by Nicole Snow
I quirk an eyebrow. “Friendly reminder, the coffee runs aren’t back on the table just because you said 'please.' But I know you’re having a bad day, so I’ll get your coffee because I care. Not because I’m your fake whatever.”
“Thanks,” he says, giving back a smile like the sun.
Oof. It almost makes putting up with his growliness worth it.
He’s so tense he’s gone from sculpted Orion to militant Hercules.
I linger in front of his desk, waiting for more, but it never comes. I’m off to The Bean Bar with a fluttery smile, and when the barista passes me the cup, I pull out a pen and quickly sketch a certain constellation—only this hunter wears a long, exaggerated tie.
“Back so soon? Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, barely looking up.
He doesn’t notice my little doodle.
I ignore the cue to exit, clearing my throat. “Ward, are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, just can’t afford to lose focus. You should concentrate on your job, too.”
What the hell?
“I hope that wasn’t implying I don’t do my job,” I say sharply.
That gets his attention. He meets my eyes.
“No. You work your cute ass off, never any doubt about that. Sorry. We’re all on edge.” He sighs, leaning his massive body back in the tall leather chair.
His new angle makes him notice what’s on the cup as he lifts it for another slurp. For a second, that mile-wide grin returns with a slow understanding nod.
I smile back.
“Thank God. You had me worried, Paige. I was starting to fear I’d have to settle for your smart mouth and never get another message by coffee cup again,” he says with a chuckle.
I wink at him and return to my desk, my heart twisting like a rag. I want this easy banter and loaded smiles.
I want it all, truth be told, and I know I can’t have it. Not while his psycho parents are out there scheming up so much misery. I stay long into the evening, even after my own work is done, hoping for some tiny crumb of good news.
Around eight p.m., Ward emerges from his office and blinks when he sees me. “You didn’t have to stay this late.”
“And you don’t need to work yourself to death, mister.” I stand, reaching for my purse, my eyes searching his for any hope.
It’s not there.
When we head down the elevator together and step outside, Ward almost climbs into an Uber waiting for someone else and not the usual jet-black Lincoln.
My heart aches for him.
This stress is making him lose it.
Back at the penthouse, he still doesn’t have much to say. He orders dinner like we do several times a week. I only cook if I want to.
I grab the mobile order when it shows up, put the food on the table, and go to his study. “Dinner! Hope you’re hungry.”
“Thanks. I’ll eat later. Don’t starve yourself waiting up for me,” he says, still hunched over his computer, a ragged fighting look on his face.
Right.
I promised Ward I’d stay out of the guest suite and I’m not sitting at that massive table by myself, so I grab my General Tso’s chicken and flop down on the couch. At least Netflix still has time for me.
He hasn’t come out of his office by the time I finish dinner and binge-watch three episodes of a small-town suspense series inspired by the intrigue in Heart’s Edge, Montana.
It’s closing in on midnight when I pad to his office again and knock softly on the door.
“Ward?” I try the knob and open it.
He pushes his chair around to face me. “What’s up?”
“Do you need help? If you’re crunching this late, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“You can’t help me with this,” he says darkly. “It’s not technically company business...even if my asshole father wants it to be.”
Right, because I’m so incapable.
“Well, why don’t you take a break so you can eat sometime tonight?”
His face looks like I’m tearing him away from his pride and joy.
“Paige, I’m fine. It’s just a late night like a thousand others I’ve had in my life. If you’re tired, rest. Whatever else he’s trying to steal from us, I’m not letting him take your beauty sleep,” he growls.
I cast him a longing look, but I know there’s no winning. Not without an elephant to pull him away from his desk.
Just before midnight, I lie down in Ward’s California king bed alone. Should I have gone to the guest suite? Or would that upset him more? Does he expect to find me here?
I’m a mess of nerves and restless thoughts for at least an hour until sleep overtakes me.
At least he’s in bed when I wake up in the morning with a dull white light flowing in, illuminating every hard ridge and nick in his skin that makes him so unbearably beautiful.
And so deserving of much more.
I’m reaching out to stroke his back when he turns over. His steely jade-blue eyes greet me with a massive yawn.
“Morning. My back feels tight.” Ward sits up and turns his head from side to side with an audible crunch. “Shit. My neck hates me too.”
“You want a massage?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He’s not good.
There has to be something I can do.
It’s not just the latest ambush from Victor and Giselle. He’s withdrawn so much this past week, and after we’ve moved past this hoax to something approaching real.
If he doesn’t get out of his head, I’ll lose him, and it’s all that’s on my mind as we dive back into another grinding day.
We work fourteen hours straight, fielding design questions for the Winthrope team, and negotiation contracts for several smaller clients. Even Nick seems on edge, growlier than usual, and Ward only speaks to me if he needs a file or a follow-up.
We’re practically limping through the door of the penthouse that night with a packaged meal from Grayson waiting when he starts for his office.
“Hold up! Haven’t you worked enough today?” I call after him.
“The other work isn’t done till it’s done,” he says with a grimness that leaves no doubt what that other work is.
