When Empires Fall by Katie Jennings

critical “documents” that he had to see in person, which could possibly influence his decision on whether or not to agree to granting his father that increase in cash. While in the past Marshall would have dealt with something of this degree, considering that Win was his brother and in a way more his responsibility than Grant’s, Grant knew that Marshall had a soft side that could be played if the right words were spoken or the right tale weaved.
    Grant had no such soft side, especially not in regards to his good-for-nothing father. Ergo, he would be seeing to this particular issue himself.
    When he rose to his feet to get his coat and scarf, his stomach grumbled disagreeably and he frowned down at it. He thought briefly about grabbing the day old tuna sandwich in the mini fridge, but decided against it, knowing he didn’t really have time. The lawyer had another meeting coming up that afternoon, and could only spare a half hour to go over the documents.
    Slipping his coat on loosely and swinging his royal blue scarf over his neck, he grabbed his briefcase and swept out of the office, shutting the door promptly behind him and locking it. When he turned around, he spotted Quinn typing away dutifully at her computer, a Tupperware container at her side filled with something that was freshly steaming.
    She glanced up at him with a polite smile, but his eyes were on that container, his empty stomach lurching in desperation. Whatever it was, the smell of it was simply incredible .
    “Heading out?” Quinn asked, sitting back in her chair and watching him with an amused expression.
    “Yeah, out,” Grant replied, shifting his weight as he forced his eyes off of the food. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
    “Okay.” Quinn’s lips curved into a devious grin as she reached for the spare plastic fork she kept in her lunch bag, waving it at him suggestively. “You sure you don’t want to try some pasta real quick before you go?”
    His first instinct, naturally, was to say no. But sometimes, well, in his case, the rarest of times, desires and needs can overtake even the most cautious and controlled of men.
    Without a word, he stepped forward and accepted the fork from her, dipping it into the pasta and piercing a couple pieces of penne, scooping it carefully into his mouth. He handed the fork back to her, ignoring her enormous grin, and chewed.
    The fact that it was quite possibly the best pasta he’d ever tasted still wasn’t enough for him to dance for joy or anything, but he certainly couldn’t hide the surprise from his expression. He definitely hadn’t expected her cooking to be that good.
    “Well?” Quinn asked, beaming up at him indulgently.
    Grant swallowed, his mouth quirking ever so very slightly as he considered. When he spoke, he oddly found he had to fight to keep the enjoyment from his voice.
    “Good.” With a curt nod, he strode out of the office alcove and disappeared into one of the elevators, leaving Quinn feeling more than a little smug.
    Maybe his comment about her cooking hadn’t been very eloquent, very thorough or praising. But she’d be a damn fool to not admit that that one little word accompanied by the honest look of surprise coming from a man like him was quite possibly the best compliment any chef could ever hope to receive.
    Perhaps chefdom wasn’t so far off, after all.

     
    She’d worn her favorite red suede pumps out of pure female territorialism. Sure, it may have been petty when done by some women, but Madison knew herself to be beyond such criticism. Besides, she was just very protective of her brothers, especially Grant, and felt it was only her sisterly duty to look out for catty and dangerous women looking to cash in on the weaknesses of a ridiculously wealthy man. They existed, that much she knew, even from her own experience. Who said men couldn’t be gold diggers, too?
    So she’d put on the shoes to make a statement, along with the slender black pencil skirt and blood