Tying You To Me

Chapter Seven: 2019

When Quinn woke up, she knew she was in trouble.

Her vision was blurry, her body ached, her head was pounding and her tongue felt five sizes too big for her mouth. And then there was the nausea. Any time she shifted in the unfamiliar bed, a wave would crash over her until she stilled long enough for it to pass. Stomach settled and head throbbing to the beat of a waltz instead of a samba, she cracked one eye open and found Harry sitting at a table a few feet away, sipping coffee from a mug and reading a newspaper.

How hungover was she?

"Ummm, Harry?" she asked cautiously. "What's happening? Why am I in your hotel room?" She tried to sit up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, pausing when the room started spinning again and the nausea once again brewed in the pit of her stomach. "Oh, fuck."

Hearing her voice, Harry made his way back to the bed, glass of water and bottle of pills in his hand. "Easy there champ, you had a rough night."

"I feel like I've been through a trash compactor," Quinn said as she accepted the water and Tylenol. She raised her arm to shield her eyes from the light that was coming in through the window, and without asking, Harry closed the blinds. "Thanks," Quinn said, swallowing the pills.

"Feel better?"

"Not really." Quinn looked down at her lap. She was still wearing the dress she had worn to the Met Gala last night and the sequins had rubbed unpleasantly against her skin, leaving a slight rash on her arms. She was sure it was even worse underneath. She took another sip of water and glanced over at the clock.

"Oh my God, I'm so late for work."

"Relax," Harry said. "I let Marcus know that you'd need the morning. He didn't seem surprised by that."

"Ugghhhh!" Quinn buried her head in her hands and quickly regretted the quick movement when her stomach began to turn again. "I feel like I'm going to die. For many reasons."

"You were getting pretty friendly with that bottle of wine last night," Harry said with a smirk. "Didn't know Quinn Roberts was that much of a party animal."

"I think that's only the second time I've ever been that drunk," Quinn said, staring at the floor. "And funny enough, you and Drew were involved both times."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm."

Harry didn't say anything else as Quinn took her time rolling out of bed and walking to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and rinsed her mouth out before looking in the mirror and making a pitiful attempt to finger comb the tangles out of her hair. She looked around the counter for something to secure her hair and found a scrunchie stowed in Harry's toiletry case. She figured he wouldn't mind and pulled her hair into a loose topknot.

When she exited the room, Harry was still standing by the window, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at her. "Hungry?"

Quinn nodded.

"What would you like?"

"A bacon sandwich," she said without hesitation. It had been her hangover cure since college.

"One bacon sandwich coming right up," he said, tapping the order into his phone.

Quinn sat down at the suite's small dining table and looked around. Harry had clearly made himself at home over the past week, with clothes and other items strewn around the room. The table was littered with papers, journals, and an open MacBook. Quinn discreetly looked at the papers. She didn't know what she was looking for, but she was disappointed when she realized they were mostly schedules and contracts. She turned her eyes to one of the journals that lay open, Harry's messy scrawl decorating the page, but before she could read anymore, Harry appeared at the table, sandwich and coffee in hand.