Free Men Like This by Roxanne Smith Page A

didn’t equal lonely in any book he’d ever read. He had no right to the envy swirling through his gut, especially considering his own circumstances, but there was no help for it. Quinnie had been his little secret treasure. Practically, he accepted the likelihood she’d remarried by now. Or at least met someone.
    On the inside, he rejected this idea. Instead, he opted to imagine her in a constant state of pining for her lost Irishman.
    He ought to have been a comedian. “There’s a Nicholas, eh?”
    She smiled tightly and shook her head. He’d seen it coming. God have mercy on anyone ever tasked with interrogating Quinn Buzzly. She didn’t keep her cards close to the vest so much as duct-taped inside a zipped pocket with a combination lock.
    “Your turn. Home on business or pleasure?”
    “Can’t it be a pleasure to do business? Both, actually, although, it’s a bit of a secret.” His stomach clenched, but he had to tell her. The guilt wouldn’t go away until he did. It was the most absurd thing in the world because he hadn’t done anything wrong.
    He rubbed his hands together and leaned in close. “Since we’re besties, I’ll tell you, but you must keep it a secret.”
    “You mean I can’t share the big news with the two gentlemen outside?”
    “Exactly.”
    “I can probably contain myself.”
    Jack inhaled dramatically and closed his eyes. “I’m getting married.”
    His eyes popped open to take in Quinn’s reaction. What did he hope to see? Regret? Jealousy?
    She appeared surprised and a big grin brightened her entire face. “Congratulations! That’s great.”
    It was the proper reaction but knowing that did nothing to soften his sense of deflation. He wanted her to care or give some sign it mattered. A stricken look, the smallest frown, a sad gaze, but she had only her sincerest felicitations to offer him.
    “Thank you. I’m here for a month and then it’s off to Portugal. Two months into filming, I’ll take leave for the wedding. It’ll be a quick honeymoon, but waiting till the film wrapped didn’t suit her.” He went on to tell her about Vickie Lana, Venezuelan actress and model, who’d initially reminded him of Quinn with her long, shiny blond hair. Though, Vickie’s particular shade ran more toward wax-crayon yellow. “We met on the set. It happened rather fast. The rest is history, I suppose.”
    History as written by a female, at any rate. Vickie was a woman who got her way. She embodied the definition of dynamo, both on set and off, determined and confident. He hadn’t stood a chance against the vivacious blonde once she’d set her sights on him, and he’d gone willingly. Holding out for Quinn after their one-night stand in Hollywood was a fool’s fate.
    Yet here she sat. Less than a yard away. It was enough to make a man question the fate he claimed such adamant advocacy of, but Jack didn’t dare. He feared he couldn’t afford the answers.
    “Now you can tell me about this Nicholas fellow.” He smoothly brought back the subject she’d attempted to drop. He lacked the superpower to go back in time to Hollywood and convince her to give him a chance but had the power to torture her here and now. “Oh, and how’s Richard? Still beating him off with a stick? Or does Nicholas handle verbal beat downs for you these days?”
    Her eyes darted away. “Richard is long gone.”
    She didn’t elaborate any further, but Jack had an uncanny intuition in his corner, a gift from his sixth-generation, full-blooded Irish mother. Quinn’s delightfully easy-to-read expression let him ferret out the goods with little effort.
    “You fired him? Good for you, Quinnie, good for you.” He applauded quietly, something of a golf clap. “Brilliant. Inspired. Is Nicholas your new Richard? No, no. Boyfriend? Boy toy? Sugar daddy? Long-lost uncle? I shared some top-shelf intel with you. The least you can do in return is fill me in on this Nicholas bloke.”
    She chewed her bottom lip and