This quest to put away his parents is killing him.
I close my eyes, dreading what I’m about to say.
“Look, I know your cup runneth over with the parentals going rancid, but it’s just...you’re very distant, Ward. After you invited me to live with you—live like a real couple—I thought—”
His brisk movement doesn’t let me finish.
Ward turns away from his office, steps back to me, and presses his lips to my forehead with a searing force that scares me. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I just need time. There’s a hell of a lot going on right now, Paige, and everything on the line.”
I nod. I get it.
“I could help if you’d let me—”
“No. Not this. I promise you, we’ll be in the clear soon enough, and you’ll be richer and drama free.” His eyes fill mine with total assurance.
That’s the thing. I don’t want to be done with this. I don’t want it to end if shedding the drama means losing him.
But I don’t have the energy for more words, and he goes to his office without waiting for me to speak. My stomach twists.
If I don’t find a way to help him out of this insanity, there’s no future for us.
“Think, Paige. There has to be a way,” I whisper to myself, mulling everything over.
The Brandt-Simms ex power couple are both manipulative, self-centered, and skate the law like an ice rink. Blackmail seems to be their go-to, but what if we flipped it around?
There must be something on Victor and Giselle we can hold over them.
Something that would make them shut up and disappear.
Cracking open a blood orange kombucha drink from the fridge, I take a biting sip and let it fill me with determination to hop on my laptop.
An hour later, I’m fr
owning.
Nothing new comes up in search that isn’t already common knowledge. Victor has a few DUIs and misdemeanors for disorderly conduct. I hate drunk drivers, but a ticket for hitting a tree while drunk is nothing compared to drowning a beloved actor.
Giselle was rumored to have been an uptown madam for a while after her divorce, but there’s no hard evidence and no prostitution busts. I also doubt she’d care if I could prove it.
They’re both self-propelled nightmares. There has to be something else.
I need help, but since this is beyond Brina’s skillset...
I glance at the time, grateful it’s a couple hours earlier in California.
My cousin, Liv, answers on the first ring. “Paige? Holy crap, it’s been forever!”
“I know, lady. I miss you. Still killing it with your books?”
There’s a long pause on the other end where I can imagine her awkward, giddy smile. “The latest was on The New York Times list for ten weeks! So, um, I guess you could say that. Turns out people really love grumpy single dads in small-town sagas.”
“Way to slay, cuz. Can’t wait to see your stuff on Netflix someday.” And I totally believe I will.
“Oh, Paige, I can’t imagine! I’m flattered, but...something tells me this isn’t why you called, is it?”
“How’d you know?” I ask with a smile.
“Your voice. You sound a little tired and a lot worried.”
I sigh. Leave it to the kick-ass author to read people like a book—and read them so well she deserves all the lame puns.
“So, I know this might be a big ask, but you’re the only one who can help me. I need information—well, dirt—on two people. Victor Brandt and Giselle Simms.”
“Ohhh, scandalous. Did they pee in your cereal?”
“Umm—not mine. They’re hurting someone I care about.” I’m afraid to say more.
“Oh, no. If it’s that kind of danger, I’ll have Riker go straight to Landon Strauss, and he’ll use the full weight of Enguard to—”
“No, no!” I rush out. “Not that kind of danger. No one’s facing hit men or creepers like you and Milah had to. We don’t need bodyguards. This is more like...a blackmail thing?”
My heart climbs as I realize it’s not that far off from the scary threats on her life Liv went through before her hot future hubby saved the day.
“Wait. Your fiancè?” she asks quietly. “I saw you were engaged. Ward, right? I can’t believe you didn’t call me for wedding tips yet!”
Oh, boy.
“It’s complicated, Liv. But I know you’ll understand,” I whisper. “So let’s leave it at ‘engaged’ for now, and in a couple of months, I’ll explain why I didn’t call.”
“Gotcha. But you need dirt on what, your future in-laws?”
“...yes.”
She giggles. “Paige, everyone wants dirt on their in-laws. My advice is, suck it up and get along for his sake.”
“I don’t have a problem with them. He does—a very serious one involving a lot of money and deeply personal information—and he doesn’t want to bring me into the drama. I’m going to lose him, Liv, if I can’t figure something out.”
A hot tear rolls down my cheek again.
“I’m so sorry. What’s the deal with his own parents?”
“They were involved with Dylan Parnell’s death and...they kind of want to keep using it as a weapon against their sons and Ward’s grandmother,” I say, trying to give the best summary.
“Parnell? Name sounds familiar...”
“He was an actor years ago. Super famous. Every teenage girl had him on their posters. He drowned in this horrible accident on Lake Michigan.”
“Oh, right. God. I remember that case now. I was just a kid, but it was all the buzz for a while...”
I sniff. “The investigation didn’t prove any wrongdoing, but Ward doesn’t trust them. I think now they’re trying to blackmail him, but I can’t say more than that.”
“Well, I’ll have Riker see what he can come up with. Enguard Security has a lot of resources. If there’s something to find, he’ll get it,” she tells me.
“Thank you so much,” I say.
