Fuck, I don’t even want to know what he’s after.
“What is it?” Paige asks softly.
I can barely speak. “A replica of my grandparents’ boat. It disappeared in Lake Michigan a long time ago.”
“One of the design books has a sketch of it,” Staci says, oblivious to the hornets in my throat. “I’m so sorry your grandparents lost their ship. Did Mrs. Brandt design this beauty herself?”
Yep. I nod curtly. Unfortunately, she did.
And she adored it until the day it sank beneath the waves with Dylan Parnell aboard.
It’s a scar on our family now, a nightmare my sick grandmother doesn’t need to relive.
A monster I can’t afford to come barreling out of the closet until after this damn hotel deal is closed. I grab the model yacht and drop it on top of the box.
“Thank you, Staci, but I’ll be taking this, too.”
“Surely, a replica isn’t personal?” Staci says, disappointment lining her face.
My eyes are spinning knives. Her mouth falls open in a silent apology, and she slinks back in her chair.
“Whatever you need to do, Mr. Brandt. Forgive me for prying.”
I feel Paige’s gaze stabbing at my back. It takes every ounce of strength to keep it together, but I do, for her sake.
“No offense taken. Please understand, it’s a model of her favorite boat that she hasn’t seen in years. She’s an elderly woman recovering from serious cardiac distress. All I’m asking is, just let her look at it, please? If you need fresh art to expand the collection, I’m sure my brother and I can come up with something better than this disorganized mess.”
I have no idea what, but I’ll give her whatever she wants to forget this hell-charm ever existed. I look at Paige. “We should go, darling.”
“Darling,” she spits back.
Damn, I’m starting to despise that word. But at least she nods and gets up.
“Wait, didn’t you want to update your biography?” Staci asks.
Shit.
I forgot about that in my mad rush to fling this model yacht off a cliff.
“Yes, thank you. Just add that I’m engaged to Paige Holly, who also went to Northwestern and works at Brandt Ideas,” I say sternly.
Staci smiles and takes a piece of stationery from her desk, scribbling across it. She looks at Paige. “What’s your degree in?”
“Art,” Paige says with a million-dollar smile.
“Now it makes sense!” Staci smiles. “That’s why I’ve see you here so often.”
Paige nods and turns her wrist so she can see her Apple watch as it buzzes. “Yep, that’s why. I’m afraid we have to be getting to our next meeting.”
I grab the box, stand, and we’re out the door.
“How long do you think it will take Reese to get here?” I ask.
“I texted her under the table. She should be here soon, but let’s get outside so you can tell me what’s up.”
Yeah, about that...
We walk out of the museum and into the cool Chicago breeze. Paige shivers. I take off my jacket and drape it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she says. “You were turning beet red in there. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
She cocks her head. “Until today, I didn’t think you were capable of real emotion over anything except Beatrice. You weren’t even shaken up when Winthrope got cold feet. Ward, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I grind out again, knowing the hellfire in my eyes betrays me. “I just don’t like people thinking they have any right to donate my family’s shit, okay?”
The words tear out of me, benign half-truths as forceful as bullets.
“Whatever.” Her forehead wrinkles as she takes a step back. “How did other people get your family’s personal stuff, anyway?”
Her voice is so small.
I’m relieved I don’t have to answer when the town car arrives. Perfect timing.
“There’s Reese,” I say, giving me ample opportunity to bury the hideous truth.
For now.
As I slink into the seat, feeling the glacial cold radiating off my Not Fiancée, I wonder. How long into this ninety days of hell before it all comes spilling out?
How long till she sees me lose my mind?
15
Behind the Mask (Paige)
Things are getting weird.
Ward throws open the door for me and holds it until I’m inside the car. He slides the box in beside me and gets in.
I raise the privacy screen between us and Reese, then move the box so it’s on my other side. I scoot closer to him, searching his eyes, wading through the glaring pain that’s taken him over.
“Ward...what’s in the box that you don’t want me to know about?” I whisper.
His forehead creases. He scratches loudly at his beard.
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because whatever it is, it upset you, and if you wanted me to know about it, you would have already told me.”
He turns his head to face me.
Yikes.
He’s even hotter when he’s mega-pissed. He looks like a warrior god, ready to go charging into battle. “You’re right about one thing—I don’t want you to know. Not about this. So why do you keep asking?”