All It Takes Read online

  Awesome.

  Lou was making her famous ravioli, the only thing she can make. I turn all the heat off, get the bread out of the oven, and take in the mess I get to clean up.

  Which is pretty standard when it comes to Lou. I love her more than I can say. Her heart is never malicious. But the woman couldn’t balance a checkbook if someone had a gun to her head.

  And honestly, I’ve enabled that, because the tears get me every damn time.

  Maybe if she doesn’t get any more handouts, she’ll figure her life out for herself.

  I take a deep breath, and rather than clean it all up right now, I grab my keys and handbag and drive over to my grandfather’s house. I have keys and an open invitation from Dad and Uncle Patrick to come and go as I please during my investigation.

  There’s no time to start like the present.

  Chapter Four

  ~Sienna~

  It’s six thirty-five, and I’m just running through my front door from the office. I’m late, and I’m never late.

  But I got caught up in legal journals and research, and I didn’t get out of there when I planned to. Which wouldn’t normally matter, but Quinn should be here any second, so I won’t have time to change out of my suit. That’s okay, this is a professional meeting, and the more “professional” armor I have on, the less likely I am to climb Quinn like a tree.

  I’ve just shut the door, run to the restroom to relieve my screaming bladder, and as I walk out of the bathroom, the doorbell rings.

  I pull the door open and realize that no amount of armor is going to make me not long to climb this man.

  Quinn’s also in a suit, his dark glasses are perched on his nose, and his hair is in disarray from his fingers.

  He might be the sexiest man ever conceived.

  “Come in,” I say and step back, shutting the door behind him.

  “The outside of your house and the inside don’t match,” he says as he sets the bags of food on my island and slips his glasses off so he can look around my space.

  I laugh and pull down two dinner plates.

  “I know. Not that the outside is horrible, but I remodeled the inside before I moved in.”

  “I like it,” he says, scooping white rice onto his plate. “This white kitchen is beautiful, especially with the exposed brick.”

  “Cooking is one of my hobbies,” I reply before stuffing a chunk of chicken in my mouth. God, I’m starving. I skipped lunch. “So good. Hungry.”

  “I got here just in the nick of time, before you starved to death,” Quinn says with a chuckle and eats his chicken lo mein. “Can I have a tour?”

  “Sure, we can eat and tour,” I reply with a smile, pick up my plate, and gesture for him to follow me. “So I opened up the wall that separated the kitchen from the living space. The house was built a hundred years ago, and open concept wasn’t a thing yet.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” he says with a grin. How does anyone have teeth that perfect?

  “I wanted it to be open, especially because I don’t have a ton of square footage. So it looks bigger this way. I have a tiny deck out back with a little patch of grass.”

  I open the door off the dining room to show him, then lead him down a hallway.

  “This was originally a four-bedroom house.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Right? It was way too tight. So, up here, I opened the two small bedrooms into one room. I made it so if someone ever bought the place and wanted to separate them again, it wouldn’t be difficult or expensive to do, but I needed the space.”

  I take a deep breath and open the door, then stand back, shoveling rice in my mouth as Quinn walks into my studio.

  He sets his plate on an empty table, shoves his hands in his pockets, and slowly walks along the perimeter of the space, looking at each painting that I have propped against the wall.

  “Sienna,” he murmurs, stopped before a piece I did of the beach at sunrise. “These are beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and look around at the paintings, including the one I have set up in the corner with the best light.

  The one of the park I started last week.

  Quinn steps before it, examines it for a minute, then turns to me.

  “That’s my current work in progress. It’s the park. Seemed appropriate.”

  He just nods and returns to get his plate. “Show me more.”

  “Okay. Now we’re going downstairs. When I bought the place, it was two more tiny bedrooms and a half bath, with a small living space or den.”

  I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn on the lights to the hallway.

  “I reconfigured it. In here is my master suite.”

  My bedroom is a good size, big enough for the king-size bed. I lead him into my bathroom with a soaking tub, and then into my big closet.

  “Wow,” he says. “You did a great job in here.”

  “I love it,” I agree, then turn the lights off as we make our way back upstairs. “Well, now that we’re fed and you’ve seen my home, let’s get our investigative hats on.”

  “I’m ready. Where do we start?”

  “We need to go to my uncle’s house, get a box of papers from him, and then head over to my grandfather’s house. All our family papers, going back generations, are in his attic.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “How much paperwork are we talking?”

  “A lot. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something quickly.”

  “And if we’re not?”

  “It could take all the thirty days we’ve been given,” I admit.

  “Let’s go then,” he says. “I’ll drive.”

  I lock up my house and laugh when I see the Porsche sitting at the curb. It just happens to be my dream car, but I won’t tell him that. I’ll even do my best to not act like a fool when I sit inside.

  I can’t guarantee that I won’t ask to drive it.

  “Did you have an early midlife crisis?” I ask him as he holds the door open for me. He chuckles, shuts my door, and walks around to the driver’s side.

  “No crisis, I just like to drive fast,” he says as he buckles up.

