Chapter 176

Spencer Sherwood's POV

I wake to a splitting headache. Last night's decisions scatter across the floor like breadcrumbs: a jacket, a tie, a woman's red-soled stiletto.

"Spencer..." A manicured hand trails across my chest. What was her name? - props herself up on one elbow, dark hair cascading over bare shoulders. Her attempt at a seductive pout falls flat against my growing irritation.

I catch her wrist mid-caress, my grip firm but controlled. Meeting her gaze, I let the temperature in my eyes drop several degrees. She withdraws her hand as if burned, the message received without a word needed.

The suite's phone feels heavy in my hand as I dial Quinn. One ring. Two. Her voice comes through crisp and professional.

"How much money do you need?" she asks, straight to business.

"No money. Bring me a fresh suit and the bail paperwork. Lucas needs you to get Serena out." I massage my temple, the hangover pulsing behind my eyes.

"Is it urgent?" A careful probe in her tone.

"Something else on your agenda?" The edge in my voice is reflexive.

"I should review Serena's case first."

I exhale, moderating my tone. "It's not an emergency, but Lucas will be anxious. Better move quickly."

"I'll do my best." Simple. Efficient. It's why our arrangement works.

The next hour crawls by. Quinn stands in the doorway, garment bag in one hand, manila folder in the other. Her gaze flicks past me to the woman in my bed, expression unchanging.

"Your payment." Quinn sets a thick envelope on the nightstand. "Car's waiting downstairs."

The woman-Sarah? Sandra?-clutches the sheet to her chest. "Ten thousand," she says, chin lifted in defiance.

Quinn nods once, precise as a metronome. "You'll find it's all there. The NDA is included. Sign before you leave."

I watch the interaction through the throbbing in my temples. Quinn's efficiency should be jarring at this hour, but it's exactly what I need. She hands me the garment bag without comment.

The shower helps. By the time I emerge, the woman is gone. Quinn stands at the window. "Serena's case." She doesn't turn. "The evidence is substantial. Tax evasion, bribery-they've built a solid chain."

"Lucas will handle it." I adjust my cufflinks.

"Not without significant risk." Her reflection meets mine in the glass. "Ten years, minimum. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"We need leverage. More than money can buy." She turns, manila folder open. "The prosecutor-"

A horn blares outside. Quinn snaps the folder shut. "We should go."

The elevator descent is silent. In the car, city's morning rush surrounds us, a symphony of impatience. Quinn navigates with surgical precision until a black SUV cuts across three lanes.

My arm shoots out instinctively, bracing her as she swerves. The movement brings us close enough.

"Your driving hasn't improved," I say, withdrawing my arm slowly.

"Neither has your taste in women." Her eyes stay fixed on traffic, but there's a ghost of sarcasm in her tone.

"The prosecutor," I prompt, steering us back.

"Rufus." She merges smoothly into the left lane. "Known for his integrity, which makes him dangerous. But everyone has pressure points."

"Find them."

"Already working on it." She hands me the folder without looking. "You might want to stay sober for this one, Spencer."

The rebuke stings, but she's not wrong. I scan the documents, forcing my hungover brain to focus.

"How soon can you get Serena out?" I ask, closing the folder.

"Maybe Today, if Lucas provides the funds." She said calmly.

But her careful driving grates on my nerves. Her fingers grip the wheel at exactly ten and two, each turn calculated with maddening precision.

"I can drive slower," she offers, catching my impatient glance.

"Don't you have a driver? My father would give you one in a heartbeat. He treats you like his own daughter." The words come out sharper than intended, laced with old resentment.

When she doesn't respond, I've had enough. "Pull over. Get out. Passenger seat." She complies without argument - she always does.

The city blurs past at a more acceptable speed once I'm behind the wheel. Quinn sits quietly beside me, reviewing papers with that unflappable focus.

The detention center looms ahead. Quinn gathers her briefcase, every movement precise. "Wait here," she says, already shifting into attorney mode. "Without Lucas present, overturning this case will be challenging."

I watch her disappear through the heavy doors, then pull out my phone. Lucas's number goes straight to voicemail. A knot forms in my stomach.

I dial Jace. "Is Lucas on a flight somewhere? Can't reach him."

The pause before Jace's response stretches too long. "Likely under house arrest overseas. My father's doing."

My expression darkened. "This complicates things."

The situation reeks of orchestration - someone powerful pulling strings behind the scenes. Without Lucas's influence, Serena has virtually no chance of avoiding prison time.

"I'll try to reach Lucas," Jace said. "He likely wanted Quinn to start working on Serena's case. Have her gather all the details so when Lucas returns, we can act quickly with the right strategy."

"Agreed."