by Nicole Snow
She pulls away just as I slip my teeth into her lip, gasping for breath.
She’s not alone.
Goddamn. This girl pierced my armor.
My defenses are useless around her, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk away from this when our contract is up. So I kiss her again, deliriously stumped, and all because I want to find out how to reach deeper than her body and taste her soul.
I know how absurd this sounds.
I know how dangerous.
I know how I feel about her—far stronger than I have any right to feel.
Could I do this to her? If I’m not sane enough to walk away when the contract ends, could I condemn her to being a Brandt?
Would she even agree to it after meeting my mother?
It’s one thing to offer comforting words. It’s another kind of hell to actually live in this family and the never-ending mess.
“Paige, if I asked you for something, would you do it?”
“If I could,” she says.
“Don’t come in this room again. Put your clothes in my closet. Don’t wait for Grayson, I’ll move them myself.” I knot my fingers around the comforter and wait.
Wait, because her answer matters more to me than it should.
More than anything, Winthrope included.
Her mouth answers with a crush of sweetness and such force my head hits the mattress again.
Fuck, do I love the way her tongue moves in my mouth, like she wants to inhale me.
I pull her on top of me and mold her body to mine.
She takes several ragged breaths before breaking away in a whisper.
“Done.”
One word from her heart-shaped mouth, and I’m grinning like a fool.
She’s agreed to share my room even after meeting Giselle Satan Brandt.
Maybe she would agree to my insanity? If only I’d let her.
Standing, I grab her and sling her over my shoulder.
“Hey, what? What are you doing?” She squeals and starts pounding my back playfully, kicking her long legs.
“Taking you to our room,” I growl, holding her tighter as she giggles.
“Ward, I’m so glad you chose me to—to be—”
I know what she means even if she can’t finish the words.
Smiling, I readjust her so I’m carrying her like a bride now.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Me too.” I set her on my bed, lie down beside her, and wind my arms back around her where they belong.
“Why did you come home early today?” she asks, twirling her hair in that way that murders me.
“You want the truth or a pretty lie?”
She pauses and stares, eyes lit like a purring cat’s.
“The truth, bossman. Never anything else,” she says.
“When you didn’t come back to the office, I knew something was wrong. I had no idea it was as bad as meeting my mother, but I know when you’re off.”
“So, you were worried? That’s adorable.”
I glare at her.
“No,” I lie.
She laughs and kisses me on the cheek.
“Are you sure that’s all she said? Picking at our arrangement? You were upset. I’ve never seen you so shaken, honestly. Worse than the day your ex showed up at the art gala.”
“She wished me luck—if we’re real. I know it shouldn’t have upset me so much. We’re not real, but I didn’t like how she acted. Like she couldn’t even fathom you choosing me. And I hated how she blamed Beatrice for basically everything.”
“She despises Grandma and always has. Mother blames her for the financial collapse she found herself in later on, and the divorce. If Grandma hadn’t cut them out of the trust, she thinks they’d still be married.” I shrug. “Who knows. Money’s all they care about. In fairness, Grandma knows about it, and approved of this arrangement. She even thought it’d be fun.”
And God help her, she was right, I think to myself with a smile.
“But it was Nick’s idea,” Paige says.
I love the way she wants to protect my grandmother to the end.
“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was,” I say. “I got the best end of the deal—spending time with a beautiful woman who cooks and kisses like a devil. Winthrope committing is almost just the icing on the cake.”
She grins. “Awww, you probably tell all the girls that.”
“Only the ravishing ones who kiss like sin made flesh.” I brush my lips to hers for effect. But she doesn’t back away and a second later, we’re joined in another withering kiss.
When we break away, Paige molds her head to my chest. “You asked for a favor. Can I ask you to return one?”
“Anything.” My fingers crawl through her silky hair.
“Don’t make me learn anything else from a chain smoker in a hotel lounge. No more big secrets, okay?”
Fair enough.
“She only knows what she reads. I agree, though, we’ve made it this far and you’re entitled to anything I know. I wasn’t hiding the engagement, Paige. I just don’t like reliving it. I keep hoping I’ll forget.”
I stare down at the rock on her finger, bizarrely wishing she’d let me put it there without an expiration date.
A wild fantasy, obviously.
Also, the way things went up in smoke with Maria should’ve been a lesson. Brandt boys aren’t meant to marry.
I can’t bring Paige into this mess. Can’t let family dynamics I was cursed with destroy such a good heart, one more fragile than her biting sass lets on.
My grip around her tightens.
I have to make the most of the days we have left, and then give her back to the happy life she deserves.
Nothing else is sane.
“I need the key to your apartment,” I say.
“Huh? You made me swear not to leave your room. And why would you need a key to my place?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow night,” I tell her with a wink.
In the morning, I give Paige’s key to Reese so she can take something hostage.
I also leave her with a list of strict instructions.
We’re at the office for ten hours, working nonstop. Even faint whispers of the big Winthrope project were good for the firm’s clout. We’ve got a stampede of new clients beating down our door.