  “You’re driving the right car then,” I reply and run my hand over the leather. It’s like butter. “I admit, it’s beautiful.”

  “She’s fucking amazing,” he says with a smile and pulls away from the curb. I give him directions to Uncle Patrick’s house and smile the whole way there.

  Yes, he drives too fast, but it’s thrilling. I’d never have the guts to do it.

  “Here we are,” I say when he pulls into the driveway. Before I can suggest that I’ll go by myself, he unbuckles his seat belt, jumps out of the car, and opens my door. “This isn’t a date.”

  “So?”

  “So you don’t need to open doors for me.”

  “Are you one of those women who’s offended when a man opens a door for her?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just reminding you that we’re not dating.”

  “Sienna, I’m a gentleman, whether on a date or opening a door for a stranger at the courthouse. It doesn’t mean any more than that.”

  “Well, okay then.” I smooth my jacket and walk ahead of him, up the steps to Uncle Patrick’s front door. He answers, and smiles at us, surprised to see Quinn.

  I make the introductions, and Uncle Patrick passes the box of paperwork to Quinn.

  “Here you go. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “Me too,” I reply.

  “Just call if you need anything.”

  He shuts the door, not inviting us inside, which seems a little out of character, but I brush it off. Quinn is a stranger, and we have work to do.

  Once inside Quinn’s sexy car, we don’t have far to go to get to my grandfather’s house.

  “You all live close together,” Quinn says when he pulls into the driveway.

  “Always have,” I agree with a nod. “Our family is superclose. I like living near them
, in case they need me.”

  “I get it,” he says as I unlock the front door. He follows me inside and sets the box down as I flip on lights and take a look around. “I’m close to my family as well.”

  “I came by last night to get the attic cleaned up a bit so we aren’t sitting in dirt.”

  I lead him up the stairs to the second floor, then open a door that leads to another staircase, up to the attic. I turn on the lights and Quinn follows me up the steps.

  “I was always so scared to come up here when I was a kid,” I admit with a chuckle. “Go ahead and set that down anywhere. As you can see, I moved the boxes to the perimeter of the room, so we can sit in the middle and start sifting through them.”

  “Why did it scare you up here?” he asks and crosses to me, brushing a loose piece of hair off my cheek.

  “Spooky attic,” I reply with a shrug, my cheek vibrating from his touch. “Maybe I read too many Goosebumps books as a kid.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything up here that can hurt you.”

  “Well, there could be something in these boxes that could do some damage, but there are no ghosts,” I reply and reach for a box, then sit on the floor and open the lid. “Although, there’s also no air-conditioning up here.”

  “Take off your jacket,” he says as he removes his own, folds it in half, and lays it over an old chair. He loosens his tie, takes that off as well, and unbuttons his shirt, then rolls his sleeves halfway up his forearms. “That’s better.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I clear my throat and look in the box. It’s full of old, musty, yellowed papers.

  “So are you and Patrick close?”

  “Yeah, always have been,” I reply, pulling out receipts from 1952. “Wow, they paid five cents for a loaf of bread. I really need to focus. No reading everything, even though it’s so interesting.”

  “If we get caught up in the price of bread, it’ll take us six months to get through this,” Quinn agrees. “I’d say we’re looking for handwritten notes, since that’s how the original was written. And it could be anywhere, but I’ll focus on files. If your grandfathers were attorneys, there’s a good chance they filed this, especially given the gravity of the matter.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll concentrate on the same, but I will quickly scan each paper to make sure it’s not what we need, and not get focused on the contents otherwise.” I nod decisively and begin to dig. “So, anyway, Uncle Patrick and I have always been close. He’s also an attorney.”

  Quinn just nods and keeps reading through papers.

  “Why?”

  His gaze whips up to mine. “Why what?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I was just curious.”

  He looks down again, and I frown. Rather than question him, I dig back into the box and shift on the floor. I’m hot and uncomfortable, and wishing for cooler clothes.

  “Take your jacket off,” Quinn repeats, not looking up from the paper he’s reading. “You’ll feel better.”

  I sigh, shrug a shoulder, and wrestle my way out of the jacket, then kick my two-inch shoes off for good measure and wiggle my toes.

  Okay, he was right. I do feel better.

  “See?”

  “I’ll bring a fan tomorrow.”

  “Is anyone living here?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t I just carry the boxes downstairs, a few at a time, and we can work at the table where it’s cooler and more comfortable.”

  “They’re heavy.”

  His brown eyes stay on mine, not flinching, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Okay, muscleman, if you want to carry the heavy boxes, who am I to stop you? It will be more comfortable, and I’ll be closer to the coffeepot and fridge when I’m here all by myself and need fuel.”

  “You’ll be here alone?”

  He’s scowling.

  “Of course. You’ll be working during the day on the weekends, and I still have to find my proof. It’s no big deal. I’ve been home alone before. You know, because I’m a grown-up.”

