The Payback Plan

Chapter 13

13

Oliver woke at ten thirty the following morning, Paige snuggled into his side, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, her curls tickling his face and he smiled. He’d half expected to find her gone and the fact she wasn’t made him ridiculously happy.

He wasn’t fool enough to think that there wouldn’t be a reckoning over what had happened on the couch last night – and another two times in his bedroom. Paige might have given in to the vibe between them under the cover of darkness but he’d been privy to her guilt over a simple kiss. He figured her self-loathing over them sleeping together would be epic.

And he understood it. He didn’t feel great about sleeping with a friend of Bella’s either given how appallingly he’d already treated her.

But, conversely, it also didn’t feel wrong.

Despite the tabloids’ attempt to brand every woman he’d ever stood or sat beside since the non-wedding as a new flame , the very last thing on his mind had been hooking up. Given the Bella disaster, he was happy to swear off relationships for life. Yet Paige, who had come out of nowhere and disordered his life, had somehow infiltrated his brain.

Which wasn’t nothing. Nor was it just hooking up , either.

Apart from a conversation (they should have had prior) about contraception and sexual health – she had an implant and they’d both been abstinent for a protracted period – they hadn’t talked much last night. She hadn’t seemed to want to and, selfishly, he hadn’t pushed. Frankly he’d expected her to immediately leap up in horror off the couch and the fact she hadn’t and then followed him – stark naked – to his room afterwards, had sewn a little seed of hope.

Maybe whatever this was, didn’t have to be a disaster. Maybe it had… legs? If they could just move past the Bella thing. If he could move past the Bella thing.

It had only been eight months since his dramatic split with her and, given it had been the most significant romantic relationship in his life, it was probably wise not to rush back in. Especially not when at the first whiff of a romance there’d be paps around every corner.

Which was why he’d always dated women who ran in the same circles and were used to that kind of normal – which was not Paige. Why would he subject the woman he had a bunch of complicated feelings for, to that?

His stomach growled, interrupting the spin of his thoughts and he suddenly realised he was hungry. He didn’t know what Paige would do next or even what he wanted her to do but he did know how to feed her and, after their epic, sweaty, calorie-burning session last night, they both needed to eat.

Hell, Oliver would probably need to carb load for the next three days just to make up for the deficit.

Paige stirred a little as he eased his arm out from under her head and he held his breath until her head settled on the pillow in a cloud of reddy-gold curls. He wanted to lean in and kiss the freckle on the tip of her nose but he didn’t want to wake her – not yet. Not without sustenance on offer. A hearty breakfast always made a person feel better about themselves and would hopefully spark a calm, civilised, morning-after conversation.

No one could have a calm, civilised conversation on an empty stomach, right?

Rolling out of bed, Oliver quickly pulled on a pair of sweats and tiptoed out of the room. Taking the stairs to the kitchen two at a time he was greeted by familiar grey skies and the pound of surf through the large window.

It made him shiver just looking at it. Surely winter was on its way out? It was going to be March in a few weeks. He’d seen a scattering of daffodils growing across the road yesterday for crying out loud.

Ignoring the weather, Oliver greeted Pavarotti who he’d rescued from downstairs sometime during the night when Paige had realised they’d left him in the media room in their rush to continue their sex-capades. His cage in its usual spot on the kitchen counter, the hamster scurried to the bars and Oliver ruffled his finger through his ginger quiff.

‘You hungry?’ he crooned. Which was a dumb question – Pavarotti, even the slimmer version, never said no to food.

After dealing with the hamster’s gastronomic needs, Oliver got to work in the kitchen, scrambling eggs, smashing avocado, crumbling fetta, squeezing lemon and producing two steaming mugs of coffee. It was strange not having Casper at his feet, shadowing him, waiting for food scraps that fell to the floor.

