Just Say Yes

Book 2: A Strictly Business Novel

by Elizabeth Hayley

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

From the author of The Best Medicine comes the latest Strictly Business novel—and this time, for one woman, finding the ideal man can be a pretty tall order…
 
Magazine columnist Quinn Sawyer has always attracted sweet, innocent, and safe men. And something tells her it’s because she’s just as harmless. So when she starts craving a guy with an edge, she realizes she may have to get one for herself.
 
When her boss asks for a unique pitch, Quinn’s quest to live outside her comfort zone prompts her to suggest an idea that will cause her to break her good-girl rules. And who better than Tim Jacobs to help her push her boundaries? For a while now, Quinn’s had a hot crush on the tattooed executive chef with a checkered past. If anybody can bring out her inner rebel, he can.
 
It’s no surprise that as Tim and Quinn cross each task off the list she’s made for herself, the sparks between them grow more and more intense. Soon there’s no denying the attraction they each feel. But Tim’s troubled past reveals an even tougher edge than Quinn expected—which means for her, falling in love might just be the greatest rebellion of all.

Release date: December 1, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

Praise

Also by Elizabeth Hayley

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Acknowledgments

Excerpt from The Wedding Agreement

About the Author

Chapter 1

Slow Simmer

Quinn popped a guacamole-covered chip into her mouth and looked up at the man seated across from her. “I love Mexican food, and I didn’t even realize this place was here.” There were plenty of Mexican restaurants in the area, but she didn’t know of any that felt as authentic as the one she currently found herself in. The intimate space was dimly lit, with small wooden tables and colorful murals decorating two of the walls. The short, plump woman who had seated them had introduced herself in a thick accent as the owner. Quinn also noticed that some of the entrees came with a complimentary shot of tequila—which was a nice touch, though she had chosen to order a dish without one because she didn’t think having any more alcohol would be the wisest decision. She’d been sitting there with Jeremy for only a little more than twenty minutes and had already drunk half her margarita—which the restaurant served in something that resembled a small mixing bowl with a glass stem. She was sure she’d feel buzzed after just one. And she didn’t want to make a poor first impression, or worse yet, have absolutely no recollection of the night. She knew the girls would want the details when they met for lunch the next day. “Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

Jeremy took a sip of his beer before answering. “No. I’ve never eaten here. Why?” He furrowed his brow a bit, looking as though her question threw him, though Quinn wasn’t sure why.

“You were quick to pick this restaurant, so I just figured you liked the place.”

“Actually, I review restaurants, and this was the next one on my list. I’ve heard good things about it, so I figured we’d give it a try.”

Quinn smiled, relieved that they’d found common ground so quickly. “Do you review for a local paper or a magazine? I’m actually a writer myself.” When Jeremy had approached Quinn at a coffee shop near her office, they hadn’t really shared many details about themselves. He was cute and seemed normal, so when he’d asked her out, she’d agreed.

His eyes lit up. “Oh, I don’t get paid to do it. It’s sort of a hobby.” He removed his phone from his pocket and typed in his code before clicking on a few things and angling it toward Quinn so she could see the screen. “I review them on Twitter.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “EatandTweet?” Quinn asked, referring to his Twitter handle.

“Yeah, pretty cool, huh? I give each one a rating and a hundred-and-forty-character review. This last one got three forks. See?” he said, pointing to the silverware emojis. Clearly, Jeremy had mistaken Quinn’s shock for excitement. “I’m up to almost two hundred and seventy followers.”

That seems like way too many. “I see that.”

Jeremy laughed. “To pee or not to pee?” he said, quoting his last tweet with amusement as he opened up a picture he’d taken of the restaurant restroom. “Clever, right? That bathroom was disgusting.” Jeremy inched his chair closer to the table, clearly excited to share his hobby with someone. “The embarrassing part is that my mom was the one who came up with the idea. I critique her cooking every night—”

That’s not the only embarrassing part. “Wait—every night?” Does he still live at home?

