Emergency Engagement. Michele Dunaway
slightly. Quinton forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.
“You shouldn’t be stripping. You have a child. You have a moral example to set.”
“Oh thank you for that lecture, Mr. Moral Majority. How dare you accuse me of being a bad parent!”
He hadn’t thought so in the ER. There, her love and tenderness for her child had impressed him. Seeing this side to her tarnished that earlier image and he lashed out.
“In two weeks I’ve observed two examples of your unfit parenting! Your little girl gets into your purse and eats medicine, and then I find you at a bachelor party shucking your clothes. That’s pretty cut-and-dried to me, lady.”
“You’re a jerk and I’d never be your lady! Hell, I wouldn’t even want to be your sister.”
“That’s good. My sister’s a lawyer and getting married to a banker in four weeks. I doubt Shelby’s ever taken off her clothes before multiple men in her life.”
“‘Ye who are sinless toss the first stone,’” Beth said.
“I will,” Quinton replied, then snapped, “Where do you live?”
She rattled off an address. His eyebrows rose and he glanced at her. “You must do well. Pretty high-end, isn’t it?”
Bitterness etched her features. “So high-end they’re converting to condos and tossing out all the trash like me. And thanks to your interference tonight, I won’t have the money to afford a security deposit for something else.”
“Maybe you should get a real job.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.”
He should. He shouldn’t care, but the objectivity he had cultivated his whole life had fled. “I did once already. I could have hotlined your daughter’s drug ingestion. Gotten Social Services on your tail. Hell, if I’d known you stripped for a living I would have.”
“I don’t strip for a living. I have a job!”
“You have a real job?” Even he heard how sharp he sounded, but he couldn’t contain himself. “So tell me about your real job. Convince me why I shouldn’t call Social Services anyway.”
“You double-standard…uh! You think you’re so high and mighty being a doctor and all, and there you were at a bachelor party! How many drinks did you have? Maybe I should flag down a cop. Have you tested for DWI.”
“You do that.” The effects of alcohol had fled and Quinton knew he was well below the legal limit. He never even would have considered driving otherwise. To his satisfaction, she settled against the leather seat with a thump. “Didn’t think so.”
“I realized it would mean more time in your undesired presence.” Her voice, although lowered in volume, still had an edge to it.
Despite himself, he grinned. “Touché.”
He parked the car by the curb outside her apartment building, right next to a sign announcing that the building was ninety-percent sold. She hadn’t been lying about it being converted to condos, pricey ones at that.
“I’ll walk you up so that no one sees you. Your neighbors don’t know of your occupation, do they?”
Beth’s blue eyes flashed as she held her temper in check. “For the last time, I am not a stripper. This was a one-time job that a friend arranged. I would have received five hundred plus any tips or bonuses.” Defeat filled her voice. “You’ve messed everything up.”
She stormed ahead of him, and he noted that the outer door wasn’t locked. Not a very secure building. He followed her up to the second floor, and when she began to open her apartment door, the neighboring one opened. An elderly lady stuck her head out.
“Hi, Beth. You’re home early.”
“Yes,” Beth said. She kept her back to Quinton as she spoke to the woman.
“Well, Carly’s fast asleep. Why don’t you just leave her until morning? Oh. That annoying Mr. Anderson came by tonight and dropped an official-looking letter under your door.”
“Great.” Beth threw her hands up into the air. “I asked him for more time, at least until the end of the month. Obviously not.”
The neighbor looked sympathetic. “I told you that I’d store your stuff for you and that you can stay with me for a while. I told you I’d help you out any way I can.”
“No. That’s really sweet of you, but I can’t. Really.”
“Beth…”
“How about we talk about this tomorrow, when I get Carly?” Beth glanced at Quinton, and the elderly lady’s eyes radiated understanding.
“Okay, dear.” The woman closed her door.
As Beth opened her front door, Quinton glimpsed an envelope on the floor. As she stooped to grab it, impulse made him lean forward and snatch it first.
“Give me that!”
He held it up out of her reach. “I will when you tell me what’s in it. The papers your neighbor mentioned?”
“Of course you would be the type to listen to other people’s conversations. Yes, as a matter of fact, they’re my eviction papers. Now, you’ve done more than enough tonight. Hand me that and go away. Please.”
She held out her hand and Quinton reluctantly placed the envelope in her outstretched fingers. She pressed it to her chest as if afraid he might change his mind.
“How long do you have?” he asked.
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“How long?”
She shifted her weight to the other foot. “By noon Tuesday.”
Could a landlord do that? “That’s only three more days.”
“Impressive. You can do math and yes, this is my final notice. He’s been extending when I have to leave. I guess he just got tired of helping me this time.” Beth tapped her foot impatiently. “Now that your curiosity is satisfied, just go.”
As she stepped inside the apartment, Quinton had a raw need to make everything better somehow. He shook his head vigorously. She was not his charity case. She’d been stripping at a bachelor party, for goodness’ sake!
“Good night,” she said.
And with that, she shut the door firmly in his face.
Quinton stared at the closed door. Was she peering through the peephole to see if he was still there? He turned and walked away. Once, as his foot hit the step before the lower landing, he paused and thought about going back up. But what he would say or do when he banged on her door? Apologize? For what? Interfering? No, the best thing for him to do was to walk out of Beth’s life and regain his detached professionalism and leave her an aberration of his past.
“ARE YOU SURE you don’t have anything?” Beth demanded.
The woman behind the desk smiled sympathetically. “Not for a mother and a small child. Try the Adams Center down the street. Being the start of winter, we’re full, but I’ve placed you on the waiting list. You’re number three.”
Beth stood and began the five-block walk back toward Luie’s Deli. Number three on the waiting list wasn’t good enough; she needed to be number one. And she’d already tried other shelters, but because Chicago had just had its first real cold snap, everything was full. Some new year she was having. Tomorrow Mr. Anderson would change the locks and anything left in the apartment would be tossed out with the garbage.
One month’s rent was enough to avoid going to the shelter, and she had that saved. But without the security deposit, she’d had to pass on the apartment she’d found. Damn that interfering Dr. Quinton Searle!
“Hey,