Rationally, Oliver knew that Casper had a home and an owner who’d been looking for him and it was right to see them reunited but that didn’t stop him wishing it hadn’t happened. Casper had been by his side as Oliver had bared his soul – his deepest, darkest secrets – and that bond went deep. No matter what he’d spoken out loud, Casper hadn’t judged him and that meant a lot.

Arranging the plates on a tray, Oliver inspected the aesthetic, satisfied with what he saw. It not only smelled good but was pleasing to the eye. It was missing something though and he knew exactly what. Striding down the hallway, he opened the front door spying the yellow blooms across the way.

Hoping like hell there wasn’t a stray pap lurking around, he sprinted across the road.

* * *

To his surprise, Paige was staring at the ceiling when he entered, both arms above her head. The fact she hadn’t disappeared the second she’d opened her eyes was something, right? Maybe she was up for a conversation.

‘Morning,’ he said cheerfully, tray in hand. ‘I made breakfast.’

Her eyes met his. ‘So I see.’

‘You hungry?’

She nodded. ‘ Starving .’

‘Good answer,’ he said with a grin as he set the tray in the middle of the bed.

‘Would you mind throwing me my nightshirt?’

Oliver had brought their clothes up when he’d rescued Pavarotti and they were now sitting in a pile on the dresser. He didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that Paige wanted to cover up but she was still here and that was all that mattered.

He tossed her the requested article and in one little shimmy it was over her head and down her body as she’d hauled herself into a sitting position, without even a nip slip. It was startlingly efficient which shouldn’t be sexy but somehow was, as was the grin she levelled at him like she knew she’d just bamboozled him and Oliver was utterly freaking charmed.

‘Smells good,’ she said, adjusting the pillows behind her back to prop herself a little forward as she gathered the duvet around her waist and crossed her legs lotus-style beneath.

Turning her attention to the tray, she noticed the flower for the first time, her mouth softening into a smile. ‘ Oh .’ Reaching for it, she brought it to her nose. ‘I love daffodils,’ she murmured as she fingered the stem and brushed the petals under her nose, inhaling the floral essence. Lifting her gaze, she met his eyes. ‘Thank you.’

Oliver shrugged. It had been an impulsive gesture but, seeing her genuine delight, one he was pleased he’d gone with. Handing her the coffee mug, he waited until she’d placed it and the daff on the bedside table before offering her a linen serviette. Dutifully, she spread it over her lap and plonked the plate he passed her on top.

Mimicking her position, Oliver climbed on top of the duvet, his back to the door, also balancing his plate while his mug sat on the tray between them.

‘I don’t know, Oliver,’ she murmured as she glanced at the food, picking up a piece of extra toast he’d cut in half diagonally and put on her plate. ‘There’s going to be crumbs. How will you cope?’

Oliver laughed at her teasing. ‘I think I’ll cope this once.’

‘But…’ She shook her head. ‘Bed crumbs are the worst crumbs.’ Then she bit into the toast.

She was right, bed crumbs were the worst crumbs but the way her eyes shut as she savoured the buttery crunch had him suddenly rather fond of them.

‘Mmm.’ She sighed, her lashes fluttering open. ‘Good.’

They tucked in and for a couple of minutes there was just the sound of cutlery scraping on crockery and contented sighs as coffee was sipped. Paige was an appreciative eater but not in some performative erotic consumption of food way. No staged lick lipping or finger sucking. Just pure hedonistic enthusiasm.

Who knew that was such a turn on?

The silence was companionable and Oliver was loathe to break it but with the mood this mellow, it also felt like an opening for that civilised discussion.

Picking up his mug, he sipped it as he watched her devour her plate, all fresh-faced and wild ginger hair. He could picture her with a wreath of vine leaves entwined in her curls surrounded by ripe fruit and exotic flowers like a painting he’d once seen of Pomona, Roman goddess of fruitful abundance.

And she was in his bed. And he really liked her. Sure, he’d liked all the women he’d had in his bed but none of them had felt like this .

