Page 17

Paige

I ’ve been staring at my notes for so long it’s beginning to look like foreign handwriting, but for some reason nothing is standing out. I initially dove headfirst into this event like I would for any other. But at around three a.m., my brain decided to remind me of one tiny little difference—my dad is relying on this event to help save the team’s image.

What the hell kind of pressure is that?

He didn’t even make a big deal out of that piece of information, and yet, my mind has turned it into a goliath of an issue. Yes, he only meant it in the form of the team needing some positive exposure, but that’s still something I can fuck up.

It wouldn’t be the first time my name has been thrown around negatively.

Hell, I’m going through that right now, only no one’s discovered that it’s me the stories are referring to.

But it sure as hell pisses me off.

In the past two days, I’ve seen three separate gossip sites reporting on the alleged leaked letters about a New York socialite. The letters are written as though they’ve come straight from a teenager's diary, which is leading the said sites to assume it’s someone younger than me. à la Gossip Girl style. But my guess is that someone paid someone much younger to write them, like someone’s much younger dog walker that’s been trying to get noticed by that someone for years.

That someone being Christian’s mom.

The latest…

Gossip Central has your exclusive look at the newest mystery letter from New York’s high society. “Dressed as a Succubus, she set her sights on a wealthy pirate and his superhero friend before sucking them both into her web. They disappeared for hours and when they returned, a young fairy was crying over her boyfriend’s seduction. She’s what people call a man-eater, and she’s not to be trusted.”

Keep reading for more.

A man-eater. A succubus that sucks men into her web? I mean, what the hell? It was a freaking costume party.

I can’t argue that everything they wrote is garbage because I remember that party and I did disappear for hours with two guys. But the rest? Lies. For one, both guys were single at the time. Actually, one of them—the pirate—was my boyfriend. Not the crying fairy’s. And the superhero still hasn’t had a girlfriend to this day.

Pirate—a.k.a. Christian—had split from his college sweetheart months earlier but like with me, he held off making it public. Was she a fairy? Maybe. But that part of the letter is still bullshit.

The entire story is bullshit. Or at least, the reasons behind it are.

At the moment, Christian’s parents haven’t released enough to justify me panicking and telling them what I know. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the information I have, but I can’t stay quiet.

Christian’s father and uncle are stealing from their clients. And I know this because I overheard a conversation between his mom and his auntie. If the truth comes out, my ex’s family is ruined. It will destroy their business and life as they know it.

But I don’t have any proof. Yet. Though I do have someone working on it.

The thing is, I assumed they’d leave me alone once I left New York. I assumed wrong.

But for now, the threat of people thinking I had a threesome is nothing compared to what Christian will go through if this all comes to light. And even though we’re not together anymore—and he’s a dick—I can’t do that to him until I know with absolute certainty that I’m right.

Shaking off my thoughts, I push my personal life out of my head, like always , and flick back and forth through my folder, trying to decide on an idea for the charity event—a ball, a celebrity tennis match, a silent auction, a not so silent auction where the players are the prize, a garden party. Ugh . Nothing is jumping out at me, and if I can’t think of anything soon, the board will decide for me and I’ll have to roll with it. No matter how boring it is. I’m about to throw something—namely this ideas folder that has no freaking ideas—at the wall in front of me when a ringing saves me from my madness.

Oh bless you, sweet calling soul. I rush across the room to grab my phone from the charger and freeze when I see the ID.

Goddammit. Why did I have to think of Christian and his goddamn family? I could ignore the call, but he’s likely to fly over here for a visit if it’s something important, and nobody wants that.

“Christian,” I answer plainly.

“Paige. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Excuse me?”

“The magazine,” he exclaims. “You’re naked.”

A laugh bursts out of me, and I have to bite my cheek to calm down. “I’m not naked, Christian. I’m clearly wearing clothes.”

“Yes, but they’re see-through.”

“They are? Shit. No one told me that. Oh God. Oh God. Whatever will I do.” While my words scream panic, my lackluster tone says otherwise, and judging by the scoff, Christian is not impressed.

“Cut the crap, Paige. You’re practically naked in Silver and Stripes magazine. And—”

“Since when do you read fashion magazines?”

“I don’t. But—”

“Okay, since when do you care about that stuff?”

“I don’t, but—”

“What the hell is the problem?”

“You were naked in a very popular business and fashion magazine and you mentioned my name in the accompanying article. It caused a lot of issues for me. Not to mention it gives my parents more ammunition for their stupid vendetta against you. Are things that bad that—”

“Stop. Before you say something that makes me fly home to mess up your pretty little face. What I do with my body is up to me. And I barely mentioned you. It was a throwaway comment. Your parents aside, I don’t see how that could have caused you any—”

“I’m engaged.”

“You’re what?” I pause, my mouth hanging open. Does time run slower in San Francisco? I could have sworn I’d only been here a couple of months.

Christian sighs. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. I was going to talk to you in person, but we’ve run out of time. I know our relationship was an unconventional one, but according to the people…we were together a long time, so I’m aware we might have an image issue and—”

“Wait,” I cut him off, and while I’d really love to address his “to the people” statement, that’s not important right now. What’s more important is… “My image will be fine ; everyone will just assume you cheated.”

“I never fucking cheated.”

I fold my arms over my chest and hit my phone with so much sass I’m hoping it magically transports over to him.