Once we’re finally home, I say, “Let’s go to the dining room.”
“Did you already order dinner? We weren’t here to accept the delivery.”
“Just go. No questions, brat,” I say softly.
A table against the wall holds a tower of Italian appetizers, a bottle of sweet red wine, and chocolate-dipped strawberries. The table seats ten people, so it’s perfect for this. Her tabletop kiln, sculpting wheel, and a bowl of clay are at one end, with two place settings and a candelabra at the other.
Paige’s mouth drops adorably. For a split second, I think she’s forgotten how to speak before she whirls around and flings her arms around me.
“Ward! You...you did all this for me?” She stands on her toes to kiss me and I kiss back with an equally furious joy.
“I did it for myself.”
She laughs. “Yourself? What?”
“Yeah, tonight’s the night. My fiancée’s teaching me to sculpt,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“Ward,” she says the word like it’s scripted, and also like she’s not done. There’s more on her lips.
“What?”
She’s on her toes kissing me again, her leg curled around mine. I want her to enjoy the food and the clay, but the way my body reacts to her—thunder vibrates my blood.
Placing my hand under her thighs, I hoist her up, aligning us perfectly.
She wraps both legs around my waist.
I pull away from the kiss to take a breath, then our mouths crash together again like that spot where oceans meet, desperately trying to join.
My hand moves up her thigh, under her skirt, and up to her—bare?—bottom.
“Shit. You’re not we
aring panties, you minx,” I say with a rasp that burns.
Her satisfied giggle ends the kiss early. She’s so red-faced I smile.
“Do I even want to know?” I ask, cocking my head.
“I keep hoping we’ll be alone one day and you’ll be—inappropriate. In the office, I mean, and I thought—”
I blink. “Inappropriate?”
“You know. Like on your desk. The janitor’s closet. Somewhere tiny and secret or in front of the whole city through the windows. It’s all the same.” She’s grinning sweetly and awkwardly.
I burst out laughing, amused and brutally turned on by her hot, tense expression.
“Hey, don’t laugh! Wardhole,” she mutters.
“I’m not, but there’s a certain code in the office,” I say, knowing I’m damn near fated to break it now. Still, I won’t give up without a fight.
Her forehead creases like she’s offended.
“I can’t keep my hands off of you in this house, the car...but you know that. Still, I won’t risk making a spectacle of you or our relationship at work.”
“Wait. We have a relationship?”
Fucking hell.
I’m not ready to answer that mishap, so I walk to the empty center of the table with my girl still clinging to me and lay her across it.
I know when to shut it and I think my dick appreciates me more for it.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, finding out a second later as my hand runs up her leg and hikes up her skirt.
“What we can’t do at work, though I may keep a room on call at the hotel up the street. I’d rather have you for lunch any day, Paige.” I sink down on my knees, dragging my lips up her thighs greedily.
“Oh, Ward,” she whispers, the first of many times.
The second time that phrase leaves her mouth, I think I’ve convinced her we can be inappropriate damn near anywhere.
23
High Maintenance (Paige)
“If we flipped this around—” I point to a wall on the design plan. “It would require less backsplash. We’d get the same look but lower the bid because we’d need less imported tile. I’ve seen Trista’s estimates.”
“Uh-huh.” Ward’s eyes flick between his phone and computer screen.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
“What did I say?” I ask, frustration rising.
He plays with his phone again.
“Ward!”
He looks up at me. “Buy the imported tile. Just tell accounting I approved the budget.”
“That’s...not what I said.”
“I trust you on this one,” he says quietly.
For a second, I wonder if this is some new game, but his eyes are dull, even in the summery sun filtering in.
“What’s wrong?” My hands land on my hips, waiting.
But his eyes are on his phone again, reading.
“Nothing,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, right. I’ve never seen you this distracted. What’s wrong?”
He pushes his chair away from his desk and pats his leg, finally looking up with a bearish sigh.
I sit in his lap.
His arms close around me a moment later.
“I didn’t want you mixed up in this,” he begins. “But since we agreed you wouldn’t find out any shit from other people, I guess I should tell you. Nick and I tried calling my dad. He’s not answering. He’s not at the cheap travel motel either. We don’t know where the hell he is, and I don’t know what he’s planning if he’s disappeared. I just know it’s not good.”
It all makes sense now. I lay my head on his shoulder.
“I hope he didn’t find out Beatrice is in Hawaii.”
“Same. I can’t help but think this is the calm before the storm. It’s about to go down,” he says darkly.
“Your parents are walking trauma. Not sure there’s any ‘storm’ coming, it just feels that way because you’ve had so many bad experiences. I bet he’s given up and moved on to the next scheme.”
“Hope you’re right,” he says.
“If something happens, we’ll get through it together,” I say, searching his deep, dark eyes. “I promise.”
“That’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to 'get through' this. A million dollars can’t be worth it.”
I grin. “It’s a million and a half, and I want my money pretty bad.”
