Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
I clench my phone and rush to the ladies’ room. I don’t even bother packing up. I call Brina in a desperation fever.
Pick up. Please. You can’t not answer.
“Hey, Paige,” she says a second later. “Is something wrong?”
“Ward...Ward was engaged to this Spanish princess slash supermodel and...he never bothered to mention it,” I say between harsh breaths.
For a moment, she’s quiet.
“Why would he? It’s just a contract, right?”
“No, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous and I know it, but...Brina, I’m being ridiculous. I’m freaking out over a Wardhole.” A searing tear rolls down my cheek and my lip quivers. “Wait. Did you know about Maria?”
“No, of course not. Paige, what set this off?” she asks gently.
“His mom found me at the Built Better Conference. She said a lot of nasty things about Beatrice Brandt, and then she told me all about his past engagement. She also thinks we’re probably only engaged because his grandmother was desperate to close on the hotel. She sees right through us, and I’m worried. If she gets in touch with Winthrope...”
I swallow a jagged rock in my throat.
“Well,” Brina starts. “Listen, I don’t think it’ll go that far. She seems pretty shadowy if she’s been out of Ward’s life this long like you said, right?”
“You don’t understand. We—well, we—”
“You slept together!” Brina finishes with a gasp. “Whoa. Was it good?”
Aaand I’m all out of tears now as an emotional freight train slams through me.
Shame. Regret. Memories. Growls. Smiles. Laughs. Tears.
Also known as love, that cactus-thorn cocktail with a bittersweet aftertaste—and somewhere along the way, I was stupid enough to get drunk on it.
“Paige?” Brina calls my name again, waiting patiently.
“I’m still here. And yes. He was being so sweet to me. I’m not sure it matters now. All the red flags are waving, Brina. My mom called me this morning and reminded me how stupid this is because men don’t play games with women they truly care about. Then when Reese came to pick me up for the conference, she gave me this cute bouquet Ward bought, so I thought maybe Mom was wrong and he actually likes me.” I wipe my eyes, sniffing needles.
“Gah, oldest trick in the book,” Brina scoffs. “Billionaire bad boys are all the same. Mag aside, I mean. And your mom’s wrong about one thing. Women men care about are the first they play games with because they’re too damn scared just to be honest.”
A shaky smile pulls at my lips.
I miss Brina and her bluntness. I wipe my eyes again. “His mom said she doubts we’re real, and we won’t last. I’m worried what she could do with that information.”
“You didn’t give her any proof, right?” Brina asks.
“No.”
“Well, I don’t know Ward well enough to say if he cares about you or not, but he doesn’t not care. That much was obvious when I saw you two together. Before you go nuclear, go home and just ask him about it. If it’s all a game, it gives him a fair chance to tell you. And if it’s not, he’ll probably tell you that, too.”
Probably.
Yeah, right.
The day I get anything but heart-stabby signal noise from Boss Grump the Irresistible is the day they’ll need space heaters in hell.
But for once, I hope against hope that Brina’s sage advice hits the mark.
22
Inappropriate (Ward)
It’s six o’clock, and Paige hasn’t come back to the office.
Strange. I asked her to return after the conference and give me her immediate impressions. Notes can’t always suffice for some things.
She’s never not followed a professional directive.
I drum my fingers on the desk, trying to ignore the scenarios playing out in my mind. If she hadn’t been there when Reese went to pick her up, I’d know about it. If there was an accident on the way home, I’d know about that too. Grandma had the car equipped with world class security and emergency alert services.
After another minute of trying to be the heartless, steely-eyed avatar I present to the world, I fucking crack.
I pick up my phone and start typing, What are you doing?
Working. What else? she texts back less than a minute later.
You’re supposed to do that here. I add a devil emoji to the end.
God help me.
It’s worse that I’m teething my lip, waiting for the second when my phone pings again a minute later.
I went home, Ward. Didn’t see the point in going downtown again.
What the hell? What’s eating her? Is this some new game?
I asked you to report in. Especially about the folks you met there. Notes can’t summarize tone or facial expressions like a human brain, I send, doing my damnedest to keep it polite.
A few seconds later, she replies. Sorry. If you really want me, I’ll be there. I just thought I could get more done here today.
Shit. I may be bad at texts but I know when a woman wants distance.