  He rolls his eyes and closes the lid on his finished box, then moves it to the other side of the room under a paper I taped to the wall that says FINISHED.

  He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I need to make a quick call.”

  “Of course.”

  I also put the lid on my box, a bit disappointed that I didn’t find what I needed right away, and reach for another.

  “Hi, Mom. I just wanted to check in. I don’t think I’m going to make it over tonight.” He pauses, listening, a smile hovering over his lips. “Yes, you’re on a Quinn vacation tonight. You’re funny. Are you feeling okay? Good. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Good night.”

  “If you need to go to your mom’s, you don’t have to stay—”

  “I don’t,” he replies, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

  “Are you a mama’s boy?” My voice is taunting, playful. Quinn chuckles, shakes his head, and takes my finished box to join his.

  “No. I do love my mom, though, and my family would say that I’m overprotective. My sister and dad both died in the same year about five years ago, and ever since then I keep a close eye on Mom.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, watching his jaw tighten as he reaches for another box.

  “So I understand being close to your family. I enjoy being around mine.”

  “Do you live close to them?”

  “To Finn, yes. He’s my older brother, and he and I both have condos in Manhattan, not far from the office.”

  Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. Condos in Manhattan are not cheap.

  “Mom and Carter live in Queens.”

  “Who’s Carter?”

  “He’s my brother-in-law. He was married to my sister, and he’s the third partner in our firm.”

  “Any other siblings?” I ask.

  “Nope, it’s just the three of us. Carter and Darcy have a daughter, Gabby, who’s twelve and a handful.”

  “Twelve is the new twenty-five,” I agree with a laugh. “It’s great that you work with your brothers.”

  “We trust one another, and we get along well, so it works for us. Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves, but that’s family for you.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have a sister.”

  “No, I mean, tell me about why you’re a city attorney, and not working with a private firm. You have to know that you could be making much more money.”

  “I know, but that’s not why I do this, you know?”

  He just shakes his head, and I shrug a shoulder. “I’m not a martyr. Of course I work for the money. If I didn’t need money, I’d retire and go live on a beach somewhere. But I also don’t want to be married to the work.

  “You admitted to me that you work seven days a week. I don’t want that, Quinn. I work Monday through Friday, eight to five. There are a few days here and there that I stay a little late, if I’m preparing for court, but for the most part, it’s forty hours a week. I don’t have to count billable hours, accounting for every fifteen minutes of my day. I’m on a decent salary. And in exchange, I can have a life. I paint, I cook, I can be with my family. I honestly don’t know how or why you want to work so hard.”

  “It’s the thrill,” he admits. “I fucking love a courtroom. I will always be a litigator because it makes my heart beat.”

  “Then we’re both doing what we want to do,” I reply with a smile. “I’m not a workaholic, and I’m okay with that. It doesn’t mean that my work ethic isn’t stellar. I work my ass off. But I like having a life outside of it. I need it.”

  “I can see that from your artwork. You’re incredibly talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you ever sold any?”

  “Yes.”

  This seems to surprise him, and I smile as I put the lid on another box that didn’t give me any answers.

  “I’ve even had exhi
bits in some smaller galleries. I can’t keep it all, and my family only has so much wall space.”

  “Good point,” he says, shoving both of our boxes in the finished pile. “I’d like to buy that beach painting, if it’s for sale.”

  “It’s not.” Actually, that’s a lie. It’s totally for sale, but I don’t feel right about selling it to him. “But I’d like to give it to you.”

  “I’m happy to pay for it.”

  “And I’m happy to give it to you,” I repeat, standing and brushing my skirt before slipping my feet into my shoes. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’m done for the night.”

  “That’s fine with me. I’ll take you home.”

  Quinn takes a half-dozen boxes down to the dining room while I turn off the lights, and he waits as I lock the house up, then we drive toward my house. My phone rings in my lap.

  “Ugh, it’s Lou.” I reject the call and drop my phone in my bag.

  “You don’t like him?”

  “It’s a her,” I reply with a smile. “Louise is my sister, and I love her, but I’m mad at her right now.”

  I explain just the surface of our fight, not getting too deep into Louise’s financial issues.

  “So, you know. Family drama.”

  “I do know about family drama,” he replies with a laugh. “You’ll figure it out.”

  He pulls into my driveway and follows me to the door.

  “I’ll get the painting for you.”

  “Sienna, let me pay for it. Really. I don’t want it to be a conflict of interest.”

  I unlock the door, we step inside, and I turn to him. “I saw the way you looked at it. It touched you, and I don’t need to know the reasons why. As an artist, seeing that look on someone’s face when they look at my work, well, it makes me happy. It’ll have a good home, and that’s not a conflict of interest. It’s being a nice human being, giving my art to another human being who appreciates it.”

  He reaches up and brushes his thumb over my cheek, and I won’t even begin to list all the ways I am feeling like this is a conflict of interest with the way my libido is in overdrive whenever I’m with him.

  “You had some dust here.”

  “Dusty attic,” I whisper, then pull away. “I’ll be right back.”