She lifted her eyes from the plate and met his as she swallowed her mouthful. ‘What?’ A reddy-gold eyebrow kicked up. ‘Have I got food on my face?’ She brushed at her mouth.

‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I was just thinking you’re much more…’ Oliver chose the next word carefully. He wanted to say calm, but, in his experience, it was a word that could have the opposite effect in a conversation. ‘Chill than I thought you’d be this morning.’

A storm of emotions turned her eyes the milky jade of the ocean and for a moment he thought he’d blown it. That she might not answer. That she might change the subject. But then she sighed and her shoulders slumped a little. ‘I’m not.’ Her curls shifted as she shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m just trying not to think about it.’

‘About last night?’

‘Yep.’

‘Because denial is better than self-loathing?’ he asked tentatively.

She laughed but there was no joy in it. ‘Oh, I absolutely hate myself and I know the second I leave this room and face reality it will be all I think about.’

Luckily, Oliver had a solution for that. But it was hardly appropriate in the midst of this conversation to suggest she didn’t even bother leaving the room. That she stay naked in his bed for as long as she needed to stop the loathing and he would administer all the sustenance she needed through a constant supply of scrambled eggs, coffee and cunnilingus.

‘The bigger problem is how conflicted I feel about what happened.’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘It should be cut and dried, right? But it’s not. On one hand I feel truly awful about sleeping with my friend’s ex. Kissing you was bad enough but going all the way like that?’ She grimaced, clearly disgusted. ‘ How could I do that ?’

The question was rhetorical he was pretty sure so Oliver didn’t answer. Plus, she was actually talking about it this time, not running away with her fingers jammed metaphorically in her ears, so it would be idiotic to interrupt.

‘But, also.’ She shut her eyes. ‘It was… good.’

He grinned. He couldn’t help himself because fuck, yeah, it had been. It had been seriously superlative rumpy-pumpy .

She hummed as if reliving the more salacious details then opened her eyes. ‘I hadn’t thought it’d be that good.’

Oliver wasn’t sure whether to be affronted or pleased but, as usual, her frankness was weirdly endearing and he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Um, thank you? I think?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘That makes it worse.’

‘Would you feel better if it had been terrible?’

‘ Duh .’ She bugged her eyes at him. ‘It would have been the ultimate… sexual justice.’

‘Okay.’ Oliver had no idea what to do with that information. ‘Well… whatever. I’m not sorry about it being not terrible.’

She regarded him for a long moment as if she was trying to find the words to explain. ‘It’s just that it’s been a long time for me. And the last guy I was with… well…’ Her lips tightened and the hazel of her eyes deepened to a rusty brown. ‘It was messy. And, for… reasons… ’

Paige paused and swallowed and Oliver’s nape prickled. Something bad had happened.

‘I can’t disassociate sex from him. So I told myself I didn’t want it and I didn’t need it. That abstinence was a perfectly legitimate choice people made every day.’

‘Paige.’ Oliver placed his coffee on the tray in a slow controlled movement he absolutely did not feel. His stomach roiled as a cold oily slick settled over the contents. He knew it wasn’t any of his business but he asked anyway. ‘What did he do to you?’

What had that asshole done?

She shook her head, her curls ruffling as she waved her hand dismissively. ‘This isn’t about him. It’s about me. Letting go. I’ve held myself so tight, so contained for so long. I haven’t let myself go in four freaking years.’

Oliver blinked at the statement. He’d never met a woman more spontaneous and impulsive in his entire life. She’d been the exact opposite of contained. But, he’d been around enough to know that people’s sexual personality could be very different to the one on display to the outside world.

‘It was such a… relief,’ she continued. ‘And part of me wants to feel great about that and wants to rejoice which makes me a terrible person because it shouldn’t have happened. Not with you.’ She sighed as she picked up her coffee and settled back against the bedhead. ‘Why did it have to be you?’

