Despite the obvious attraction, the last thing I should even consider is a twentysomething who clearly likes her freedom.
She never stays with one man long.
Which is why she’s off-limits for me.
But if she’s going to meet someone I know, some dude like the last joker she dated, I’ll figure out a way to redirect her.
“I’m going to dinner with my brother,” she says. A smile tickles her lips. “Do you realize that now that Hollis is back in my life, I have six brothers?”
I didn’t realize that, but I also don’t really care.
“How’s that going?” I ask.
I don’t know Hollis Hudson well. I’ve only met him a couple of times in The Gold Room. He seems like a solid guy, but you never know. I’m curious about how things are going between her and the brother she just became reacquainted with—her only biological sibling.
“With Hollis?” She shrugs. “It’s going okay. You know, we’re sort of getting to know each other again. We have these big pieces of our lives that neither of us really understand, so we’re comparing notes. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t flinch when you ask if the guy you vaguely remember coming by the house when you were four was a pimp. You can’t just ask that to a general audience.”
My brain scrambles around her offhanded remark. What the hell happened to this girl? Paige, however, brushes it off like we’re talking about the weather.
She unplugs the curling iron. “Remember that I did that when I ask you later.”
“Remember you did what?”
“That. That I unplugged it.”
“You know you did it. Remember yourself.”
She makes a face and grabs her phone off my desk. Then she snaps a picture of the cord.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m remembering that I unplugged it. You have no idea the stress of beauty tools and the whole ‘Did I unplug that?’ thing.”
“You’re right. I don’t. Thank God.”
She turns her head over, sticking her ass out, and douses hairspray all over her hair. I try to be a gentleman and not watch her hips shake as she moves but fail.
Damn this woman.
“Can I ask you my favor now?” she asks, flipping her head upright again. Her cheeks are flushed in the prettiest shade of pink, and her hair looks like she just got fucked.
My cock hardens.
“What do you want?” I ask, adjusting myself as discreetly as possible.
She faces me with puppy-dog eyes and her bottom lip between her teeth.
She has to be kidding me.
“What do you want?” I ask again even though I know. Given her perpetual train wreck situation and the roommate dilemma … “Spit it out.”
“Are the rooms upstairs occupied?”
I nod. “They all have tenants.”
“Oh.” She moves around with an intentional sexiness in her actions. “Well, I guess I could stay in here.”
“In my office?”
She nods.
I roll my eyes. “You can’t live in my office, Paige.”
“It’s just for a week. Two, max. I just need time to find another place. Please, Nate? I have nowhere else to go.”
I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees. It takes a lot of effort, more than I knew that I had, to avoid the itch of my fingers to reach for her.
And that’s precisely why her staying in my office has to be the absolute last resort.
“What about that Kinsley girl?” I ask. “She’s your friend, isn’t she?”
She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me.
I raise my brows as if I’ve somehow just won the argument, challenging her to post a rebuttal. Half of a battle is making your opponent think you’re already victorious. I learned that from my brother, Dominic.
While this tactic may work with men in the boxing ring with biceps the size of cantaloupes, it doesn’t seem to work with this little minx.
Paige smiles smugly and reaches for her lip gloss. “Her apartment is the size of a shoebox. But fine. I can always call Atticus.”
She did not just say that. I’m on my feet in a second flat, staring at her in a mixture of disbelief and barely bridled anger.
“You call that bastard, and I’ll break his fucking neck.”
She laughs. “Then I guess you’re my only option, huh?”
The thought of her with Atticus Jones makes me want to fight. Again. The only reason that I didn’t break his neck the first time—because he threatened to do the same to her—is because my friend Troy got to him first.
She knows I’d lose my shit if she called Atticus. Damn her.
“You’re manipulating me,” I say. “I just want you to know that I know it.”
“Oh, Nate. Like you haven’t manipulated me the whole time we’ve known each other.”
“What are you talking about?”
She lifts both brows. “Off the top of my head, let’s see. What about the time that you fired Michelle just so I’d have to work the night I had a date with the guy from the band from Memphis?”