“Well, other than the nights I have band practice.”

“Oh,” Quinn said, eager to discuss something else. “You’re in a band? What do you play?” Though she didn’t usually go for guys in bands, she couldn’t deny the appeal of a musician. Trying to make it in the music industry would help her overlook the fact that he probably slept on a futon in his parents’ basement.

Jeremy brushed a few errant strands of light brown hair away from his eyes. “Oh no. I’m not in a band. I’m the band director at a middle school in D.C. We have a pretty impressive woodwind section, given that I used to play the clarinet.”

And with that, all hope of salvaging the date was lost. Quinn couldn’t deny that he was good-looking. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and lips that begged to be kissed. And for a moment she actually considered it if only for the sheer fact that it would prevent him from saying anything else that negated his handsome features.

Thankfully, Quinn had to hear about Jeremy’s latest band competition for only a minute or so before the waitress arrived with their food. “Chicken mole,” she said, placing the plate in front of Quinn. Then she gave the other to Jeremy. “And beef enchiladas. Can I get you anything else?”

Jeremy lifted up his Heineken and wiggled it back and forth to show it was nearly empty. “I’ll take another Hiney when you get a minute.”

Another Hiney?

Quinn saw the waitress trying to suppress a smirk. “Another beer coming right up. Anything for you, miss?”

Yeah, a shovel so I can bury what’s left of my sex drive. Beginning to rethink her original vow to remain relatively sober, Quinn considered ordering another drink. The only thing as painful as having to experience this disaster was having to remember it. But ultimately she decided against a refill. Because there was one thing worse than remembering this date: agreeing to another one. And she didn’t trust an alcohol-hazed mind to make sure that didn’t happen. No, she just needed to finish dinner and then get out of there as quickly as possible. “No, thanks,” Quinn answered with a polite smile.

The two spent the next few minutes eating and engaging in forced conversation. Well, it was forced on Quinn’s end at least. Jeremy, on the other hand, seemed to be having a good time. He asked her about her chicken—whether it was too dry, whether the sauce was the right amount of sweet and spicy. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain as he composed pieces of his review in his head while they spoke. He even offered to get her something else if she didn’t like her meal. Thankfully, her dinner was good, saving her the embarrassment of Jeremy sending it back. Though she had to admit the offer was sweet.

Jeremy asked her about her family, job, and hobbies. And Quinn politely did the same. That is, until they were interrupted by a deep, booming voice singing in Spanish. Quinn looked to her right to see the owner approaching them as she belted out “Feliz Cumpleaños” in an operatic solo. The rest of the diners focused their eyes on Quinn and Jeremy as the owner set a slice of cake in front of Quinn. She hated being the center of attention, especially when she wasn’t expecting it. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide. But instead she widened her eyes at Jeremy before turning to the owner. “I’m sorry. It’s not—”

“Of course it’s necessary,” Jeremy interrupted.

“I was going to say ‘my birthday.’” Quinn had lowered her voice, though she wasn’t sure why. There was no way the woman could hear their conversation over the sound of her own singing.

“I know. It was last week though, right? I looked it up on Facebook.”

Goddamn social media. Realizing that the serenade would end only when the song lyrics did, Quinn collapsed her face into her hands. She could feel the warmth coming from her cheeks. She was sure they were nearly as red as her hair.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jeremy said sympathetically, “I’d heard that the owner is a phenomenal singer. Singing Spanish opera to the customers is kind of her . . . thing. I wanted a reason to hear her so I could include it in my tweet. You’re doing me a favor really.”

It didn’t make Quinn feel any better. And she couldn’t help but feel bad that she had no interest in Jeremy. Despite his gentle eyes and sweet nature, he just wasn’t for her. And Quinn couldn’t help but worry that no one else seemed to be for her either.

