Chapter 17
Zach
It’s after eleven when I get home and there’s no sign of Paige or Morgan. After walking from room to room on the main floor, I take the stairs, hoping to find Paige asleep in our bed.
Halfway up, JP appears from his quarters. “Mr. Rothwell, good evening.”
“JP, where are Ms. Hayes and Ms. Rothwell?”
“They’re out, sir.”
“Out?”
“Yes, they said something about self-defense class.”
“Self-defense?” I arch a brow and he nods.
I’m pleased to hear Paige is taking action and so quickly. It isn’t surprising. She’s strong and independent, but I’m a bit disappointed and frustrated she never said anything to me.
“Did either of them say when they’d be back?”
“No, sir. But they did say something about dancing afterward so I imagine they might be late.”
“Fine.” My disappoint morphs into irritation and I continue up to my bed. “Good night, JP.”
I haven’t spoken with Paige since this morning when she discovered just how deranged her landlord is and, more importantly, that I failed to keep her safe. I thought about calling or texting, but I’m not one to call just because and nothing I could think of to say sounded right or acceptable.
Despite fatigue, I’m awake at well after one in the morning when she stumbles into the room reeking of stale cigarettes, reminiscent of the outside entrance to the dive bars Morgan likes to frequent.
I don’t say a word, lying still and watching her strip off her clothes and fall into bed in only a shirt and panties. I could relish the thought she’s more and more comfortable with living with me. I like that idea but that doesn’t explain her actions.
She’s tired, maybe even tipsy, and doesn’t have her wits or the wherewithal to care. That’s my guess anyway.
Sleep eventually comes and when I wake early in the morning, Paige is wrapped around me again. Like the night before, it’s still hard to believe her body pressing against mine didn’t wake me.
I’m not cuddly when I sleep or used to someone draping themselves over me. Yet for some unknown reason, Paige hugging me with a vise-like grip doesn’t even cause me to stir during the night.
My morning routine of a workout, shower, and breakfast keeps my mind off the puzzling woman in my bed. Once I’m dressed and ready to leave, it crosses my mind to wake her and talk. But I don’t.
Depending on how you look at it, my day goes much the same as the last. Foreign and troublesome. Like a splinter festering underneath the skin, at first, our lack of communication went undetected, or at least I thought so.
Until this alien and unwelcomed sensation started to swell and throb under my skin. And now it’s at the point where talking, like the removal of the splinter, is the only thing that will quell the hard-to-ignore discomfort.
Paige is on my mind all day long, but I don’t reach out or do anything about it, and she doesn’t contact me either. Resolved to talk in person and no longer able to suppress the urge to face her—see her—I leave the office well before I should, with a lot of work left unfinished.
I arrive home a little past eight and before I even set eyes on a single soul, I feel or, more the opposite, don’t feel her presence.
Paige isn’t here.
Morgan’s sprawled on the couch eating chips and watching something loud and offensive on the flat screen.
“She waited for you. Stayed as long as she could before leaving. She even told Nan to go without her.”
Shit. The foundation meeting. I completely forgot.
“Umm.” Not wanting to get into anything with my cousin, I play off my stupidity with nonchalance, scrolling through the news feed on my phone. A night of further aggravation faces me, and I grimace inwardly.
“The foundation meeting was tonight. You should have been here. She was a ball of nerves. Worried they would treat her like Reagan did.”
“I got caught up on a call.” I’m more defensive than I intend and my cutting tone causes her to sit up straight.
“Speaking of calls. I don’t understand why she didn’t call or text you. It was plain to see she wanted to speak with you.”
Morgan’s observation sends a warm, unfamiliar feeling through me. She wanted to talk to me.
“How do you know she didn’t call me?” Staring intently at Morgan, I cover for Paige’s uncharacteristic behavior. If she were really my girlfriend, calling me would be second nature.
“I guess I don’t.” She turns from the TV, cocking her head to one side. “Well, did she call you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? Need I remind you our relationship is none of your business.”
“No fair. What’s the big deal?” She can be exhausting. Like a dog with a bone, she doesn’t know when to stop gnawing at something and bury the thing.
“I’ve got a headache and don’t have the wherewithal to do this with you.” I rub at my temples. “I’m heading up. Will you be out tonight?”
“Nope. Just me and Fleabag.”
“Night, Morgan.”
Removing my tie and then my cuff links, I’m only feet from ascending the staircase when she asks, “What’s going on with you two? Seems like there’s this tension or distance between you. Did something happen?
“Good night.” I take the stairs two at a time.
Paige comes home late and she’s up and out before I wake the next day. I miss her body plastered against mine. By that evening, I’ve had enough of this deliberate avoidance, and I make a point of being home early, only to discover Morgan and Paige have gone out.
Again.
According to JP and the note Paige leaves, they’re working on the Foundation gala, which suggests she has accepted Nan’s request to run Nuit étoilée.
