Accidentally in Love With the Biker (What Happens in Vegas) (9 page)

“I’m Andrew. Andy Anderson.” He gave a practiced self-deprecating chuckle at his own name.

She smiled and shook his hand, which was firmer and drier than his wife’s. Somehow, she’d expected it to be slimier.

Behind him were two other men and two women.

“This is my sister, Kimberly, her husband, Christopher, my brother, Carson, and his wife, Rachel.”

All the names, except the last, flew out of her head.

Rachel.
Why did she know that name? Quinn was watching her closely.

Oh. Oooohhhh
. Rachel was the ex-wife. Who had left him because he didn’t live up to her standards of employment and financial security. And was now married to his brother?

She suppressed a shudder.

Rachel stuck out her perfectly blunt manicured fingers, attached to her perfectly aerobicized and tanned arm, underneath beautifully highlighted blonde hair. Hard, cobalt-blue contact lenses demonstrated that whatever Quinn had sacrificed for his chosen career, this woman wasn’t that big of a loss.

And he had said
she’d
left
him
because he wasn’t living up to her expectations. But still, as Quinn put his hand on Kellie’s back while they waited for the whole gang to precede them into the house, she couldn’t help but wonder just who she’d come home with.

“Where did you meet Rachel, anyway?” Kellie whispered to Quinn when his ex was out of earshot.

“Law school.”

“Law school? You went to
law
school?” She stopped and stared at him.

He shrugged and pointed at the row of graduation photos displayed along the hallway—his father, brother, sister, and Quinn himself, each framed with the Harvard Law School logo as part of the matting. “It’s kind of a family tradition.”

Chapter Eleven

Quinn wanted to pull Kellie aside to apologize—he
hadn’t expected his brother and Rachel to be here today. They never came to Sunday dinner. Otherwise he wouldn’t have invited her. Or at least might have warned her.

But his sister, ex-wife, and drunken mother dragged her away to tour the hallowed halls of Casa del Anderson, and he’d put off talking to his father for as long as he could.

Taking a breath, he followed his dad into his “workshop” next to his home office.

The workshop was where Andy kept his collection of antique electric trains and other railroad memorabilia. Putting on his conductor hat, his father looked, for half a second, like the dad he remembered from his childhood. The dad who took them all over the country to see trains—big ones.

Sometimes, he wondered if his dad would have been happier as an engineer, driving a locomotive, than as legal counsel to the rich and shady in Vegas.

“I got the MQ out this week,” his dad said.

Sure enough, the track that he and his dad had assembled the year before he’d left for college had the big engine on it, the one that Quinn had painstakingly painted in metallic blues and purples—just like his favorite bike. The cars were similar, all highlighted with chrome, and labeled to look as though they carried motorcycle parts.

“What’s going on, Quinn?”

He thought about pretending that he’d just wanted to see the trains before easing into what he needed to say, but decided against it. Neither of them appreciated the subterfuge.

“I need to ask for an extension on the next two month’s tuition repayments.”

“Why?”

“I have some expenses—” He wasn’t going to lie. He wasn’t doing anything wrong—it was just his family that seemed to think so. “I have an opportunity to enter a bike into the Vegas Bike Fest, and I need the cash to finish the build.”

Andrew sighed, turning the power switch on and off for the track where the Mighty Quinn sat, lights blinking on and off. “Do whatever you think is right. But remember, you always have a place with the firm.”

“I know.” It had been Quinn’s idea to repay his parents for his tuition. There had been such a shit storm when he’d announced that he didn’t want to practice law—he thought paying back the money would ease the pain caused by his failure to follow the path laid out for him.

Instead, it had gotten him into some sort of strange place with his father—he couldn’t tell if they were allies on some parallel universe road not taken, or if his dad was doing everything he could to avoid committing infanticide and leaving his biggest disappointment in the desert for the coyotes.

“Hey, Quinn—” His brother burst into the room. “You’d better come rescue your woman. Mom’s trying to recruit her for the Junior League Twitter campaign against bad hair.”

“What?” He followed his brother down the hall, where Mom’s voice trickled from the solarium.

“What’s that god-awful hair color called again, Rachel?”

“Ombré.”