•   •   •

The rest of the girls were already seated around the table at Panera when Quinn arrived for lunch on Sunday. “We said one thirty, right?” Quinn asked, double-checking her watch. It was one twenty-eight. She wasn’t late, but the group already had their meals in front of them.

“Yeah, we got here a few minutes early,” Cass replied. “Guess we were all eager to hear the deets of your hot date.”

Quinn set down her French onion soup and salad and took a seat across from Lauren and Simone. “Not sure that date would qualify as ‘hot’—unless you’re counting the green salsa. Of course, if you follow Jeremy on Twitter, you probably already knew about the salsa.”

She anticipated the confused stares on the girls’ faces. “You heard me right. The guy tweets reviews of restaurants like he’s Zagat. It’s his ‘hobby,’” Quinn said, adding air quotes for emphasis.

The girls all tried to rein in their laughter.

“I think it’s creative,” Lauren chimed in.

Quinn glared at her. “Surprisingly, so do two hundred and sixty-eight other people.” She broke off a chunk of her bread and dipped it into her soup. “Hmm, I wonder how many forks he’d rate this fine meal.”

“Stop,” Simone said, dragging out the word as if she felt bad for Jeremy. “You said he was cute, right?”

Quinn swept her deep red hair around to rest on her left shoulder and sat back in her chair. “Yeah. Kind of like a three-legged dog. You can’t help but think it’s cute because you feel so sorry for it.”

Quinn felt an elbow dig into her arm, courtesy of Cass. “Don’t be mean. It doesn’t suit you.”

“He’s twenty-eight and still lives with his parents, Cass. And he spent most of dinner telling me about how the middle school band he directs came in second in their latest competition because he thinks one of the boys from another school stole the reeds to the clarinets so they couldn’t practice beforehand. We had nothing in common. I seriously contemplated telling a story that began This one time at band camp just so I had something to contribute to the conversation.” Quinn huffed. “I’m not trying to be mean to him. I’m just . . . I don’t know.”

“I meant don’t be mean to the three-legged dogs of the world. They have it rough,” Cassidy deadpanned. “This guy sounds like a complete tool. And that was a missed opportunity if you didn’t tell him you masturbated with a musical instrument. That movie’s classic.”

Quinn ignored Cass and released a heavy sigh. “Okay, enough about my nightmare of a dating life. What’s going on with you girls?”

Cass perked up. “I just might have a story to rival yours, Quinn. I was talking to Alex the other day, and he—”

“Since when do you talk to Alex?” Simone questioned.

“What do you mean? I talk to him all the time. We’re friends.”

“God, you want on his dick so bad,” Simone quipped as she plopped a chip in her mouth.

Cass at least had the forethought to act appalled. “I do not!” She looked around at the three unconvinced faces staring at her. “We are friends. He has enough family drama going on his life to warrant a Lifetime movie. I don’t have any room in my life for that mess beyond a phone call here and there.”

Quinn didn’t have to sneak a glance at the other girls to know they weren’t buying Cass’ story either. But none of them called her on it. That’s what good friends did: let you stew in your own denial for as long as you needed to fester there.

“Anyway,” Cass continued. “He went on a date with some chick last weekend. It was a fucking disaster.” She snickered as she took a sip of her lemonade.

“What happened?” Lauren asked. “I’m surprised Scott hasn’t told me about it.”

“Maybe they haven’t talked yet. Who knows? Boys are weird. I mean, if you can’t tell your embarrassing life stories to your best friends, who can you tell?”

Quinn propped her elbow on the table and dropped her chin onto her hand. “Are we going to hear a story sometime soon?”

“I’m getting there. God, you’re so touchy when you haven’t gotten laid recently.”

Quinn stuck her tongue out at Cass, which she ignored and continued on. “So Alex was superexcited about his date with this girl. Heather, I think her name was. He met her at the gym, and he said they totally hit it off. He asked her out and suggested they go to that nice new Italian restaurant that opened over on Broad Street. But she wasn’t having it. She suggested they go to Blue Wave, that new age hippie joint where wheat germ is the ingredient of choice.” Cass’ lips quirked. “Maybe we can ask Jeremy if he’s reviewed it yet.”

