’m not going to flatter you because truthfully I don’t find you attractive.’ Libby had begun to whisper and her furtive glances at the taxi driver indicated her embarrassment at the idea of this conversation being overheard.

‘Why not?’ Quinn asked loudly, not minding her discomfort if it meant he could get her to open up a little.

‘Well, you’re not my type. Besides, I don’t even know you.’

‘Attraction is not about knowing people. It’s about pheromones and instinct and instantaneous chemical reactions.’

‘Goodness, I thought you were just working in the finance department. I didn’t know you freelanced with night time lonely hearts radio spots,’ Libby mocked, her professional façade seeming to weaken by the minute.

‘Funny, I would have thought lonely hearts was your speciality.’ When Libby started at his words, Quinn knew his instinct had been right.

The taxi pulled over in a residential neighbourhood and Libby fumbled in her shoulder bag for some notes. She threw them at the driver, muttering, ‘Keep the change,’ then dived out of the car, not looking back. She hurried up the driveway of a property shrouded in trees and bushes and out of Quinn’s sight.

‘Hey, buddy, where to?’ the driver asked, twisting in his seat.

‘I’m not sure,’ Quinn responded, looking at the floor of the taxi and wondering whether his biting comments had been too harsh. She had no doubt thought so.

‘I think you should follow her, man. She was definitely weakening. A little bit more, perhaps a direction change, some persuasion, and she’ll be putty in your hands.’

‘You think?’

‘I’m a taxi driver, mister. I know more about the human heart than a psychologist. I just get paid a lot less.’ He turned to press buttons on the dashboard of the car. ‘Besides, if you don’t get out now I’m turning the meter back on.’

Quinn grinned as he got out of the car, calling a goodbye and hurrying up the driveway.

The Choice Not to Publish

You came up with a great idea, you worked hard to punch our chapter after chapter, you agonised over the ending, you reworked and rewrote and edited it, you paid for a manuscript assessment, you reworked and rewrote and edited it again, you asked your family and friends for feedback, then reworked and rewrote and edited it a few more times. The final step is to publish… so why might you choose not to go ahead and do it?

These days anyone can publish – self-publishing has seen to that. A monkey might not yet be able to write the complete works of Shakespeare but self-publishing is so easy I’m convinced the monkey would be able to self-publish them. So it’s not a matter of not being able to. It’s a matter of whether you should. It’s a hard decision because it requires as much objectivity as you can muster and absolute honesty. And that’s because the simple fact that something creative exists is not a good enough reason for it be released to the general public.

Singers and musicians record hundreds, sometimes thousands, of songs that aren’t included on released albums. Painters, even the most famous from centuries past, have painted over earlier efforts to save on the cost of purchasing a new canvas when the painting isn’t quite what they had hoped it would be. It’s safe to assume – in fact we know – that all writers on occasion write things that aren’t worthy of being read.

Isn’t it strange then that when I used Google to search for advice on this topic, it gave me thousands of results on how to publish and not one on how to know when or if a writer should? If you’re anything like me (and so few people are), you’ll read through the first ten to twenty pages of results. Some will give up around page five. Most will only look at the first and second pages.

So what should you look out for in your own writing when making the final decision on whether or not to publish?

Practise Novels

Very few writers undertaking their first effort to write a book write something so good that it’s worth publishing. Because writing requires practice. Nobody is good at it when they first decide to start writing.

What about those writers who land book deals on their first novels? you ask. Well, those writers say it’s their first novel and that might be true. But how many short stories have they written first? How many character studies? How many other pieces of shorter fiction and non-fiction have they honed their skills on? Usually, the answer to that question is, “A lot.”

For those writers who haven’t, who’ve taken on the herculean task of making their first piece of writing a lengthy novel, first (and sometimes second and third) novels should more often than not be considered practise novels. I wrote three practise novels, two of which I wrote before the age of twenty and before I decided I needed to go and studying writing at the tertiary level in order to get better at it.

I’m about to post one of them, Liberty’s Secret, chapter by chapter on my blog as one of my exercises in humility and as an example of the publishing path not taken (see below for more on this). It’s okay. Better than the two before it, although that’s not saying much. Not as good as the three that came after it and that’s the point. It was a stepping stone. They all are. But writers need to be able to recognise which stepping stones aren’t worth being read and which are.

