Page 19

Paige

M y eyes bounce between my latest sketch and the junk stack of paper on the floor which is getting dangerously close to toppling over. I can’t seem to get anything right at the moment. Sometimes the hands look disfigured, sometimes the lips are too thin, sometimes the eyes don’t bore into your soul like I want them too. Like they once did.

And I have no idea what I’m doing differently.

Is it my new environment? The fact that I’m not living the same carefree life I was living back in New York. Yes, I helped work on charity events, and used my platforms to raise awareness for the things I was passionate about. But my spare time was mine, and I spent that time living my best life.

Now, it feels like I’ve been hit in the face with reality. Nothing has really changed, and yet, everything has. I’ve had a wake-up call but I can’t even pinpoint what it was that woke me up.

I trace my finger over the pencil strokes of the face, taking in her smile lines and the evidence of a happy life, and instead of adding it to my rejection pile, I fold it in half and slip it into my top drawer, giving myself another twenty-four hours to mull over it.

Not that I have a deadline for anything. I just don’t like to dwell on things for too long.

When I’m done, I pour a glass of wine and pull up the file for the Storm charity event. The board opted for my conservative venture consisting of a cocktail-style dinner with a dance floor and silent auction but allowed me to at least set a theme. What theme, though, is still to be decided.

Setting pen to paper, I try to brainstorm, but my mind drifts to my afternoon by the pool, or more specifically, to meeting Easton’s mom and his beautiful little boy. I had planned to leave them alone, because what good could possibly come from getting to know the family of a guy you’re not supposed to have anything to do with? But when Isaac fell over in front of me, I couldn’t hold back.

Turns out my heart isn’t frozen or dead like Christian claimed it to be, because that little boy’s expression broke it. It wasn’t so much the tears of pain that got me, but the fear in his eyes when I raced over, as if I was going to make it worse. As if I was going to scold him for it. I would have blamed Easton; I’ve seen his gruff side, so it easily could have been that. But when he asked for his dad to make the pain go away, it was clear he wasn’t the issue. But who?

His Nana very obviously worshipped the ground he walked on, but I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

A memory of Easton’s and my first conversation comes to mind and I remember what he said about his ex. How she was always breaking shit. Is that Isaac’s mom? I’m not even sure she’s still in the picture, but if she is… No. Goddammit . I can’t get involved. It’s not good for anyone at this time in my life. There’s too much uncertainty. But one thing I know for sure…I don’t like her. Even if she’s nice.

Getting back to my work, I spend the next hour researching themes, trying to find one that works for a bunch of brawny men and executives, and when my phone rings, I welcome the distraction. Even if it is an unknown number.

“Hello, Paige speaking.”

“Paige, it’s Austin.” The guy I hired to look into the Mikkleson family.

“Austin. Hi. Please tell me you’ve found something.”

“I have, but you’re not going to like it.”

Shit . “My ex is involved.” Dammit . I may not care for him anymore, but I was genuinely hoping he wasn’t a part of it.

“No,” Austin states plainly, making me frown. “At least, I don’t think so. Other than his questionable habits with women, namely having a different woman in every country, when it comes to his business, he’s squeaky clean. To the point that I have to wonder if he’s actually clueless.”

My lips quirk into a smile, but I don’t let the humor take over because that’s not why he called. “What won’t I like then?”

“Your mom invested in their company about six months before you called me.”

“What the actual fuck? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. I’m not usually hired to understand people’s psyche.”

“Sorry.” I huff out a laugh. “I know that. But I don’t get it. Did you find anything else? Evidence, maybe? Something I can use to ensure it’s not just my word against theirs?”

“Not yet. Their systems are tight and they’re undoubtedly being careful now that they think you know something. But rest assured, I will. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Thanks. In the meantime, I’ll wait to see what they’re going to release about me next.”

Austin falls silent for a beat before clearing his throat. “Would you rather know ahead of time, or is that going to make you stress?”

“Oh God, you know?”

“I…ah… got access to a file they weren’t too worried about protecting. Photos and…”

“I don’t need the details. I wouldn’t put it past them to have access to Christian’s phone, so I know what exists. I just hope we beat them to it.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thank you.”

I blow out a breath when he hangs up and throw myself back into my work. Funny that barely five minutes ago, I wanted to distract myself from work and now I want the opposite. I need it.

How the hell is my mom involved with Christian’s family? What happened to the simpler life?

F or the next couple of days, I focus on the work I need to do for the upcoming charity events and not much else. I’ve always liked to get the bulk of my work out of the way so I can take my time with the details and not stress that I’m going to let the charity down. This time around is no exception. The only issue is that now, I feel like I’m racing the clock.

The Mikkleson leaks may not have bothered me in the past, but if they’re sitting tight on photos and videos, like the one Christian sent me a little while back, I’m fucked and it’s not going to look good for the charities. Or my dad.

Every time my phone rings, I jump at it, hoping it’s Austin with some news, and every time it’s a text, I cringe, wondering if it’s going to be someone telling me they’ve seen something about me online.

On Tuesday morning, I’m on my way out for a run, hoping to clear my head, when I come across my dad in the lobby.