Oliver shrugged. He didn’t know the answer to what cosmic forces had been at work to land her on his doorstep. He was just fucking delighted they had. He understood her guilt because he felt it too, but what Bella didn’t know, couldn’t hurt her. What had happened last night was between him and Paige and, for sure, they’d have to reckon with it but nobody else had to know.

‘So, I might seem chill in here’ – she gestured around the room – ‘eating breakfast with you because I can steadfastly refuse to think about any of those things too closely in this alternate reality bubble where it’s just you and me.’

Just you and me . Oliver liked the sound of that. Maybe a little too much.

‘But the moment I step through there’ – she tipped her chin at the doorway – ‘the real world is waiting for me and that’ll be brutal.’

Brutal seemed a little excessive to Oliver and he wondered if there was more to Paige’s guilt than just Bella? Was it also something to do with the asshole? His jaw tightened at the thought and he had to make a serious mental effort to shake the sudden grimness that had descended because it was none of his business.

‘Okay, so, how about this.’ Oliver forced a smile as he pushed off the bed, gathering his plate then hers and putting them on the tray. ‘ Don’t go through the door. Not yet.’

She gave a half laugh. ‘Oliver Prendergast, my partner in denial.’ She shook her head. ‘I have work to do. Clients to manage.’

Oliver placed the tray on the dresser that sat against the wall opposite the bed. Affixed to the wall above, sat a large-screen TV. He turned to face her and his heart gave a little skip at the fluffy, freckly, flyaway nymph in his bed. His hand slid absently to his belly. ‘When was the last time you took a weekend off?’

Her gaze dropped to where his hand was splayed and lingered for a few moments which vaporised the air in his lungs and caused his dick to twitch. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed when she dragged her attention back to his face.

‘I never take the weekend off.’

Ooh boy, it was worse than he thought. ‘Well that is just criminal. How about…’ He climbed on the bed but didn’t attempt to get under the covers. This was supposed to be about her. Not him. ‘We just stay right here. In bed.’ He sidled up to her, lying on his back beside her, his arm lightly touching hers, his legs stretched out in front. ‘And just… do nothing? Read a book, scroll TikTok, sleep.’ He gestured at the television. ‘Maybe we could binge watch something on Netflix.’

She rolled her head to the side, her gaze finding his. ‘Netflix and chill huh?’

He smiled. ‘I don’t mean sex.’ He really didn’t. Not that he’d say no, either. ‘I’ll stay above the covers, cross my heart.’

To prove it, he crossed his heart and she laughed although it petered out quickly as her gaze drifted to the doorway. Oliver watched the play of emotions across her face, transfixed by the fascinating pattern of her freckles. When she returned her attention to him, he could see something had shifted. ‘I guess there’s nothing urgent requiring my attention.’

Oliver grinned. ‘Well okay then.’

She grinned back and he made a fist, presenting it to her for a sideways bump and she obliged. ‘Here’s to your first ever weekend off,’ he said. ‘No, hang on, wait.’ Oliver leaned over and whisked his phone off the bedside table. Settling back beside her, he navigated to the camera. ‘Something as momentous as this, needs to be memorialised.’

He held it up and away to centre them both in the frame but that was as far as he got.

‘No.’ She reached up and snatched the phone from his grasp. ‘No pictures.’

It was so quick, it was almost comical and Oliver barely had time to process it before his phone was tossed on the end of the bed. It was quite the reaction and reminded him of how she’d dodged Doris’s attempts to get her in a photograph.

And how she didn’t have her picture on her website or any of her social media.

‘Are you in witness protection or something?’ he asked with a laugh.

But Paige wasn’t laughing. ‘I know you’ve been pretty much photographed your entire life but is it so hard to believe that someone wouldn’t need to get a photo with you?’

He thought about it for a beat. ‘Frankly yes.’

