Hatched

Chapter Five

Author's note: So I'm introducing my favorite character here. I think we all need a Quinn Jones. I needed a visual. In my mind the character is just too gorgeous for words. It took forever to find a photo I liked. Feel free to enjoy the wicked hot tongue on this man :) and imagine him with gray eyes.

June 29th, 2021

0800 hours

As the door shut, Lynne sighed and buried her face in her palms. Despite outward appearances, she was uncharacteristically terrified beyond reason, and that pissed her off. She knew she had more chutzpah than everyone on the rig put together. All of this mess with injuries, and now a death, tainted the future of her company. In the wake of uncertainty, Lynne refused to play the game of chance: jeopardize or not, the rig couldn't fail. Surrender wasn't part of her vocabulary; her entire being thrived on the challenge of prodding the waters and changing the rules, usually for her own benefit. Though by far not her largest or most influential acquisition, she didn't want to lose her hold here.

Besides being a huge financial asset, it had proved a very useful bargaining chip with everyone: politicians, activists, shipping companies, competitor oil corporations and, surprisingly enough, environmentalists. She snorted aloud, aware that if any of those koala hugging hippies caught wind of what happened on the lower level of the rig, she would be unceremoniously persecuted. The ruthless millions she'd made dealing within the private sector would be wasted on attorney fees, something that was becoming a tangible fear, now that the money was bloodstained.

"Wasted profits." She murmured dejectedly.

A sharp rap at the door drew her out of her reverie. Her head shot up and her eyes narrowed. She assumed it was that little prick Tony coming back to pick at the nerve he'd exposed.

"What?" She snapped as the door swung inward. It wasn't Tony.

The man that stepped in could have, for lack of a more modest term, been a sex god. Clad in a black suit that looked perfectly tailored to his build, she could tell he was cut under the jacket. He was tall, with wavy black hair that was cropped on the sides, and piercing gray eyes that, upon closer inspection, she could see were a very stormy, steel blue. The air seemed to shift when he entered the room, and she knew without a doubt that this man commanded respect.

He held himself dogmatically, but the easy way he walked suggested that he didn't give a hoot what people thought, and that he was quite aware of the effect that his airy, indifferent manner had on other people. Lynne felt it already and, like a schoolgirl talking to a boy for the first time, her mouth opened and closed for a few seconds before she regained the ability to speak. As words formed in her throat the unexpected visitor interrupted, eliciting a whooshing gasp from Lynne as he cut her off. Her cheeks tinged a furious pink.

"Lynne Ellis." He stated, reading the nameplate on her desk. She hadn't realized he was standing so close, or that he had even crossed the room. Those hurricane eyes flicked upward beneath thick black lashes and held hers in an intense gaze. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss. Ellis," he said, proffering her his hand, which in her shocked state she failed to take. This didn't seem to faze him, however, and after several very quiet moments he gestured toward the chair opposite her. "May I? I would wait for a proper invitation, but unfortunately it seems you won't be offering one." He sat comfortably, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. The engaging nature of his sparkling eyes brought her out of her funk. She jerked to attention, finally rushing to extend her hand in return.