He lips turn up in this kissable pitchfork.
“If you backed out, I’d still pay you. You’ve definitely gone above and beyond the call of duty.”
I turn in his lap so I can see that gaze, sharp as a ceremonial dagger. “If you canceled the contract, we’d still get through whatever comes next. Together. You’re stuck with me now, bossypants.”
His smile warms me faster than the balmy sun crisscrossing the office.
“I have no idea why a woman as beautiful, talented, and lively as you wants to be mixed up with a Wardhole—or my insane family—but sometimes I’m glad you do.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, proving just how mixed up I want to be.
He kisses me, but his body feels stiff, almost rigid.
I pull away and slide a hand over his face.
“You’re still tense.”
He nods. “You should probably get up before someone sees us like this. Compromising positions feed a lot of gossip.”
“Oh, right, because sitting in my betrothed’s lap is the scandal of the century. Should I text it to that Osprey guy?”
He laughs, but doesn’t argue. His cell rings, he accepts the call, and puts it on speaker.
“Hey, Ross, how are you?”
“I’m good, but son, I have some bad news. Someone’s out to get you,” Winthrope says.
My heart skips a few beats.
“Get me? What do you mean?” Ward demands.
“It has to be one of your competitors, I’m sure. It came in an unmarked package and without any hint who sent it. I can’t tell you who to sue, but I’d get an attorney and investigator going on a libel case right away.”
Well, crap. Apparently I was wrong. A storm is coming and the feral look on Ward’s face says he’s ready to barrel straight into the headwind.
“Can you be more specific, please? What was in this package?” Ward asks.
“The packet of info claims your engagement is a scam to con me into thinking you’ve grown up.” For a second, it’s dead silent until Winthrope continues. “Don’t worry. I didn’t give a second thought to that outrageous nonsense. I’ve seen you two together. You’d both have to be professional actors to bamboozle me. I saw the love in your eyes, and that fine young lady hangs on your every word.”
I’m doubled over with the sigh of relief hissing out of me.
Ward looks like he’s ready to find whodunit and skin them alive.
“Mr. Winthrope, thank you. I deeply appreciate you passing this along,” he says coldly.
“Certainly. I just wanted you to know. I’m probably not the only client the vultures are trying to poach. I can forward you the packet if it will help you get to the bottom of this. It’s simply diabolic that someone would use the transition going on in your firm right now to swipe clients. A changeover caused by a wonderful, talented woman’s health slipping, of all things. If you do find out who it is, tell me. I’ll have someone this unethical blacklisted. If they’ll do it to you today, there’s no telling who’ll wind up in front of the firing squad tomorrow.”
“Absolutely. Thank you again. Forwarding the info would be very helpful,” Ward says, his fist clenched so hard in front of him his knuckles are bone-white.
“Consider it done. I hope the next time we talk it’s under better circumstances. Mrs. Winthrope wants to know where Miss Holly registered for the wedding. Send me a message when you find out.”
“Of course. Thank you,” Ward says.
Winthrope cuts the call.
Then it happens.
Ward slams his jackhammer fist against
his desk so ferociously I jump, pressing a hand to my drumming heart.
“Who...who do you think it could be?” I ask, cringing because I already have a good guess.
“The six-foot pile of crap I call dad. Who else?” he growls, before his face softens. “Sorry. I knew it was coming, but having it dropped on my head...”
“Are you sure, Ward?”
“Who else would it be?” He’s quiet for a minute. “Mother? She’s not this bloodthirsty.”
“If you know it’s your parents, why did you ask him to forward the information?”
“Evidence. Plus, I have to keep him thinking it’s from a competitor. Otherwise, he’ll run for the hills.”
“Calm down. We dodged the bullet. Let’s not forget that,” I say softly, taking a step toward him, but he shifts his chair, avoiding my touch.
“We’ve dodged nothing, Paige. Not yet. And it won’t end until I’ve shut this shit down. There’ll be other grenades, and if Winthrope is a dead end they’ll go to The Chicago Tea. The asshole won’t stop until he gets what he wants. That’s how my father is. He’s greedy, dirty, and never figured out how to think.”
He picks up his office phone and punches a direct line button.
“Nick, get your ass in here.” He hangs up.
Nick Brandt comes through the door a second later, his easygoing grin replaced with a scowl. “What’s your problem now?”
“Not what, who. And the answer is, our fuck of a dad,” Ward says.
“Jesus. What’s happened?” Nick asks, taking a chair.
I listen tensely while Ward fills him in on the call and the mystery character assassination packet.
My heart aches for Nick when he looks up, his face morose, loaded with decades of pain caused by these people.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
I don’t hear Ward’s answer.
I’m too busy beginning to understand the dark side of becoming a Brandt.
A few hours later, Ward calls me into his office.
It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since the phone call ordeal earlier.
“You rang?” I push his office door open.
“I need the biggest black drip you can find. And if you can’t, six shots of espresso, please,” he says.