Just Okay Novels

Sometimes, no matter how much work a writer puts in, no matter how long they hunch over a keyboard, no matter how many times they modify the plot, no matter how often they revise their dialogue, no matter how they agonise over individual words, no matter how seriously they think about how to make their novel better, the book remains just okay.

There are plenty of just okay novels out there. On Goodreads, they get a 2 star rating, which literally means, “It was okay”. But if you can recognise that the novel you’ve written is just okay, why would you want to put it out into the world? Wouldn’t you want to wait until you can make it a good or even great novel? Or wouldn’t you want to wait until you’ve written something else that’s better?

Spending all that time and effort on a novel for what seems like no reward can be deflating but, trust me, it’s nowhere near as deflating as reading all those two star reviews that confirm what you already knew about your book. And because every book is an advertisement for your next book, it’s worthwhile remembering that few readers will be eager to read another book by an author they previously rated two stars.

The thing about a just okay novel is that in one, two or five years, you might finally have developed the skills or had the eureka moment that enables you to turn it into a good or great novel. Or you might be able to use elements from it in a later different novel. But if you’ve already published it, it’s harder – if not impossible – to do these things. Sometimes patience is its own virtue in publishing.

Genre Novels

My first novel (more like a novella) was a combination of mystery and thriller. I wrote it when I was sixteen and it wasn’t very good. After I finished writing it, I began reading a lot of shorter romance fiction, mostly Mills & Boon. A lot of it left me with a “meh” feeling. It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t good either. It followed a very strict formula and never deviated from it, meaning I was never surprised. So I decided I was going to be the next queen of romance fiction, modelling myself on Emma Darcy, Australia’s greatest shorter romance author (in my opinion) and one of the very few who managed to sneak twist endings into her formula and get it past the gatekeepers.

So my next two novels were straight from the romance genre. Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love with each other but are kept apart by whatever contrived circumstances I could come up with, boy and girl eventually get past them, boy and girl admit their feelings to each other and live happily ever after. The first novel was terrible. The second was better (you can read it for yourself in the previous fifteen blog posts).

But I finished writing the second romance novel right around the time I decided to build on my previous writing studies by enrolling in a master’s degree. Within months of beginning those studies and meeting new people, particularly other writers, I knew I didn’t want to write romance fiction for the rest of my life. I wanted to write more serious stories, dramas, thrillers, action, adventure, mysteries, crime. And I didn’t want to be trapped in just one genre. But I was sure that publishing that romance novel would do just that.

And so I shelved it. Self-publishing wasn’t as simple back then but I could have submitted it to traditional romance publishers. But I didn’t. And I’ve never regretted that decision. My first novel instead ended up being an action adventure, which in and of itself told the limited reading public I’ve been able to reach that I didn’t want to be pigeonholed (a woman writing action adventure says this quite effectively). Since then I’ve written literary crime, young adult, mysteries and non-fiction. Reading that romance novel now, I can see the solid base for much of my other writing in it. The quality of my writing was improving significantly. But the genre wasn’t where I wanted to go or how I wanted to be perceived.

If you’ve written one book and you’re not likely to write any more, then publishing might not even be a question. But when you want to make a career out of your writing, the decision requires a little more thought. In marketing terms, you need to consider your brand. Does what you are considering publishing support your brand or does it detract from it? It’s not always an easy question to answer.

*****

The great thing about the choice not to publish is that you can always change your mind and publish later on. But it’s much harder to publish and then unpublish afterwards because if you’ve made sales, then those buyers won’t be giving your book back, not without some serious effort on your part. (Just ask Matthew Reilly, whose first book was self-published before it was acquired and republished by Pan Macmillan after he rewrote it. Those first editions are worth a bit now, I suspect mostly because Matthew Reilly has – not completely successfully – tried to get those first one thousand books back, despite the fact that they are the reason he has a multimillion book career.)

The important thing to remember is that it is a choice. You don’t have to publish. And sometimes you shouldn’t. Being able to recognise those times is just one more skill you need as a writer.