The Romance Report

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

To: Randall Kent

From: Quinn Daniels

Subject: Change in Restaurant Review

Randall,

Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was unable to review Marlowe’s Restaurant. I apologize for the delay. I plan to review Gryphon’s this evening and I will have the review in your inbox for approval by 8 a.m. Friday morning. Again, I apologize for the delay.

Quinn

To: Quinn Daniels

From: Randall Kent

Subject: Re: Change in Restaurant Review

Quinn,

Let’s talk about this. Come see me in my office today at 2 p.m.

Randall

Quinn strolled through the glass door announcing in discreet black letters Kent Publications, Inc. at a few minutes before 2 p.m. Ginger, the chic brunette who manned the front desk and guarded Randall Kent’s office like Quinn’s cat guarded her toy mouse, was talking on the phone. Ginger wiggled her French-tipped fingers to Quinn and mouthed, “Go on in.”

Quinn stuck her head into Randall’s office. Randall sat frowning at his laptop. He looked up, scowled and motioned for her to have a seat.

“So, Randall, I’m sorry about dropping the ball on the Marlowe’s review. Something came up and honestly, is Italian-Caribbean fusion a trend we want to promote? It might appear like we’re jumping on whatever food trend is hot for the moment, but if it lasts less than six months, it lessens our credibility. A review of Gryphon’s would be a better tie-in to the entertainment piece that Brian’s writing about the remodeled theater on the same block,” Quinn said hurriedly. “I promise you I can review Gryphon’s and have the article to you by tomorrow morning.”

“Something came up? Would you care to elaborate on what that might have been? Say perhaps an arrest for disturbing the peace, simple assault, destruction of property…this is according to my contacts in the police department. Shall I continue?” Randall asked in a tight voice. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and fixed Quinn with a glare.

Quinn gulped. She wouldn’t finagle herself out of this one. She came clean. “My mother insisted I go on a date with the son of a family friend. He was a complete a*s and threw pasta all over me. I lost my temper. I didn’t mean to bean the guy in the head with my shoe. It was an accident.”

“An accident is spilling a glass of wine. An accident is hitting the rear end of the car in front of you. An accident is not picking up a shoe and assaulting someone in the middle of a crowded restaurant and having a video of it blasted across social media!” Randall’s rose in volume until the glass shook in the window behind him.

“Wait,” Quinn said, “there’s a video?”

“Yes!” Randall snarled and spun his laptop around for her. “A couple was celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary last night. Their kids were shooting video with their phones of their dad giving his wife an anniversary band. Imagine how thrilled they were to capture you screaming like a banshee with a shrimp hanging off your ear in the background.” He punched a key with his finger and the video played.

Quinn felt her stomach sink into her ankles. She should have stood up to her mother and said no to the date with Tad. She watched in horror as the events of the previous evening played on the screen. The budding filmmakers had even gone so far as to add special effects to the final scene. Quinn’s Prada heel bounced repeatedly off the bald head of the man with the comic book style “Kapow!” emblazoned on the screen with each ricochet.

“Crap,” Quinn said in a small voice. She sank down in her chair.

“Crap is right. A heap of crap is what you’ve tossed my good name in with your behavior. Not only did I get an angry phone call from Todd Marlowe demanding Under the Radar write a public apology and a glowing review, but the man you hit with the shoe is none other than the brother of the mayor. Fortunately for you, he decided not to press charges. I also managed to convince the police to drop the matter. Unfortunately for you, you’re out of a job and a career because I’ll be damned if I give you a reference. I don’t care if your uncle is the chef to the president himself, you’re finished. I’m not going to have my magazine’s reputation smeared by the juvenile antics of a self-indulged spoiled brat throwing a temper tantrum. Now get out of my office!”

“But…” Quinn started to protest that it wasn’t her fault, but the fury she saw on Randall’s face stopped her cold. She slunk quietly out of his office and slipped past Ginger without a glance. It wasn’t until she made her way out of the building did she allow the tears to fall. She leaned back against the cool granite and gulped in fresh air in an attempt to calm herself. Wiping her eyes, Quinn took another shuddering breath and slipped sunglasses out of her bag and put them on to hide behind the dark lenses.

“Quinnie, crying isn’t going to turn that spilt milk into butter, so put your big girl panties on and get over it,” Quinn said in her best imitation of her Grandma Rose’s Irish brogue.

She straightened up and whistled at a passing taxi. She asked the driver to take her to her brownstone on Franklin. As the cab pulled away from the curb and whipped into the heavy traffic of Broad Street, Quinn realized this might be the last taxi she could afford in the foreseeable future. She imagined the small sum in her savings account dwindling to zero without the steady paycheck Kent Publications provided. Her small dating disaster of the night before mushroomed into a hurricane of destruction with each passing block. Rent. Utilities. Cat food for her cat, Fat Panther. People food. She needed a job and she needed one quick.

“You know what? Just drop me off here. I’ll walk the rest of the way,” Quinn instructed the driver. She handed him the fare and felt like a loser giving him a fifty cent tip. “Sorry about the tip. I got fired a little while ago. I can’t find a decent guy and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up and…” She stifled a sob.

The driver handed her back her fare. “This rides on me, honey. I’ve been in some tight spots myself.”

Quinn felt a fresh set of tears form at the sight of the man’s friendly smile. “Thank you. I promise I’ll find you once I get a job and give you the biggest tip ever.”

“I’m sure you will. The name’s Saul. You get in a bind, you call dispatch and ask for me. I’ve got a daughter about your age. I’d like to believe someone is looking out for her as she makes her way out into the world. Now get back in and let me take you the rest of the way home.”