In other words, before the project rolled into the long grass. Why couldn’t it have died there instead of coming back to bite him? Blasted hotel! He’d told Dad it was going to be a massive waste of time and money.
Granted, Bairro Alto was a prime location, but the building was sprouting grass for goodness’ sake! Roof, walls—every nook and cranny. As for the interior, that was a whole other can of festering worms. And all for what? A paltry eighteen en suite bedrooms and one master suite! Payback period—for ever! Dad’s insane passion project, a little amuse bouche because he loved Lisbon and ‘fancied a challenge’. Maybe it didn’t say much for his sense of filial duty, but he’d intended to slap it back on the market the second it fell into his hands. So much for that plan!
‘I understand, Quinn...’ Edward was shuffling his papers together. ‘You weren’t expecting a rush job. If you’re tied to other clients for the time being, then we must wait.’
Except it wasn’t we, was it? It was he, Will, who must wait for Quinn, work with her. Her of all people, at Dad’s behest!
He felt his blood rising, a vice tightening somewhere. Had Dad not had eyes to see with? Had he not noticed him opting out of family life circa six months after Quinn arrived? Had he never asked himself why?
He ground his jaw. Of course not, because he wasn’t Pete. Pete, he’d have noticed. Every blink, every breath! But he’d never been captain of the rugby team, had he? Holding up the trophy, muddy and triumphant. He’d never had swimming medals to line up on a bedroom shelf. No bear hugs and back slaps for Will. Just the searing devastation of losing his brother, best friend. The light in the room; the light in the dark. All the dazzling light.
God, how he had missed him. The thump of his schoolbag going down on the hall floor; the rhythm his feet made walking; the different, leaping rhythm they made when he was bounding up the stairs. The sound of his voice, that rich chuckling sound of his laughter, that bright flash of his smile. He’d been everything. To him. To Dad. To Mum...
How he’d had to fight to fill a single toe of Pete’s shoes. To be seen. Noticed. Taking Mum cups of tea that she’d let go cold. Pulling the blanket up around her shoulders when it slipped. Rubbing her feet to win a pale smile. Pushing himself at school to make them both sit up. Top grades across the board—better than Pete ever got.
Not enough to stop Mum taking up with Gabe the hedge fund jerk though, was it? Not enough to stop her from leaving, making the hole he was trying to fill even bigger, but he’d banked the hurt and pushed on harder, faster, focusing on Dad. Duke of Edinburgh Gold! Maths prize! Science prize! Inching his way into Dad’s field of view. Working admin jobs at Thacker HQ in the school holidays to impress him, riding shotgun in the BMW like Pete used to. Weekends, he’d pitch in, working on the old convertible with Dad to please him, because that car was Dad’s pride and joy.
Jeez! He’d been smashing it six ways to Sunday, feeling pretty good about himself, so close to worthy that when Quinn first came, hollow-eyed and beautiful, aching with grief over her dad, he’d thought nothing of reaching out to her, wanting to be kind, because why wouldn’t he want to soothe her when he knew her pain, could feel it living inside him every single day that Pete wasn’t around. But she’d curled like a leaf, shutting him out, which he got too, because pain could be like that, wanting to keep you all to itself. He’d thought time would do its healing work. And he was going to uni, anyway, spreading his wings...
Oh, but he hadn’t bargained on coming home to find that Quinn was the new apple of Dad’s eye. Quinn this. Quinn that. Cooking together, laughing at their little in-jokes. He’d told himself it would be petulant to react, that Dad and Quinn were bound to fall into a rhythm since they were living in the same house. He’d reined in the negativity, tried not to mind, but then came that Christmas pub quiz, Dad’s friend coming in, wanting to join their team, Dad saying he could if Will didn’t mind moving to another team because of the numbers—Will, not Quinn by the way—saying it in such a way that he would have looked like an utter stick-in-the-mud if he hadn’t smiled and got up. Enough to turn a stomach, hollow it out. Heart too. That night he’d decided. No more fighting for his place. Easier to back off, leave them to it.