Not to be ignored and no longer willing to endure the strange haunted feeling invading me, I get up extra early on Thursday morning and when I return from my workout, she’s dressed and packing a bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Hi. I thought you’d already left.” She almost sounds disappointed.
“Nope. Still here. What’s the bag for?” My chin dips in the direction of the small suitcase she’s zipping up and my hands curl into the towel draped over my neck. My knuckles whiten as I wring the cotton tight in frustration.
“I’ll be in Montreal for the weekend. I’m taking the train and spending time with my mom and Sam and when I get back, I’ll be moving in with them.” With the suitcase now on the ground, she finally faces me. ”If it’s okay with you, I need a few days to make arrangements to pick up my clothes.”
“Were you going to tell me these plans of yours?”
“I’m telling you now.” She tucks a few dark strands behind her ear, peering at me as if there’s nothing wrong or surprising about this.
“‘Yes, but only because I surprised you. What were you planning to do? Text me once you were there?”
“I told Morgan last night.”
“Morgan isn’t me nor does she speak for me.” I stalk into the room, now standing in front of her. “What’s going on? Are you upset with me for the screw-up with Hummel?”
“No. That wasn’t your fault. All you’ve done is help me. I don’t blame you for anything.”
“Then what is it? What has you running?”
I take her hand, leading her to the bench at the end of the bed. Avoiding my gaze, she bites her lip and smooths down the front of her skirt.
“It’s overwhelming. I need to get back to normal. To my life.”
Her features tense and it’s clear everything with her landlord, and maybe even our deal, has taken its toll on her. But what isn’t clear is if she wants out of our arrangement.
“And you can’t do that here?”
She snorts. “No. Nothing about living here is normal.”
“It can be. I’ve told you to treat this as your home.” I shift a bit closer, our knees now touching. “Who are you going to hug in your sleep?”
“What?” Her eyes widen and a pink flush creeps into her cheeks.
“You hug me in your sleep.”
She dips her chin to her chest before lifting it to meet my gaze. “Sorry about that.”
“I like it.”
We stare at each other for a moment before she swallows. “I usually hug a pillow when I sleep.” She shakes her head. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
“I want to come with you to Montreal. Meet the family.”
“No.” She shoots to standing, taking quick steps to put distance between us. “Don’t you get it? I’d have to introduce you and explain us. They know I’m dating you but I’m not ready for that. Having you with me defeats the purpose of why I’m leaving.”
“So, it is me.”
“No, it isn’t.” She releases a heavy, exasperated breath. “You’re twisting my words.”
“I’m twisting your words?” I’m now standing, too. “You’re talking in circles and I’m getting dizzy.”
I rake my hand roughly through my damp, now mussed, hair and she worries her bottom lip as our gazes lock. At least she can look at me.
“I’m going for the weekend. Alone.”
“And then you’re moving out.” My tone and expression are equally resigned, belying my displeasure and mounting frustration. “Are you having second thoughts about our deal?”
“No. My going away this weekend and moving out doesn’t change our agreement.”
“To me, it seems like the first step to ending things.” My smile is sardonic, and her eyes flick away uneasily. Perhaps not wanting me to see that I’ve hit the nail on the head?
“It isn’t. I promise.” Her words don’t carry much weight given she still isn’t looking at me.
“Really? And what do I say to Nan and Morgan when they hear you’ve moved out?”
“My living here was temporary. They knew that, so did you.” She pulls up the handle of the suitcase, wheeling it toward the door. “I have to go. I’ve got a meeting before I head to Union Station.”
“Do you want a ride?” My need to help overrides my annoyance. “I’d drive you but I still have to shower and get ready. My driver can take you.”
She pauses at the threshold, now staring intently with warm cocoa eyes. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Head on down. I’ll make the call.” I pull my phone from the pocket of my shorts. “Safe travels and have a good weekend.”
“Thanks, and you too.”
After my shower, Morgan slips in beside me on my way to the elevator. It’s as if she was lying in wait.
“G’morning.” She beams.
I grunt in response, not even making an effort to lift my eyes from my phone. She’s ready to pounce, it’s coming, and maybe, just maybe, if I give her little to no attention, she’ll lose interest.
“So, Paige is away this weekend?” I ignore her, hitting the call button for a driver. “Why didn’t you go to Montreal with her?”
I press the elevator down button, and she blocks the doors, hands on hips. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I had meetings.” My tone is flat, disinterested.
“You could have rescheduled.”
“No, I couldn’t.” I glance down at the time and then at my cousin, realizing there’s only one way to shut this down. “But I am going.”
Morgan quirks a brow and a ding announces the elevator’s arrival. “You are?”
“Yes. The jet will be back tonight and I’ll be in Montreal tomorrow.” I brush her to the side and step into the elevator. “Have a good day, Morgan.”