“Well, it should be called Trailer Trash Number Twelve,” Mom answered. “Don’t you agree, Carrie?”

Kellie’s laughter floated above the group and r
eached Quinn like a fresh breeze. She thought his mother was funny? Probably not a good idea to encourage the woman when she was already half baked, but at least Kellie seemed to be holding her own. “That one can be difficult if it’s not done right,” she said, diplomatically.

“Callie, would you like a mimosa?” his mother asked.

“Kellie,” Quinn corrected, coming into the room. “Her name’s Kellie.”

Mom waved him off. “Have a drink, dear,” she purred, reaching for the pitcher to fill a glass.

“No, thank you.” Kellie covered her glass, but his mother was already in motion, and poured half of the pitcher over her hand before his sister grabbed it away.

Quinn pulled a towel from the bottom shelf of the liquor cart and blotted at her hand, while Rachel snorted from the other side of the room and sucked down her own drink.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Kellie smiled placidly and licked her fingers. “It’s pretty tasty. Just a little early for me.”

He stifled a groan as she slid her middle finger into her mouth and sucked the stickiness off with a pop.

“Is it time to eat yet? Let’s go eat,” his brother suggested.

“Is that your solution for everything? Eating?” Rachel griped, staring pointedly at Carson’s softening waistline.

“There’s an idea,” Quinn said, wiggling his eyebrows at Kellie.

She smiled, but it was a polite stranger smile, not a lover smile.

Ah, hell. His family had poisoned her against him—he’d only left them alone with her for ten minutes. Or had he managed to do that himself—let her see what he could have been, if he’d become a lawyer?

But it didn’t matter. This was a temporary relationship. Time was ticking away on their little affair.

And he had the urge to unplug all the clocks he could find.

His mother sipped from her glass in his direction. “I almost forgot. Today’s loan day, isn’t it? Do you have a check you want me to deposit, or are you overdue again? You know I don’t appreciate having to cover your debt…”

Perfect.

“Angela—” his dad started to say, then stopped when Quinn shook his head. Better to just let it go before she got too fired up.

His siblings and their spouses all turned to look at him. He didn’t check to see if Kellie was staring at him, too. At least he knew why she’d cooled off so quickly. Disappointment soaked him like a liquid nitrogen tsunami.

“No, not today.”

Dad took her arm and tried to turn her toward the dining room.

“Why not, sweetheart?” Her voice dripped acid. “Is your little project not working out the way you expected?”

“Is the dining room this way?” Kellie stood, forcing him to look away from his siblings’ faces—by turns pitying, scornful, or disgusted—and to look at her. “I’m not sure how hungry I am, but I bet lunch is going to be interesting.”

…

Happy hour, or whatever that had been, was awful. Between Quinn’s mother, who didn’t have anything
nice to say about anyone, his sister, who didn’t say anything, and his ex, who didn’t
have
to say anything—her smirk said it all—Kellie was ready to pretend to care about golf so that she could talk with the brother and brother-in-law.

Lunch was worse. They were all gathered around a stylish glass-topped table set with clear glass dishes, to nibble at eggs that appeared to be floating on nothing. An ancient cocker spaniel waddled through the room and settled below the table, staring hopefully, waiting for the floating food to land.

As upset as she’d been with Quinn for not telling her who he really was, she was relieved when he’d come to rescue her from the sunroom. And quickly developed a little understanding for his failure to share everything about his background. After the look on his face when his mother had tried to shame him in front of everyone, Kellie had glimpsed the little boy he must have been—determined, angry, and desperate for approval from a cold, distant mother.

He obviously hadn’t expected the whole crew to show up. Hopefully they weren’t here on her account. Although if it was so rare that Quinn brought a woman to dinner, maybe that was kind of cool, no matter how much of a duplicitous butthead he was.

All she wanted now was to leave this place. She felt like she’d been hornswoggled into coming under false pretenses. But was she? She’d made assumptions about what his family would be like based on what he did for a living. And even though he had a law degree, he was clearly living on what he made fixing motorcycles. Which he’d told her about.

Quinn wasn’t rich. He’d told her that. But was he really a deadbeat? Skipping out on his debts?

