Chapter 6: Goodbye, CEO—Hello, Us

I was so focused on his arm, I didn’t notice the man in a suit standing nearby. He cleared his throat, and I jumped.

He looked at me like I’d just betrayed him in front of the whole world. I gave you my heart, and you serve me jalapeños? I wanted to say, “Sorry, spicy food’s my thing now.”

“Quinn!” The CEO stormed over, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His tie was crooked, hair a mess.

“You found someone new right after we broke up?” He spat the words like they tasted bitter.

“You planned this, didn’t you? What does he have that made you dump me?” He pointed at Tyler, voice cracking.

After months, hearing his voice again, I instinctively looked up and met his red eyes. His eyes were wild, desperate. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

If Tyler hadn’t been holding me, he might’ve tried some melodramatic move. I braced myself, just in case.

I ignored his anger and smiled. “Godbrother!” I waved, voice syrupy sweet.

“Are you here alone? My godmother didn’t come?” I looked around, pretending to search the crowd.

He frowned in confusion. “Quinn, stop calling me that. And I don’t know your godmother.” He looked genuinely lost. I almost laughed.

I snorted. “How could you not know her?” I pulled out my phone, dialing with a flourish.

I FaceTimed my godmother. She answered quickly, beaming. “Sweetie, what’s up? No need to send me anything, Karen handles it all. Do you have enough money? Want me to send you more?” Her background was a penthouse skyline, the city glittering behind her.

I smiled. “Thanks, godmother. I have enough. Montana’s huckleberry pie is amazing—I’ll send you some.” I gave her my best smile, knowing she loved updates.

The CEO’s face went from blank to shocked to grim. “Mom?” He gaped, jaw dropping.

Mrs. Whitmore: “Who’s that talking? Sounds familiar.” She squinted at the screen, adjusting her glasses.

I turned the camera. Mrs. Whitmore’s tone changed instantly. “Aidan Whitmore! Weren’t you supposed to be studying abroad? Why are you in Montana? Who are you with? Is that little drama queen?” She rattled off questions like an auctioneer. Aidan shrank back.

Aidan protested, “Mom! She’s not a drama queen. She has a name—Blair Monroe!” He pouted, glancing at Blair for backup.

“Aidan, if you don’t get on that plane, I’ll come drag you myself!” Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

“I don’t want to go abroad, Mom! I want to stay with Blair—she’ll die without me!” He looked desperate, clutching Blair’s hand.

“Nonsense! I gave her five hundred grand, she was grinning ear to ear!” Mrs. Whitmore took a deep breath. “You’d better get out of here, or else!” She glared at him through the screen, daring him to argue.

Aidan’s eyes were red. “You’re always forcing me! Quinn, did you leave because my mom paid you?” He looked at me, voice cracking.

Mrs. Whitmore snapped, “You think girls like you? I know you were flirting with Blair while dating Quinn. Jerk!” She rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“Give the phone to Quinn!” she practically shouted. I took the phone back and stepped aside.

I lifted the phone and walked a few steps away. “Godmother.”

She sighed. “I knew about you two in high school. I knew Aidan was fickle—you even tutored him...” Her voice softened, almost motherly.

“I gave you money, not to insult you, but because Aidan isn’t good enough. You deserve better.” She sounded almost sad, like she wished things were different.

“If you can, help me get Aidan to go abroad.” She pleaded, voice dropping to a whisper.

I glanced at the furious Aidan. “Well...” I chewed my lip, thinking fast.

“I’ll give you eighty grand for pocket money.” She said it like she was offering me a scholarship.

“Godmother, what are you saying? We’re family! Aidan’s my little brother.” I flashed a big smile. “I’ll let you know.” I winked, trying to lighten the mood.

We chatted a bit more before she hung up, relieved. She promised to send pie recipes, and I promised to call more often.

I sent Blair Monroe five grand as a deposit. She soon contacted Aidan. Whatever she said, the next day Mrs. Whitmore called me. “Sweetie, you’re amazing! He called me today asking for a plane ticket—he’s finally leaving!” Her voice was so happy, I could hear her pacing her office in excitement.

“Eighty grand isn’t enough. I’ll send you more. You’re a young woman out there—eat well, dress well, get a place if you need. I’ll reimburse you.” She sounded just like my own mom, fussing over every detail.

“You’re the best—so smart and capable, just like I was!” She laughed, proud.

I said humbly, “I can’t compare to you, godmother.” I meant it, but she just waved me off.

Mrs. Whitmore built a business empire, but her son just made her want to scream every night about whatever genes he inherited. She muttered something about DNA, and I stifled a laugh.

A message popped up—Blair said it was done. She sent a thumbs-up emoji. I replied with a heart.

I replied “okay,” then told Mrs. Whitmore, “We have a class meeting, gotta go.” I slipped out, phone buzzing with new deposits.

“Alright,” she smiled and hung up. Her goodbye was warm, like a real mom’s.

A second later, the bank notified me Mrs. Whitmore sent a hundred grand. I stared at the notification, mouth open. Annalise peeked over my shoulder, whistling.

I sent Blair thirty grand. She replied with an ‘ok’ gesture. I sent a GIF in return—a dancing avocado.

I locked my phone and picked up The Art of War. I smoothed the cover, ready for my next move.

Where was I? Ah, here.