“Go to hell,” Quinn quipped.

Cass suppressed her smile. “He should’ve known the date was a bad idea then. But being the nice guy he is, he went. She even insisted she pick him up. In her electric car. She proceeded to talk the entire time about solving world hunger and tried to convince him to become a vegan. Poor Alex. He really knows how to pick ’em.”

Quinn couldn’t help but feel a pang in the center of her stomach. I seem to really know how to pick ’em too. “What do you mean?”

Cass swallowed a bite of sandwich before answering. “He always ends up with these nightmares.” Cass shook her head. “I dunno. I think all the drama with his ex is really doing a number on him, so he convinced himself that he has a certain type. But that type is boring as hell. He needs to stop taking the safe road and look for someone who will challenge him. Someone with a little edge to her. Sure, the guy’s strung tighter than piano wire and has got to loosen up, but he also needs someone who can keep up with his freaky intellect.”

Cass kept speaking, but Quinn wasn’t listening anymore. Alex’s story was hitting a little close to home. Is that what my problem is? Have I pigeonholed myself into a type I’m not even all that into? Quinn thought back over the guys she’d dated the past couple years. They’d all had that boy-next-door charm. The problem was, Quinn didn’t want a boy. She wanted a man. Someone who had a career that was going somewhere, who could afford his own apartment but still knew the importance of watching a ball game or grabbing a beer after work with her. She wanted someone she could grow with, rather than have to raise like a man-child. There were only two problems: Why the hell hadn’t she figured all of this out before, and where the hell did she find a guy like that?

Chapter 2

The Pitch

Quinn had been replaying her lunch with the girls the previous day. And it had caused her to come to a startling discovery: her life was boring.

But I’m not boring. Am I?

Granted, she was bored at that particular moment as she waited for her meeting to start. When she’d accepted the job at Estelle magazine in D.C., Quinn had thought she was taking a giant leap into the big time. But what she’d really stepped into was a hostile work environment where she was basically a glorified lackey. Every day for the past five months she’d ridden the elevator to the twenty-sixth floor of the thirty-four-story building in the business district with the hope that they’d actually let her write something worthwhile that day. And every day she rode back down with her hope cowering in a corner like an agoraphobic at a One Direction concert.

The unfulfilling job, her nonexistent love life, and yesterday’s conversation with her best friends made her realize that she was a naive idiot stuck in the rut of playing it safe and made her want to claw out of her own skin. Like a werewolf. Werewolves are dangerous. Well, except for the ones in Twilight. Quinn shook her head, chastising her inner child for proving her own point. She really was lame. What twenty-seven-year-old career woman read Twilight? A boring, safe, immature one, that’s who.

Quinn clutched her notebook to her chest as she bit her thumbnail when Rita Davenport, editor in chief of Estelle, stormed in. “So, what have you got for me?” she demanded. No “Hey, how ya doing?” No idle chitchat, no warm looks or pleasant body language. Rita was all firm lines and cantankerous words.

Everyone in the room snuck glances at one another. Quinn was surprised she was actually allowed in these meetings, which her coworkers had dubbed the Dance with the Devil because that’s exactly what they were. The writers did their best to make mundane stories seem interesting to Rita, hoping she wouldn’t flay them alive. Quinn rarely said a word since she was firmly cemented in no-man’s-land, also known as retractions and clarifications. She had inherited the distinct pleasure of addressing the feedback from readers, and the occasional lawyer threat, about what their magazine had screwed up in the previous month’s issue. She had also written a few small stories for their Web site, mostly local human-interest pieces that no one read but made the magazine seem like it gave a shit about people.