“Paige.” A beaming smile adorns his face just like it always does when he sees me, and a load of guilt settles in my stomach. What if I fuck this all up for him? He’s already having a hard time with his business and the big decisions he has to make with the team. He doesn’t need to add a disgraced daughter to the mix. God, maybe the half-naked photo shoot wasn’t a good idea. If some of Christian’s and my photos leak, it’s going to add to my father’s embarrassment.

But even with that in mind, I don’t regret it. Any of it. No one forced me to do anything. The only injustice would be Christian’s family stealing from Christian’s phone and choosing to share the photos with the world.

“Why the grim expression?” Dad asks, and I quickly school my features.

“Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind. How are you? It feels like forever since I’ve seen you,” I joke and he laughs. It’s only been a few days, but since I moved here, it’s the longest we’ve gone. A huge contrast between the years we spent apart.

“I’m good. Now. Ask me again at the end of the week.”

“Why?” I wince as he hits me with an equally grim look.

“I’m making my first big changes to the team structure, and they’re not going to like it.”

Apparently nobody is going to like anything at the moment. So much going on. “What are you doing? Does it affect the players?”

I hold my breath for Easton, but when Dad laughs, I relax. “For the bigger picture, yes, but I’m trying hard not to mess with a championship team.”

“Understandable. I better let you go then.”

“Are we still on for dinner tonight? I could use the company.”

“Of course. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Dad’s eyes widen before he steps closer. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” I laugh at his protectiveness. It’s strange and I’m not used to it. “I’m fine. I just wanted to talk to you about Mom.”

He fakes a shiver. “What did she do this time?”

“That’s a good question, Dad. But it’s nothing you need to worry about. We’ll talk tonight.” I’m not sure how I’m going to ask him for advice without telling him how I know about Mom or why I’m worried, but I’ve got the day to figure it out. Because as much as I’d love to take this all on by myself, I think he knows Mom better than I do.

Blasting my music while I run the streets of San Francisco, I make my way toward the beach, running along the shoreline, taking in the calm. And when I get back, I’m feeling better. More refreshed. Ready to tackle the big questions in my life.

But when I walk through the lobby and find Easton standing in front of the elevator, I pause, and almost consider turning around and heading back in the direction I came from.

Easton is another of life’s problems, and one I’d foolishly tried to take off my list.

It’s been over a week since I’ve seen him, and I’d prefer not to be a sweaty and emotional wreck when I do. Because despite us both knowing that what we had was casual and fleeting, I liked the way he made me feel when he looked at me. It was a different kind of wanted. Even if it was just sex.

Slowing my pace, I run through my options—to see him or not to see him—but when the elevator doors open and he steps aside to let people out, glancing in my direction, the decision is made for me. Busted.

Biting back a smile, I lift my fingers in the smallest of waves while he nods expressionless, and after we both enter the elevator, we stand on opposite sides of the space, making way for it to fill.

There’s an invisible tension in the air as we coast toward my floor, but I’m unsure if I’m the only one feeling it because Easton’s doing a damn good job at keeping his eyes focused anywhere but on me. And just when I think we’re going to go another day without speaking, the last person departs the level before mine. And we’re alone.

The buzz running through me intensifies and I both love and hate it. On one hand, the spark he ignites in me is exciting, but on the other hand, it sucks that I can’t do anything about it.

Easton remains silent as we travel the additional floor to my stop, and I arm myself, ready to call him out, when he finally speaks.

“I saw your photo spread,” he says, holding the button to keep the doors open.

And my stomach sinks. That’s all I need right now. For Easton to jump on the Paige-shouldn’t-be-naked bandwagon. Because if he’s not happy about those photos, it’s potentially about to get worse.

“I’m sorry if it affected you in any way,” I say though I don’t really mean it. “I clearly wasn’t thinking about anyone else and—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said you saw my photos. It’s not hard to guess which ones you're referring to. So I was preempting your disappointment.”

“Disappointment? The fuck. I’ve spent the last few days thinking about those damn photos, and I mean, really giving them thought. The only disappointment I feel”—he pins me with his stare and my heart pounds in my chest—“is that I wasn’t there to bend you over that bathtub, and that I’m no longer allowed to be thinking that way. Because Paige…that fucking body. That photo. It could make a man crazy.

“A man… or?”

“A man. I can’t give you any other answer.”

He releases the button and steps back, allowing the doors to close, but I throw my hand out to stop them.

“Why did you have to be a football player?” I ask, my heart lodged in my throat.

Easton huffs, a soft smile on his lips. “The same reason you’re a D’Angelo. It’s in our blood.”

“Ugh. That’s not something that can easily be changed. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Easton’s smile widens and my chest tightens. I could spend hours trying to elicit that little twitch of his lips. Surly Easton is hot, alpha Easton is even hotter, but happy Easton? That guy could melt a woman’s panties right off. Including mine.

“If you ever figure it out,” he says, his smile gone, “let me know. Until then, I’ll see you around?”

“You will.”

I let the doors go but they open again before I’ve taken a step. “And Paige,”—Easton’s eyes lock on mine—“don’t take that disappointed crap from anyone. Be proud.”

I’m so unprepared for his comment that the doors shut before I’ve even uttered a thank you. Because while I am proud, and I don’t need anyone to tell me I should be, I kind of like that he did.