3. Maxon
“Well, that’s just not acceptable.” I say into the phone receiver. I’m growing rather bored with this case, it’s a simple copyright, it shouldn’t be this devastatingly complicated, but some small-town lawyer thinks he can intimidate me.
Me.
Of all people. I want to laugh in his face, I really do, and I am precisely four minutes from doing so when there’s a knock on my door. I suppress a groan, the only person dumb enough to knock on my door while I’m on a phone call is either my assistant or my stepmother. Neither of whom I particularly enjoy seeing in my doorway. Devon because he’s always telling me that I need to be nicer or where I need to go. My stepmother because, well, although she may have made my father love her, I was far from calling the woman “mommy dearest.”
I wait a moment, hoping either one of them will go away. I’m hidden away in my firm’s Buffalo branch, an office that is scarcely used but that I keep anyway just to have a place to find refuge when I don’t want to be at the estate.
I suppress a growl when there’s another, impatient, knock. I’m on the phone, don’t they know some of us actually have to work around here? If my work is interrupted, then Devon doesn’t get paid and my stepmother doesn’t have something to complain to my father about.
Glaring at the door I turn my speaker off while the other man goes into a long tirade about how “big shots” like my client need to recognize what “true talent” looks and sounds like. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before so I shout a short “Come in” to whoever has the nerve to interrupt.
And then she walks in and everything stops around me. It’s a feeling I should be familiar with by now. A phenomenon that’s happened ever since we were kids. Whenever she steps into the room, I just can’t pull my attention from her. Her long auburn hair is half pulled up into a clip at the back of her head so that it’s hanging loosely at her back. She’s not wearing the sweatshirt and pants that she was yesterday and is instead in a fitted sweater and long skirt in rich earthy tones that bring out the grey in her eyes.
She’s stunning.
I click the speaker button on my phone before saying “I have to go, I’ll talk to Camilla.” And then hang up before the other lawyer can get out another word. He’ll take that as a victory, but I don’t care.
Because Paige Knox is in my office.
“What are you doing here?” I say, standing from my seat and am instantly met with the realization she’s not wearing her normal heels to make her appear taller, but instead is wearing flats that just help emphasize her 5’3 status in front of my 6’4.
She takes a long inhale and I’m left to stare at her as she collects herself like she always does when she thinks she has to prove herself. I wish she didn’t feel that way around me. I wish things were like how they used to be. Back when she trusted me more than the men she calls her brothers. But instead, she’s donned her put together look, all jaded edges and dark lashes. An armor she has to wear whenever we’re near each other in fear of feeling again. And as much as I hate that she thinks she has to protect herself against me, I also can’t help but love the way she looks when she’s taking on the world. When she knows there’s nothing that’s capable of standing in her way.
“I need your help.” She says shortly, skirt swaying at her hips slightly as she walks across the expanse of the room towards my desk.
Anything. I want to say, but instead motion for her to take a seat. “What’s going on?” I ask, stepping around the side of my desk and sitting against its edge in front of her.
She stays standing, a challenge is evident in her eyes, the blueish grey speckles shining against the oncoming storm that she’s brought to my door. Without saying another word, she pulls a slip of paper from her large computer bag that hangs on her shoulder and holds it out to me.
My eyes dart between her and the paper before taking it and my brows arch. “Where did you get this?” I ask.
“It was taped to my door yesterday morning.” Her voice pitches slightly and I can tell this has rattled her. I fight off the urge to wrap my arm around her and comfort her.
She would probably punch me if I did that.
I straighten from my perch and walk back to my side of the desk, plopping into my chair while I read the piece of paper. It’s a standard foreclosure notice, not that it’s something that I’m generally used to reading. Pop and movie stars don’t usually have these taped to their front doors. “Were you paying?” The words fall off my lips before I have time to stop them.
Her eyes blaze at me. “Of course I was paying. I have copies of my checks and scans from the bank that they were deposited.” She pulls more paperwork from her bag, chucking it all on my desk in front of me in a file folder. “Here’s a copy of the lease agreement too.” She pulls another folder from her bag. “And a record of my other bills and how I always pay them on time.” She plops the third folder on my desk.
She came here prepared.
“Okay.” I say, shifting the folders away from me. “Were you renting from the owner?”
“Yes.”
“And they deposited the checks?”
“Yes. Every month.”
“But weren’t paying the mortgage?”
Her firm expression softens and gives a slight shrug.
I rub my chin. “Did you call this number?” I point to the foreclosure notice.
“No, I wasn’t sure what I should do, if I should call my landlord or if I should call that number or…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I gathered all the info I could think of and brought it here.”
My chest fills with pride. “To me.” I say.
Her brows perk up and a look that almost resembles panic crosses her expression. “I called Aspen who told me to come talk to you.”
I deflate. “Oh, that makes sense.” That makes a lot more sense. Of course she went to the man who is practically her brother before the man that broke her heart.
Aspen never would have sent her here if he had known who he was sending her to though. If he knew about our tangled past…
“I can’t pay you, Maxon.” She finally says as she fidgets with a pleat of her skirt.
The movement is distracting as I try to focus on the paper in front of me, but she’s right there, right across from me. Close enough I could take her hand in mine if I was brave enough to reach out to her.
But bravery has never been my strong suit.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” I say, setting the paper down. I’m not going to get anything more done with that distracting movement… or with this distracting woman.
“Maxon…” She gives me a firm look as if telling me to take her seriously, which I recognize all too well.
“Paige,” I shoot back with an arched brow.
“I don’t expect you to take this on. I know it’s not your typical stuff… and goodness knows I can”t actually afford your time. But if you could point me in the direction of someone who could-”
“Paige, I’ll deal with this, don’t worry about it.”
“But-”
“Paige, stop.”
She huffs, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have listened to Aspen.” She mutters to herself and I stiffen. “Maxon, I’m serious, you don’t need to do this.”
“I’m not letting anyone else take this case, Paige.” I say, and even I can hear the gravel in my tone.
Her shoulders drop as she crashes down into her seat, her wide grey eyes trained on me. “Why?”
Because I love you.
“Because you’re my best friend’s sister.”