Being excluded from any semblance of a normal teen life made me an outsider with the kids at my private school. The mocking and bullying started, and, just like it’d been with my parents, I found it difficult to speak for fear of the response. So I withdrew into myself. I made no plans to attend college. No plans for any future at all.
Tripp Van Der Byl had only made things worse.
I threw him from my mind as soon as he entered it.
It had been three years since my grandmother’s death, and I still didn’t know how to break free of the wall of defense I’d built around myself when I was twelve.
The urge to turn around was strong, but I’d promised Iris I would meet her. Scanning the crowds, I finally spotted her by a stall, talking to two women I recognized.
Damn.
Behind the stall was a stunning brunette with smooth olive skin. She was short in stature with a beautiful, curvy figure.
Dahlia McGuire.
She’d smiled and said hello whenever we passed on the street, but I didn’t know much about the young woman other than that she owned Hart’s Gift Store next to Bailey’s inn. Unlike George’s place, Iris said Dahlia sold unique pieces, including the jewelry she crafted. I thought it was wonderful that Dahlia was a silversmith, and if I hadn’t been avoiding townspeople and all their inevitable questions, I’d have investigated her store long before now.
I didn’t want anyone to find out who my family was.
People treated you differently when they knew you were worth billions of dollars.
That’s why I went by Emery Saunders. Emery was my middle name and Saunders was my mother’s maiden name. Yes, it wouldn’t take a genius to find out who I was (as proven by Ian Devlin), but the name Paxton would definitely draw attention.
If it had been up to me, I’d have sold the majority shares in the company back to the other shareholders, but I’d promised my grandmother I wouldn’t. That promise weighed on me.
I didn’t want the responsibility.
Moreover, the legacy of the Paxton Group had taken so much from me. The company had always been more important to my parents and grandfather. It meant a lot to my grandmother, but not as much as I did. Still, out of respect for her husband’s hard work, my grandmother made me promise.
Feeling a flutter of nerves in my belly, I made my way to Iris once she caught sight of me and waved me over. Standing at Dahlia’s stall with them was Bailey Hartwell.
Bailey was this larger-than-life character everyone seemed to adore. Her parents had recently retired and left the running of the inn to her, and according to Iris, Bailey was in seventh heaven.
The slender redhead was one of those women who became infinitely more attractive as you conversed with her. At first, she seemed like the girl next door with her peaches-and-cream complexion and the smattering of golden freckles across her nose and cheeks. However, once you spent time with Bailey, the “hometown girl” description seemed entirely too mundane. She was charismatic, friendly, outspoken, and had the most glamorous smile.
She was so outgoing, I found her more than a little intimidating. Mostly because Bailey had no filter and asked all the personal questions I wanted to avoid answering.
So, I avoided Bailey.
Until Iris coerced me into situations like these.
Dammit.
Muttering under my breath, I forced myself to keep walking.
“There you are!” Iris called out as I approached.
I gave her a pained smile, and she chuckled knowingly.
“Emery, hey!” Bailey peered past Iris’s shoulder and beamed at me. “You came!”
I offered another pained smile. The wink of metal at the stall drew my eyes, however, and the jewelry on Dahlia’s table monopolized my interest.
I stepped closer.
“Hey, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”
I looked up from the jewelry. Dahlia held her hand out to me. I noted she had an accent and remembered Iris telling me Dahlia was originally from Boston. I shook her hand. “Hello.”