Every woman he’d ever been with had been keen to be in pics with him, Bella included. Unfortunately, some of those – not Bella’s – had ended up in the tabloids which had been irritating but something he’d come to accept. He didn’t blame anyone for wanting their fifteen seconds of fame. Thanks to his father, Oliver understood the lure of it. He just hoped they got the going rate for a candid snap of the son of a famous actor.

‘Well I guess there’s a first time for everything, right?’

Oliver thought back to that day at the WI. What had she said? That she took a hideous picture. That even her baby photos were awful. And she was the most unphotogenic person anyone could meet. Something like that.

Turning on his side, his arm and shoulder pressing into the soft padding of the bedhead, he inspected her profile. ‘This isn’t about some fucked-up body image thing is it, because that just breaks my heart.’

‘It’s not that.’

Her denial was so swift, Oliver thought that maybe it actually was that. Growing up in celebrity circles where image was everything, he understood how much that could skew people’s sense of self. ‘Okay.’ He watched as she smoothed the duvet. ‘But if it is I just want you to know’ – he reached out and gently tugged her nearest curl – ‘you are the most?—’

‘It’s not that,’ she said as she jerked her head away, forcing him to drop the curl.

‘Okay.’

She shot him an irritated look. ‘It’s not ,’ she insisted.

‘Well…’ Oliver frowned. ‘What then?’ When she didn’t reply, he leaned in a little and whispered. ‘We’re in the bubble, remember?’

Glancing away she went back to smoothing the duvet and for a moment, Oliver thought she wasn’t going to open up about whatever the hell deeper was going on here. But then her hands suddenly stilled and she drew in an unsteady breath.

‘My ex…’ She cleared her throat before she continued. ‘Harvey.’

So, the asshole had a name. Harvey . That cold, oily slick from earlier roiled through his gut again. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this one little bit.

‘We were together for a few months. It all happened kinda fast and he was… good looking and charismatic and I was… swept along. For a bit. But I had exams to study for and grades to make, things I took very seriously. But… he didn’t. Mine or his. And I realised we… didn’t have very much in common and so I… called it off.’

Her palms had resumed their duvet ironing as she talked slowly, haltingly, like she was trying to pluck the right words from the air as she felt her way forward. Oliver shut up and let her even though he had a dozen questions about what she’d been studying and where.

‘The break-up was reasonably amicable. Or so I thought, anyway. He didn’t seem that cut up about it. Then a few days later he…’ She took a shuddery breath. ‘Sent nude photos and a video of me to every email address in the law faculty and posted them to online sites.’

Every atom of oxygen in Oliver’s lungs vaporised in an instant. His heart banged like a gun going off. A red mist clouded his vision.

What. The. Fuck.

‘He’d taken them without my consent or knowledge and it was…’ She shook her head. ‘ Awful .’

‘Jesus… Paige.’

He reached for her without thinking that maybe he shouldn’t in this moment but it was just too heinous not to offer comfort as his blood boiled and his brain conjured all the ways he could make Harvey the fuckhead , suffer.

She didn’t object as his arm scooped around her shoulder, her head settling on his chest, her hand flattening on his sternum. ‘I dropped out. I went home. I…’ She whispered the next bit. ‘Made myself small.’ Her fingers curled into a ball briefly before relaxing again. ‘But only for a while. Then I picked myself up, I started my business. I charted a new way forward.’

Oliver’s gut burned. He couldn’t believe she’d been hiding all this behind a veneer of quirky bravado. He was incensed and enraged on her behalf at such an intimate betrayal even if she had managed to resurrect herself in the aftermath. So many pictures had been taken of him without his knowledge and posted without his consent that he’d become kinda numb to it. But this wasn’t that.

This was private and personal. It was reprehensible . And vindictive. It was the lowest act. And Harvey the fuckhead had better watch his goddamn back because Oliver had money and time and a shitload of patience.

Also, very fancy lawyers.

Questions stacked on questions inside his brain, all battling for supremacy but he didn’t think he should ask for all the ghoulish details so he went with, ‘Did you… go to the police?’

