Gunnar

QUINN

"Quinn, Quinn, have you listened to a single word I've said?" My father's booming voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I looked at him dumbfounded. Theo Harper — short for Theophilus— was a man everyone knew. He made his money through architecture for the most part. My father had opened his architectural firm when he was no less than thirty years of age. It was a massive achievement on his part — coming from a family with no wealth and rising to someone who had money spewing out of his ears. He had completely forgotten his roots though, letting money go to his head.

I blinked once, then twice before nodding my head, "I heard you but why do I have to do this, can you not get someone else?"

"There is no one I trust more than you," my father said pointedly, his gruff voice could send shivers of fear through anyone, it didn't matter who you were, "if he wants to play dirty then I can too. He's been stealing my clients for far too long, Ladybug. I request your help. I'm not demanding it."

Ladybug. My father had referred to me as such from the time I could remember. When I was a little girl all I use to do was sit in the garden the entire day and watch the ladybugs crawl on the beautiful yet fragile petals of the multiple flowers.

"I had plans for this coming year. Go to college, start a new life, make friends. You know, the usual stuff eighteen-year-olds have planned when they graduate from high school," I whined with good reason. This was too much, it was all too much.

"I know, Ladybug," my father rounded his table with a tight-lipped smile. His home office wasn't much. A dark room with a desk, chair, and many filing cabinets stacked with blueprints of every project he had ever done. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he gave them a gentle squeeze, "He doesn't know you, it will be easy for you to gain access to all his secrets."

"I bet there will be plenty of people more qualified than me for the position, father. Being his assistant isn't an easy feat," that was the God honest truth. The man had gone through three assistants in the past month — or so I had heard. All of which were actually qualified for the job. I heard him to be a rude and ruthless man who cared little for everyone else around him.

He was my father but the younger version.

"Don't you worry about that, I've taken care of everything. You just need to be the perfect assistant so he doesn't get rid of you in two days. You need to last, gain his trust, and then learn everything you can. Any secret you find out to bring him down, you immediately tell me. This will all be over soon and you can continue your life after as if all this had never happened."

I sighed, knowing that it would be better to just go along with father's plan. If he said it would be over soon then he was probably right. Everyone knew arguing with the man was futile, "Fine, I'll do it but that doesn't mean I'm not going to complain about it the first chance I get."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," my father chuckled dryly, "for this to work you're going to need an apartment of your own. He should not know who you really are. You will keep your distance from your mother and me and try not to contact your brother. The shit finds himself on the front page of every gossip magazine weekly. We don't need your face being splashed on those covers along with his."

My brother — Daniel Harper or as I liked to call him, Danny — was the complete opposite of me. He was elder than me and still lacked the maturity that accompanied his age. Danny grew up in the public eye and, just to piss dad off, did everything he was strictly told not to. That resulted in many bad articles being written about us and father losing many clients. Those clients were instantly scooped up by Astor Architecture.

"As you wish father," I nodded curtly, showing disinterest would piss him off.

"Thank you, Ladybug," he smiled in satisfaction, "I will organize your resume and that apartment. Clothes and a new cell will be given to you as well. You will not be known as Quinn Harper for the next few months. Make sure to remember that."

"What will I be known as then?" I quizzed with a risen brow.

My father strolled over to his desk, picked up a manilla envelope, and then presented it to me with pride shimmering in his deep blue eyes — eyes I shared in common with him. I opened the envelope and offloaded its contents into my palm. It was everything I needed to assume a new identity.

I skimmed over the driver's license, pausing at the name printed, "Daniella Quinzel."

"Thought I should at least keep it close to home in case there's a slip-up," he said. He truly did think of everything. As I said before, my father made his money through architecture for the most part but everyone knew you didn't get onto Wall Street by keeping your hands clean. Or maybe you did because they hired others to do their dirty work. They outsourced. Right now, my father was doing the same.

"Alright. When do I need to be ready?" I clutched the documents holding my new identity to my chest.

"In two days. I will prep you for the interview. All you have to do is turn on your charm, Ladybug," he patted my cheek, "but keep in mind, don't get yourself attached. He's not going to know the real you, only the you I want you to show him."

"Father!" I squeaked, appalled by his insinuation, "I'm only going to get information. Nothing further. There will be no reason for me to become attached."

His evil grin had me internally groaning, "That's my girl."