But now he couldn’t back off, make himself scarce. Heaping insult onto injury, not only had Dad saddled him with this hare-brained, budget-busting renovation project from hell, but he’d saddled him with the cuckoo in the nest as well—the cuckoo he’d spent the last decade trying to avoid! And all he wanted—all he wanted—was to move quickly, get the infernal thing done so he could get his life back, not to mention his inheritance. But now Quinn wasn’t even sure she could fit him in!
He inhaled to cool his blood, slid his gaze through the window to the sea of high-rise buildings bleeding shadows in the low February sun. There had to be a workaround. Some way of speeding things up. Roof, façade, walls, windows. Three floors, eighteen beds, bar, dining, reception. His stomach pulsed. Maybe...
He turned to look at her. ‘Could you work piecemeal?’
‘Piecemeal?’
She was looking at him as if the concept was alien. Well, he could relate! Everything about this was alien, the opposite of comfortable.
He licked his lips. ‘Look, I’m no expert on old buildings but I imagine renovation isn’t a linear process. Some areas are going to be ready for your input ahead of others. I’m just wondering if you could dovetail into the workflow so we can keep everything moving.’
She see-sawed her head, weighing it up. ‘It’s a possibility. The challenge would be keeping the finished areas clean.’
‘Would that be especially hard? I mean, have you seen the building?’
‘No. Only photos. And some preliminary sketches from the architect.’
‘Same here...’
Which suddenly seemed ludicrous, given what lay ahead. He felt a tingle, resistance trying to bite, but he tamped it down. No way round it. This was a needs-must situation.
He drew in a breath. ‘Quinn, do you think you could make time for a quick site visit?’
She blinked. ‘Go to Lisbon, you mean?’
Too tempting not to deadpan.
‘Ideally, yes, given that that’s where the building is.’
Her eyes held him, busy replaying the last three seconds, and then suddenly her face split and she was chuckling, giving herself up to laughter, a sound he could feel somehow in his own body, feel tugging a smile up through him, and he didn’t want to give in to it because Quinn was the one making it happen, pitching him back to the Cotswolds house—her and Dad, shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table, laughing over some stupid video on her phone—but he couldn’t hold back the rumble in his chest, couldn’t keep his traitorous cheeks from creasing. At least he wasn’t alone. Edward’s lips were twitching too.
And then she was coming back down to land, rolling her eyes at herself, touching two fingers to her sweet, curving lips, catching one short, clean fingernail with her teeth. ‘In case you’re worried, I’m not usually this dumb.’
‘I’m not worried.’ Not about her anyway. He pulled himself straight. ‘So, about Lisbon; if I can fix up a visit with the architect, could you spare a day?’
She lowered her hand. ‘I could, depending on the day, obviously.’
‘Would a weekend be easier?’ Anything to speed things up. ‘Assuming the architect could make it...’ And assuming she didn’t mind leaving her boyfriend behind. If she had one. He let his eyes run loose. Eyes, lips, dark corkscrew curls grazing the smooth curve of her cheek. Of course she had one! She’d been lovely at seventeen, and she was even lovelier now. Excluding himself, what man on earth could walk past her?
Her mouth twisted to the side. ‘A weekend could work...’
Do the decent thing, Will.
‘If it helps, you could bring your other half, on the company, obviously, make a weekend of it.’
Her gaze flickered for an intriguing beat, then sharpened. ‘Thanks for your consideration, and for the generous offer, but that’s not the issue...’
And none of his business either, if her tone was anything to go by. But then, suddenly, she was sighing, frowning, shaking her head a little.
‘I’m sorry. That didn’t come out quite right.’ She inhaled and then her gaze cleared. ‘I don’t have another half, but even if I did, I wouldn’t let him get in the way of work.’
Why was he getting an ever again vibe? Was it her mouth? That little bit of tightness there. Or her eyes? That touch of bruised steel.
She gave a little shrug. ‘The reason I’m havering is because I volunteer at a homeless shelter. I have my regular nights, but sometimes things can change, so I’d need to check the schedule before committing to a date.’ Her lips set. ‘I don’t want to let them down.’
Surprising about the boyfriend, but this wasn’t. He didn’t know her ins and outs, which was the way he liked it—why he’d always changed the subject quickly if Dad struck up about her—but no denying she was the warm, caring type. Hands-on.
