Chapter 2 Have a Child

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Quinn turned to glance at the man beside her-lazy, charming, and entirely too smug.

Their eyes met. Jacob's smirk deepened, the glint in his eyes full of teasing. Quinn's expression didn't waver.

"No need. I'm not interested."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked ahead, heels clicking confidently against the marble floor.

Jacob watched her retreating figure, the curve of his lips stretching into an even broader grin.

The two walked into the Simmons family estate together. They hadn't made it past the foyer when a teacup came hurtling toward them.

In one swift motion, Jacob pulled Quinn behind him. The cup hit him square in the chest before falling to the floor with a heavy clatter.

Hot tea soaked his shirt, steam rising from the damp fabric.

Behind him, Quinn pressed her lips into a thin line, as if holding back a comment. She stepped forward to inspect the damage, but Jacob caught her wrist and held her back.

"You little punk!" boomed a voice from the living room.

"All you ever do is mess around! Can't you go one day without causing trouble?"

Seated on the couch, Wesley Simmons, Jacob's seventy-two-year-old grandfather, gripped his cane with one hand, his expression thunderous.

Despite his age, Wesley's sharp eyes and commanding presence made him seem no older than sixty.

"First, there's talk about you and some model. Now, today, it's you and Piper getting caught at a hotel? When will you stop giving me headaches?"

Jacob, completely unfazed, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his now-soaked shirt and gave a lazy smile.

"Come on, Granddad. Didn't I just close that overseas acquisition deal for you yesterday?"

The mention of business clearly softened Wesley's temper. Though still gruff, his tone carried less bite.

"Let me see if you're burned," he barked, gesturing Jacob forward with his cane.

Jacob strolled over, hands in his pockets, his smile still in place. "Who's been tattling on me now, huh?"

Wesley, for all his bluster, doted on Jacob.

Over the years, he'd turned a blind eye to Jacob's scandals, and any punishment was usually more bark than bite.

As Jacob sat down, Wesley leveled a stern gaze at him.

"You're not a kid anymore. Start being more careful. Stop giving people something to talk about."

Satisfied he'd made his point, Wesley shifted his attention to Quinn.

"You handled today's situation well."

Quinn gave a polite nod.

"Thank you."

Wesley's tone softened.

"But, Quinn, you and Jacob need to put less energy into work and more into family. I want to see a great-grandchild by next year."

Quinn maintained her polite smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Of course."

Excusing herself, she walked into the kitchen to help the staff with dinner preparations.

As soon as Quinn was out of earshot, Wesley's expression hardened again.

"Jacob," he began, his voice low, "what are you doing with her? If you don't care for her, just end it cleanly. Give her a settlement and let her go. Quinn grew up in front of me. She deserves better-"

Before Wesley could finish, Jacob leaned back, popped a grape into his mouth, and chewed leisurely.

"Granddad, do you prefer boys or girls?"

The unexpected question caught Wesley off guard.

"What?"

Jacob grinned lazily.

"Kids. Do you want a grandson or a granddaughter?"

Wesley's face lit up, his stern demeanor melting into delight. "You've finally come around? Planning to have a baby with Quinn?"

Jacob stretched his legs out, his tone light.

"Yeah. Why not?"

By the time Quinn returned from the kitchen, Jacob had Wesley laughing heartily, his earlier anger completely forgotten.

This, Quinn thought, was just typical Jacob. He could charm anyone-man or woman, young or old.

As dinner approached, the rest of the Simmons family began arriving.

Wesley's son, Zachariah Simmons, had three children: Patrick, the eldest; Jacob, the middle child; and Callie, the youngest. Patrick and Callie were born to Zachariah's current wife, Brielle, while Jacob was the son of Zachariah and his first love.

The family dynamics were a careful balance of harmony and pretense.

At dinner, Brielle, ever the picture of a devoted stepmother, fussed over Jacob.

"Jacob, you've been looking thin lately. Make sure you're eating properly."

Callie pouted.

"Mom, you always favor Jacob."

Brielle chuckled, her smile angelic.

"I don't have favorites, darling. I love all of you equally."

Patrick, ever the polished diplomat, added with a wry smile, "Mom's always been this way. Jacob gets the lion's share of her affection."

Jacob, indifferent to the family's theatrics, sipped his soup with a faint smirk, as if watching a play he'd seen too many times before.

After dinner, Quinn helped the staff clear the table. Callie, ever the spoiled youngest sibling, called out in her syrupy voice, "Quinn, could you slice me an orange later?"

Quinn replied without looking up, her voice steady.

"Sure."

Nearby, Jacob was on a phone call, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He glanced at the exchange between Quinn and Callie but returned to his conversation.

"That person won't work. Find someone else."

Whatever the response was, Jacob's expression twisted into a sardonic smile.

"Figure it out yourself."

After hanging up, Jacob sauntered into the kitchen.

Quinn was washing dishes, a loose strand of hair falling over her face. Jacob reached over, brushing it back and loosely securing it.

"Granddad wants us to stay the night. What do you think?"

Quinn paused, her hands stilling under the faucet.

"Up to you."

Jacob leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.

"Don't worry. I'll take the couch."

Quinn shifted away instinctively.

"Jacob, back off."

Jacob chuckled.

"What are you so afraid of?"

Quinn placed the dish on the drying rack and turned to face him. "Simmons Media's annual gala is next month. Try to avoid any scandals until then."

Jacob grinned, hands sliding into his pockets.

"And if I don't?"

Quinn frowned.

"Can't you at least try to be discreet?"

"That's asking a lot," he said with a playful shrug.

Quinn sighed, pushing him lightly.

"Suit yourself."

She walked upstairs without another word. Jacob's smile faded slightly as he glanced at one of the maids lingering nearby. "From now on, don't let her do any chores."

The maid stammered nervously, "But Mrs. Quinn insists on helping-"

"If she does it again," Jacob interrupted, his tone calm but firm, "you're fired."

The maid paled. "Yes, sir."

As Jacob left the kitchen, Patrick intercepted him, holding two glasses of wine.

"Jacob," he said smoothly.

Jacob's lips curled into a sardonic smile.

"What do you want?"

Patrick handed him a glass.

"Take better care of Quinn. She may seem strong, but she's fragile underneath."

Jacob swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze narrowing.

"Why I married her... You of all people should know the answer to that."