Estelle magazine’s core demographic was women in the twenty to forty-five age bracket. And judging by the things that made it into the monthly publication, most women in that age range were vain, sex-crazed corporate climbers who would drain the blood from virgins and inject it with a syringe found in a crack den if they thought it would take a wrinkle off their foreheads. Quinn couldn’t relate, and usually she was proud of that fact. But after obsessing about her date and why she always ended up with dorky mama’s boys, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she was going about life all wrong. Maybe one had to be a little ruthless, a tad careless, and somewhat spontaneous in order to be happy. Because if there was one thing Quinn was sure of, it was that she wasn’t happy.

“Really? Are you all suddenly mute? Let’s go. Give me something.”

Claire, a cute blond woman who had worked for the magazine for going on five years—a near record—cleared her throat. “I was thinking about doing a piece on the new female district attorney who’s doing really great things to clean up the streets of D.C.”

Rita looked at her like Claire had suggested an article on athlete’s foot. “Boring. Next.”

Tyler was next to speak up. He was as awesome as he was gay, and out of everyone in the room, he was Quinn’s favorite. “What about a how-to on the different ways to tie scarves?”

Rita turned down the corner of her upper lip in disgust. “This is for the September issue, Tyler. I doubt people are going to be into reading about scarves while they swelter in the oppressive D.C. heat. Can anyone make sense today?”

Lucy, a twentysomething with blue hair, was the next to speak. “How about a makeup comparison? We can ask a few of our interns to try out different products and rate them.”

“We do that every summer. It’s unoriginal and safe. I want the September issue to be . . . edgier. More dynamic. Think, people.”

The word “edgier” made Quinn retreat back into her brain. She could be edgy if she wanted to be. As Rita continued to verbally condemn people’s ideas with words like “childish,” “dull,” and “conventional,” Quinn couldn’t help but apply every one of them to her life. She suddenly felt suffocated by all the things she’d never experienced because they were wrong, or against the rules, or dangerous. There was a whole world outside the confines of the office they all sat in. Its vibrant walls and trendy furniture made them feel hip when they were really just geeky posers who were able to string words together better than the average person. Suddenly, Quinn had an overwhelming need to feel deserving of the fuchsia Barcelona chair she was in. She wanted to belong in an office that had bright orange and lime green walls. A prudent, respectable girl didn’t belong here. A badass did. “I have an idea.”

Everyone’s eyes swung to her, probably as shocked as she was to hear her voice.

“Well?” Rita said impatiently.

“I, um, was thinking that, um . . .” Quinn took a deep breath and organized her thoughts. Rita would never agree to the pitch Quinn was about to make if she couldn’t even get it out. “We should do a lifestyle column that focuses on doing things that people always wish they’d done but never actually had the guts to do.”

Rita was silent for a beat as she seemed to turn the idea over in her head. “Like what?”

“Like, uh, like . . .” Quinn hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Asking a stranger out on a date . . . breaking a law . . . things like that.”

Everyone in the room was silent as they watched Rita think the pitch over. “I like it. You have until the end of July. Since everyone here seems to work at a snail’s pace, it should give you plenty of time to discover yourself before we need to go to print.”

“Wait—you want me to write it?”

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but—” Quinn stopped herself. It had come out as just an idea of something that she’d like to read about: how someone else took her life in hand and really lived it. She hadn’t considered being that person herself. But the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to be. Even though it scared the hell out of her. “Never mind. I’ll get started right away.”

Rita gave her a curt nod before interrogating the rest of the group for viable articles.

Which gave Quinn plenty of time to burrow back into her head and wonder what the hell she’d just gotten herself into.

•   •   •

Tim shoved his hands in his pockets as he got out of his truck and walked toward the white house with blue shutters that his brother had told him to look for. He was happy to be invited to Lauren’s parents’ house to celebrate the fact that Lauren had gotten her master’s in psychology.