‘Yes. And Oxford, the law faculty, was amazing. But it was hard to prove it was him. And it’s like the freaking Wild West out there on the internet. You get one place to take it down and it’s been shared to two more. It’s like the fucking Hydra.’

Oliver had no words. None that didn’t centre his own outrage and he couldn’t make this about his anger. Not sitting right here beside her when it was Paige who had been wronged so profoundly.

‘Anyway.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘That’s why I don’t like my picture being taken.’

Yeah. Little wonder. On impulse, Oliver removed his arm from her shoulder, turning to roll on top of her, the duvet preventing any skin to skin as he settled between her legs. Supporting his weight on the flats of his forearms, he gazed down at her intently.

‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, dropping a soft, brief kiss on the side of her mouth. Not sexual, not as a prelude, not with any agenda. Just trying to convey the depth of his emotion. ‘I know that’s inadequate but I’m so sorry that happened to you.’

He wished he had better, fancier words but he was at a loss. How did any words make this better? And that probably cut the deepest because he couldn’t make it better. He could only acknowledge her pain and injury.

Right now, anyway. His brain was already seething with ways he could fuck up that asshole Harvey.

She nodded, her hazel eyes misty. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured and raised her head to kiss him. It was brief too but it was not on the side of the mouth and she withdrew very slowly. By the time she’d settled back against the pillows, her eyes had changed hue. There was a heat to them, a smoulder and her gaze lingered on his mouth like what she really wanted right now wasn’t words.

‘You could, of course,’ she said, a smile hovering on her mouth, ‘take a mind picture.’

Oliver grinned, picking up what she was putting down. ‘I could definitely do that.’

Slowly, he pushed away from her, sitting back on his haunches as he tugged the duvet from her unresisting fingers. Her nightshirt was bunched around her middle, the hem sitting at the very tops of her thighs just covering her modesty.

And he knew for a fact, she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

‘I could also,’ he said, dragging his eyes off the tantalising galaxy of freckles that dappled her legs and disappeared from sight behind that hem. ‘Make a mind map. I’d need to survey you very thoroughly, though.’ His gaze travelled up her body where her nipples were two tight points tenting the fabric. ‘All those hills and valleys and curves.’

She quirked an eyebrow. ‘Is there some kind of… instrument you’d use for that?’

Oliver nodded. ‘I was thinking my tongue would work quite well.’

‘Oh, right.’ Her pupils dilated. ‘Yes. That would probably do the job.’

Oliver, his blood pounding thick and hot now as it rushed south , leaned in, planting one hand on the bed beside her hip and sliding the other to the hem of her shirt. ‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t want to think any more today.’

Her words were like a hit of cocaine to a system that was already supercharged. If it was some sexual amnesia she was after he was more than happy to provide. Clutching the hem, he slid his hand up her body, dragging her shirt with him, exposing the trimmed thatch of golden red hair between her legs, the soft rise of her belly, the indent of her navel, the flare of her hips, the cage of her ribs and lastly, the heavy fall of her breasts tipped with the tight pink ruche of her nipples.

Oliver sucked in a breath at her glory. He felt like he’d been let loose in a very adult playground with permission to ride.

‘I think…’ He cleared his throat of its thickness, his head buzzing with desire. ‘I should start here,’ he said, his chest settling into the cradle of her pelvis, his boner pressing into the mattress, his mouth hovering over a nipple.

‘Yeah.’ She swallowed. ‘Whatever you think.’

He leaned in and licked, her breathy moans a mantra as he worked his way south to her sweet spot. She bucked when his tongue touched down on the engorged bundle of nerves sitting proud and aching for attention. Her back arched and she cried out as he flicked his tongue hard against the sensitive bud, pushing her legs wide.

He knew she was close when her hand clutched his head, her fingers twisting in his hair, her foot sliding from his shoulder to plant firmly in the centre of his back like she was afraid he might pull away.

But Oliver had no intention of going anywhere.