Well, maybe in two worlds, but that wasn't the point.
"Rachel, please," he pleaded, taking my shoulder before I could find the floor. It wasn't the strength of his grip that stopped me cold, but the worry in his voice. "I'm not asking you to do my job."
"Good, because I won't!" I said, my voice hushed but intense. "I will not work for Trent. He's a . . . a . . ." I hesitated, finding all my usual insults no longer holding force. "He never listens to me," I said instead, and Quen's hand fell from my shoulder, a faint smile on his face. "And gets himself in trouble because of it. I got him to the West Coast for you, and look what happened!"
Quen turned to the bar, his voice flat. "His actions resulted in a bar burning down and the collapse of a US monument."
"It wasn't just a bar, it was Margaritaville, and I'm still getting hate mail. It was his fault, and I got blamed for it. And let's not forget San Francisco getting toasted. Oh! And how about my ending up in a baby bottle waiting for my aura to solidify enough so that I could survive? You think I enjoyed that?"
Granted, the kiss to break the spell had been nice, but the last time I worked for Trent, the assassins had been aimed at me.
Upset, I turned back to the bar's mirror. My face was red, and I forced myself to relax. Maybe Quen was right to bring me here. If we had been at Junior's, I probably would be halfway out the door looking for my car. Even angry as I was, I looked like I belonged here with my hair up and my elegant dress that made me look svelte, not skinny. But it was all show. I didn't belong here. I was not wealthy, especially smart, or talented. I was good at staying alive-that's it-and every last person up here save Quen would be the first to go if there was trouble. Except maybe the cook. Cooks were good with knives.
Quen lifted his head, the wrinkle line in his forehead deeper. "That's exactly what I'm saying," he said softly. "The man needs someone to watch him. Someone who can survive what he gets himself into and is sensitive to his . . . quirks."
"Quirks?" Frustrated, I let go of my clutch purse and downed another swallow of wine. "Dude, I hear you. I understand," I said, and Quen blinked at my word choice. "I even sympathize, but I can't do it. I'd end up killing him. He's too pigheaded and unwilling to consider anyone else's opinion, especially in a tight situation."
Quen chuckled, relaxing his tight grip on his emotions. "Sounds familiar."
"We are talking about Trent, not me. And besides, the man does not need a babysitter. He's all grown up, and you"-I pointed at Quen-"don't give him enough credit. He stole Lucy okay, and they were waiting for him." I turned back to the bar and the reflection of the Hollows. "He can handle whatever Cincinnati can dish out," I said softly, going over my short list of trouble. "It's been quiet lately."
Quen sighed, slumping beside me with both hands around his drink, but I wasn't going to fall for it. "I will admit that Trent has a knack for devising a plan and following through with it. But he falters at improvisation, and that's where you excel. I wish you would reconsider."
Hearing the truth of it, I looked up and Quen lifted his drink in salute. Trent could plan his way out of a demon's contract, but that wouldn't keep him alive against a sniper spell, and that's where the real danger was. My jaw clenched and I shoved the thought away. What did I care?
"I left the I.S. because I couldn't stomach working for anyone. That hasn't changed."
"That's not entirely true," he said, and I frowned. "You work with Ivy and Jenks all the time."
My eyebrows rose. "Yes. I work with Jenks and Ivy, not for them. They don't always do what I think is best, but they always at least listen to me." I didn't do what they thought was best, either, so we got along tolerably well. Trent, though, he needed to listen. The businessman made more mistakes than . . . me.
"He's doing much better," Quen said, and I couldn't stop my chuckle.
"Yeah?"
"He worked with Jenks," Quen offered, but I could hear the doubt in his voice.
"Yes, he worked with Jenks," I said, the wine bitter as it slipped down. "And Jenks said it was like pulling the wings off a fairy to get Trent to include him on even the smallest details. No."
Quen's worry line in his brow was deepening. "Quen, I understand your concern," I said, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. It was tense, and I pulled back, feeling like I shouldn't have touched him. "I'm sorry, but I just can't do it."
"Could you maybe just try?" he said, shocking me. "There's an elven heritage exhibit at the museum next Friday. Trent has a few items on display and will be putting in an appearance. You'll love it."
"No." I faced the mirror and watched myself take a drink.
"Free food," he said, and I eyed him in disbelief through the reflection. I wasn't that desperate. "Lots of contacts with people with too much money," he added. "You need to get out and network. Let Cincy know you're the same Rachel Morgan who captured a banshee and saved San Francisco, and not just the witch who's really a demon."
I flushed, setting the glass down and looking around for a clock. Jeez, had I only been here ten minutes?
"I expect you would pick up a few legit jobs," he said, and I stiffened. I wasn't out of money, but the only people who wanted to hire me wanted me because I could twist demon curses. I wasn't that kind of a girl, even if I had the potential to be, and it bothered me that Quen knew who had been knocking on my door. Working a couple of easy chaperoning jobs for Cincinnati's elite would do wonders for my esteem.
Isn't that what Quen is offering me?
"There would be a clothing allowance," Quen wheedled. My pulse quickened, not at the thought of a new pair of boots but at being dumb enough to consider this. "Rachel, I'm asking this as a personal favor," he added, sensing me waver. "For me, and Ceri."
Groaning, I dropped my head into my hand, and my dress pinched as I shifted to turn away from him. Ceri. Though she had agreed to maintaining a public image with Trent, she loved Quen. Quen loved her back with all the fierceness of someone who never expected to find anything beautiful in the world. Hell, if it was nothing more than being a security escort, I could stomach Trent for a few hours. How much trouble could the man get into out at the museum, anyway?
"You fight dirty," I said sourly to his reflection, and he toasted me, smiling wickedly.
"It's my nature. So will you do it?"