“Tell me about this guy you’re marrying when he’s not being blackmailed, okay? According to the Twitter-verse, he’s an arrogant skirt-chasing snob.”
I laugh. “A lot of that’s tabloid driven and they’re not exactly fond of Ward and his brother. He may come across as aloof, but he’s no snob. He just has very high standards and expects the same from everyone else. All the scandals his parents made were hard on the family business, and he thinks keeping everyone in line helps their reputation. I can’t say he’s wrong.”
“You admire him,” she says happily.
I do? I’d never thought of that.
“Maybe.”
“What about the women? If someone plans to marry my cousin, that’s what I’m more concerned about. He could hurt you, and then I’d have to kill him,” she says with her best mock ice-cold mafia don voice.
I laugh. I miss Liv more than I realized.
“I think he gets blamed for his brother’s antics sometimes. He had a messy breakup with one woman a few years back that got twisted around. Ward’s not that kind of man the internet claims.”
A kid screams in the background and her husband’s booming voice echoes.
“Umm—I should go investigate. Probably Em practicing her latest ninja moves. Let’s just say it’s interesting since her dad decided she’s old enough to start sparring with him,” Liv says with a laugh.
I’m a little jealous of her perfect family, especially the badass math-whiz older step-daughter.
“Have fun! And thanks again, lady. I owe you one.”
I’m actually feeling better after the talk and make myself a hot tea to take to the balcony. A dark silhouette leans against the railing, staring into the distance.
“I thought you were still in your office,” I say.
Ward’s head flicks toward me, his hair a sexy mess, then turns back to the skyline. “I couldn’t concentrate.”
“What are you brooding about?” I step up beside him and take a sip of my tea, wrapping an arm around his shoulders—or trying when they’re so broad.
“I’m not brooding. Just thinking.”
“It’s all the same, isn’t it?” I try to joke.
“Brooding implies angst and the inability to control your emotions. I have no emotions, so—”
“If you believe that, okay.” I sputter a laugh.
He glares. “Brooding doesn’t solve shit. I’m trying to figure out the quickest move to corner my father. There has to be a kill shot that doesn’t involve literally shooting him.”
“If he’s after money, have you considered just...paying him? You offered me one point five million dollars to be part of a hoax. You could buy his silence.”
He shakes his head.
“I thought about that a long time ago, but my dad’s a selfish piece of shit with no shame. If I pay him off this time, what’s to stop him from coming back in a few years and asking for more? What if he wants a lot more to play nice? The day will come when he pushes too hard. You don’t negotiate with terrorists for a reason.”
“So beat him at his own game,” I say slowly, then take another long pull of my tea.
“How?”
“Everyone has skeletons. Find his—anything that’s still secret, I mean—and let him know he’ll knock it off or face the consequences.”
Ward snorts gently into the night, shaking his head.
“I wish like hell it was that easy,” he says. “The thing about having no moral compass is there’s no good reason to hide anything. And after the Parnell shit, he couldn’t look worse in the public eye.”
“I find it hard to believe someone as corrupt as your father has nothing else to hide.” I pause, hesitate, but then decide to say the next words. “And, um, I might already be working on it.”
I grin as he throws me a sc
olding look.
“What do you mean?”
“I enlisted some help from people who know how to dig.”
He bows up, an angry bolt against the night.
“Jesus, Paige. You have someone pecking at my family’s bullshit? Without even asking me?”
Oops. But there’s no backing down now.
I hold his gaze without flinching.
“You’re not in this alone. I’ve told you a hundred times. My cousin’s married to a high-level genius at a major security firm. If there’s dirt to be found, he’ll dab it up and send it over.”
“Goddammit, Paige,” he snarls, throwing his arms up and raking a hand down his face before he looks at me again. “I thought I told you to stay out of this. If you really want to help, do not get any deeper. Understand?”
Holy crap.
I flinch now, but before I can answer, he’s sighing like thunder, pulling me into him. Those massive arms grip me so tight because he cares.
No matter how grumpy, growly, or ridiculous he gets, every touch reminds me of the truth that makes me tear up.
I’m pressed against his chest. His muscles are solid steel shields—but I’m not the one who needs protecting.
Whimpering, I melt into his constellation against the blackness and the soft glow of the city’s lights.
We stand there like that—him holding me up, me a soft puddle against his chest, both of us fully entangled—for God only knows how long.
“I’m sorry as hell. Didn’t mean to snap. My parents can’t ruin—can’t destroy you the way they do everything else. I won’t fucking let them.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, meeting his eyes.
They’re midnight blue and bottomless in the nightscape.
“I’ve got to get ahold of Nick. Our family bullshit has to stop spilling over into every other part of our lives. Our parents’ bad decisions shouldn’t affect us anymore.”
We peel apart and I nod.
Then he leads me back inside, closes the sliding door, and kisses me.
“You should go to bed. I’ll be there soon,” he says.
“Oh, we’re speaking again?” I sass, showing my tongue between my teeth.
He huffs out a breath. “You’re high-maintenance. When were we not speaking?”
I slap his chest playfully.