Christian groans deep in the back of his throat and it makes me smile. Maybe my silence did the trick.

“Fine,” he grates. “I cheated, but we were never exclusive exclusive, so it doesn’t count.”

“The ‘people’ thought we were.”

“Jesus, Paige. I need you to work with me here. Please.”

I don’t have to look at him to know he’s nearing his breaking point. If he was in front of me right now, I have no doubt his hands would be in his hair and he’d be tugging at the strands.

“Why did you call, Christian? What do you want from me?”

“My fiancée and I will be in LA late next month, and I want you to meet us for a drink.”

“What? Why the hell would I want to do that?”

“So that we can be seen together. A photo will leak, and the media won’t have any lies to spread about our time together. You told the magazine we were still friends. This isn’t a stretch.”

Dammit . I should have known that would come back to bite me in the ass. That’s all I said. That we were “still friends,” and I only said that so they’d stop asking for more juicy details. But lying about being friends is easy. Spending time together is not.

“What are you worried about?”

“That they’ll assume Nicola and I were together before you and I broke up.”

“So they’ll assume correctly. We only broke up a few months ago, Christian. How are you engaged?”

“Does it matter?” he snaps. “Do you care? Am I breaking your frozen heart? You never really wanted me. Yes, we had an amazing sex life, but it never moved beyond that. If I’d felt even a spark of something real between us, I never would have strayed. I cared, Paige. I cared and I deserved better than that.”

Holy-fucking-hell. Talk about a slap to the face. “My heart’s not frozen.” I don’t think.

“Are you kidding me? I told you I loved you three times, and you never once said it back.”

“You said it during sex. I thought it was just one of the games we played. The game of pretending.”

Christian’s loud, unrestrained laugh echoes through the phone, and I start to question my memories of our time together. “The difference between you and me, Paige, is that I only played pretend when we were role-playing in the bedroom. You , you were pretending for our entire relationship.”

Jesus . My dead, frozen heart starts pounding in my chest. I thought we were on the same page. Did I miss something?

“I’m—” I cut myself off before saying sorry. He might be telling the truth, but our relationship had many issues; the feeling or lack of feeling argument is merely one of them. “I’ll meet you for a drink. But—and there’s a big but—you need to tell your parents to quit leaking stories about me. About us. What do you think will happen if your fiancée finds out? How will she feel having to read about our sex life?”

Christian grunts and I wait for his argument. “I don’t control my parents. You know that just as well as I do. If you have an issue with them, you need to work it out. They won’t stop until you do.”

“What kind of response is that? Just tell them it’s ruining your career or something. Better yet, how about I get it all out in the open so they have nothing more to share. I could do a tell-all in a men's magazine. I’ll put all my bits on display while mentioning your name over and over. And your parents’ names. And…” I trail off, not wanting to bring up what I know.

“And what, Paige. And what? You won’t tell me. My parents won't tell me. What is it ?”

Oh . So that’s why he won’t help me with them. Because it’s driving him crazy to be out of the loop. “If I tell you, I’m going to have to k—”

“Yeah. Yeah. I get it. Telling me would be like opening up, and you’ve never been the type to do that.”

Jesus . He’s really digging a knife into my chest. But he’s dead wrong. I cared. I may not have loved him, but I cared. It’s the reason I’m not telling him about his parents. Because if he truly has no idea, he’s going to need that plausible deniability.

“For this, I am sorry,” I say honestly, because I am. As for the rest… “I’m not meeting you for a drink. But feel free to tell the world we’re civil.”

“Paige, please?”

“No.”

“Fuck, okay.”

I move to hang up but he cuts in before I do. “Please don’t do a men’s magazine. God knows you’ve got the body for it. But it’s not you.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Thanks, I’ll take your opinion into consideration. Bye, Christian.”

“Bye, Paige.”

I hang up and fall back to the couch before massaging my temples. That was not a conversation I ever saw coming. I’m not closed off to feelings or whatever the hell he was implying. That was just never in the cards for us. And I thought we both understood that. But I guess I was wrong.

No matter the case, I wish I wasn’t still so caught up in the Mikkleson family. I was supposed to be in California for a fresh start.

And since I’m currently questioning things going on in my life, why does everyone keep saying I was naked? You could see my nipples through a wet top. That’s it. People wear see-through clothes all the time. God, it’s even become a fashion statement on the red carpet. It’s not the big deal everyone is making it out to be. I’m so damn proud of that magazine spread, and I won’t let anyone ruin it for me.

But I was joking about the men’s magazine. I know my limits. And I’ve already met them. Doesn’t mean I think poorly of anyone that does pose for those magazines. I’m all for people being able to do what they want with their own bodies, but that also means they shouldn’t be forced into parading themselves around if that’s not what they want to do. Which, unfortunately, means the player auction is off the list. A shame really because I could have bid for Easton all in the name of charity. I could have told my dad that Easton was the safest choice because he had a kid and was grumpy all the time. It would have been the perfect alibi. But it’s not to be.

If only I knew what was.

I spend the next few hours rolling ideas around in my mind until I have two plans in place. A conservative or boring option and something a little bit out there. And when the clock strikes six a.m., I’m exhausted and ready for bed.

But also a little confused. I usually find this so easy. What’s so different this time?

God, why did I sign up for this again?

Oh, that’s right… I had no choice.