"Lianne."
Quinn Preston wore a well-tailored, light-colored suit over a striped shirt. His tie, in a muted color, was fashioned into a Windsor knot. His features were soft, and his every word and gesture exuded a refined elegance.
Lianne froze for a moment. "Quinn, what are you doing here?"
Beneath his glasses, Quinn Preston's eyes were gentle and warm, his voice as pleasant as a spring breeze. "Is Sophie here? I'll take her home."
"She is." Quinn had been a good friend for many years. In Sophie Sheridan's words, they knew each other inside and out—childhood best friends who'd practically grown up in the same crib.
Lianne automatically simplified it in her head to four words: 'The designated problem-solver.'
Lianne trusted Quinn Preston's character. He was a bit like her, a pragmatist through and through, unlike Seth Sinclair, whose mind was a tangled web of schemes.