Withdrawing one of his hands as he approached the front door, he briefly wondered if he should just walk in, but decided against it before reaching out to ring the doorbell. Lauren’s mom had worked for Tim’s dad before he had died and Scott had taken over his medical practice. Therefore, he felt some level of formality was required.

A small slightly round woman answered the door, smiling broadly.

“Hi, Mrs. Hastings.”

“Tim, I’m so glad you made it. And call me Pam,” she added with a wave of her hand.

Tim nodded and entered the house when she pulled the door open wider. “Your home is beautiful.”

“You Jacobs boys are so polite. I’m not sure how either of you puts up with Lauren,” she replied with a laugh. “But thank you. Make yourself comfortable. The gang is all out on the back deck.”

“Thank you,” Tim said as he started for the back of the house. It wasn’t difficult to locate his brother; Tim heard his voice before he even reached the deck doors.

“Lo, if you don’t stop spraying that damn bug repellent all over the place, I’m going to have to take it away from you.”

Lauren huffed out a laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

Tim stepped out onto the deck in time to see Scott make a move toward Lauren, who quickly lifted the bottle as though she were going to spray him in the face with it.

“I’m not playing with you, Scott. This is my party, and I’ll spray Off! if I want to.”

“You’re causing a haze to settle over the deck,” Scott complained.

“That means it’s working.”

“Are you still getting bitten?” Scott challenged.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not working. Give it to me.” Scott rushed her, but Lauren threw the bottle into the backyard before he wrapped his hands around her stomach. “Do you want to explain what the point of that was?”

Lauren laughed and turned in to Scott’s chest. “I panicked.”

“Can you two stop canoodling? I’m trying to keep dinner down,” Cass jibed.

Scott kissed Lauren on the cheek before he looked up and his eyes caught Tim’s. “Hey, bro.” He disengaged from Lauren and made his way toward Tim, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

Lauren hugged Tim after Scott moved away. “Thanks for coming. Even though it’s completely ridiculous to have a party for getting out of grad school.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Scott said, appalled. “You worked hard. You should get a party just like everyone else.”

“Who is everyone else? No one else I graduated with is having some big shindig in their parents’ backyard. You and my mother are insane for insisting we have this.”

Scott raised a hand. “First of all, ‘big shindig’ and ‘parents’ backyard’ are mutually exclusive terms. If you’d let me rent out Clay’s like I’d wanted to, then—”

“Then it would be pretentious and obnoxious in addition to being unnecessary,” Lauren interjected.

Scott glared at her for a second. “Is dealing with you always going to be this exhausting?”

Lauren smiled brightly, looking pleased with herself. “Yup.”

Scott pulled her into an embrace. “Just making sure.” He chuckled right before kissing her chastely.

“Yuck. Get a room,” Simone complained through a smile.

Tim shook his head at their antics. “How was your graduation?”

“Long-winded and dull,” she replied with a smile. “Have you eaten yet? There’s a ton of food in the kitchen.”

“I’m good for now.”

“Okay. Well, make yourself at home.” Lauren drifted back toward her friends.

“How’s the restaurant been?” Scott asked.

“Going well. Business is starting to pick up.”

“That’s great. So being an executive chef is everything Wolfgang Puck made it out to be?”

Tim smiled at his brother in response before his eyes began to skim the crowd congregated on the deck. He tried to act disinterested, as though he were casually taking in the people before him.

But that wasn’t the truth. And as he stretched his six-foot-two frame to get a better look around, he caught a glimpse of the familiar head of red hair that made his heart rate jack up every time he saw it. Quinn was sitting alone in the backyard by the pool.

“Who are you looking for?” Scott questioned, making Tim shrink back slightly.

“No one,” Tim lied. “I’m going to grab a water. You want anything?”

Scott looked at him curiously for a second before shaking his head.

“Be right back.” Though Tim hoped he wouldn’t be. He walked over to the coolers that were lined up against the railing and dug around for a water before he descended the three steps that led to the yard and began