The tension had waned on the way into the dining room, and there was plenty of meaningless small talk about golf, a wedding shower for a family friend, and the rumored divorce scandal of a local preacher who was apparently having an affair with his wife’s sister.

“I’m representing Brother Reginald,” Quinn’s brother announced, proudly.

Kellie smiled weakly, as he seemed to be addressing her. “That’s…interesting.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Especially since the sister is also the lead dancer at the Coconut Club and the ex-wife of a local mobster.”

“No one ever proved that,” Carson corrected.

Quinn’s mother said, in a burst of sobriety, “You’ll all have to mind your p’s and q’s. Carson can’t afford for anyone in the family to look like they aren’t the most upstanding citizen in the city until they’ve reached a settlement.”

She directed her stare directly at Quinn, then at Kellie.

Kellie smiled pleasantly. Her best
shop owner who has dealt with the most high-maintenance landlord and snobby neighbors in the world
smile.

Angela turned back to Quinn. “I don’t know why you feel like you have to support two other people in your shop when you can barely support yourself—or repay your debt.”

“That’s enough,” Andy slammed down his coffee cup. “He
wants
to pay back his tuition, he doesn’t have to. You’re the one who’s twisted it into some sort of punishment for not toeing your line.”

“Well, what kind of person throws a perfectly good law degree away and spends his life building motorcycles? That’s just ridiculous. That’s not even art. It’s…low class.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kellie didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until everyone, Quinn included, turned to stare at her.

Oh God.
She didn’t do this. She didn’t jump anyone’s case. Except Quinn’s the other day. And apparently anyone who put him down.

He quirked his mouth and a tiny spark flared to life in his eye, the first since he’d sat down to eat.

Well, she’d already opened her big mouth, she might as well let it all out. It
wasn’t like she’d ever see these people again. “Have you
seen
the bikes he designs? They’re amazing! I don’t know much about motorcycles, but I do know what’s cool-looking, and his are…are…kick-
butt.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Angela said, after swallowing the last of her bourbon.

“Ma, not now,” he said, putting his hand over Kellie’s.

“Why not now? Is it fair to this young lady to let her waste her time with someone who’s never going to live up to his full potential?”

Kellie gasped and Quinn’s hand tightened. “Mom—”

But Angela was on a roll. “He could be well-off, capable of supporting a wife in style if he chose to.”

Kellie yanked her hand out from beneath Quinn’s. He tried to grab for her, but she was too fast for him as she stood up and faced his family.

“Quinn has a
good
job. He employs
good
people, and makes something that is beautiful and creative. He’s a businessman, and I think he’s probably going to be very successful in his own time. And as for supporting a wife—any wife worth her salt should be able to support herself.”

“He’s a mechanic,” Angela spat. “His grandfather was a mechanic and never had clean hands. Never had the money to take us to the movies, or out to dinner, or to buy dresses anywhere but Kmart.”

Now Quinn was standing, too, his hand on Kellie’s waist.

Everyone else remained seated, silently watching and listening.

“My father didn’t have jack shit, and he died with arthritis so bad he couldn’t button his own shirts.” The woman was practically foaming at the mouth.

The dog woke up and stumbled from under the table, bumping Kellie’s legs as he escaped. She tossed him a piece of toast, which he caught with amazing dexterity for one so decrepit.

Quinn spoke through his teeth. “Grandpa made enough money to send you to a good college, where you got a good education. He died knowing he’d worked hard and made an honest living.”

“Are you saying that being a lawyer isn’t an honest living?”

Carson coughed out a laugh, cut off when Rachel came to life and smacked him on the shoulder.

Their dad seemed to shrink in his chair.

“Well?” Angela gestured to the rest of the family. “Do you think lawyers are lazy thieves?”

“I think… I think I would have made a lousy lawyer,” Quinn said, finally. “Kellie, you done? Maybe we should go.”

“Um, thanks for dinner, it was delicious,” she mumbled, taking his hand and rushing down the hall behind him.

The front door opened, then closed behind them. Quinn handed her a helmet and put on his own without speaking.

“Well,” she said, straddling the seat behind him. “That certainly went well.”

He didn’t answer, but she thought she heard him laugh as he started the bike and roared out of the drive.