“Brina’s boyfriend says she’s busy,” Paige says.
Panic time.
So he didn’t leave. And damn—she went there!
“Boyfriend?” His voice is strained, angry-jealous, but I don’t think he buys it. “What boyfriend?”
“Dude. They’re really busy, so this isn’t a good time. I think a BJ might be involved, since she wasn’t talking through the door, just making these hot gurgling noises.”
Holy crap, Paige.
I’m spinning.
“Will you please give her these?” He growls, and I smile as I imagine him shoving a bouquet at her.
“Hmm, I dunno. Sabrina’s not a big flower girl. I think she’d rather you donate them to a retirement home or something.”
Pause.
“And how do you know that, if she wasn’t talking?” Mag growls, his eyes smoldering blue volcanic craters in my mind.
“We’re friends. Duh. With her, I know everything. Plus, her boyfriend finds gifts from other guys like her creepy ex-boss inappropriate, and...well, she just doesn’t like you. No hard feelings,” Paige practically sings the last part.
I’m soaring, biting back an awkward laugh. I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
So, I probably shouldn’t have given her ideas with the boyfriend bit. I didn’t expect her to take it this far.
“Does she hate me?”
Whoa. Insecurity in Magnus Heron’s voice? That’s a first.
Paige’s words are chipper. “Probably. I mean, I would.”
“This new man of hers—is he good?” He grinds out, buying just enough of the bait for his voice to waver with something I don’t expect.
Hurt.
I doubt Paige notices, he’s ever the growly ice-cold businessman, but I do. I hear it and my heart stops.
“He’s pretty freaking hot. If they ever break up, it’s my turn.”
“I meant good to her, you—forget it.” Mag is getting furious.
And this isn’t exactly funny anymore. I’m torn between coming out of my room to defuse the situation and letting Paige hand him his ass. It can’t be worse than what he did to me.
“No prob, already forgotten! I’ve wasted enough of my day talking to you. Ciao!” Paige enjoys this way too much.
She slams the door again and I hear both her feet land on the floor after a full jump.
She waltzes back into my room and falls on the bed.
“Sheesh. That was intense. Also, he’s effing hot. I see why you’re having a hard time getting over him. I should’ve had a turn at him.”
“Ha ha,” I spit back, my voice acid.
“Hey, just joking. Are you sure you don’t want to come to my parents?”
I shake my head.
All Paige has seen are Mag’s good looks and a hint of his legendary temper. She doesn’t know the half of it.
She’s never seen his employees turn protective when he’s been insulted.
She didn’t watch him take in a kid he barely knows.
She hasn’t felt his Lucifer lips brushing her skin, taking her to the depths of hell and then sending her to all seven heavens.
“I’m not having a hard time moving on. It’s just...confusing. It’s normal to be upset, isn’t it?” I whisper, somehow doubting myself.
“For sure. Bad jokes aside, you know I’ve got your back.” With a crooked grin, she gives me a quick air pistol shot and blows imaginary smoke off her finger.
I roll my computer chair away from my desk. So much for finishing any work today.
“I’d planned to go to my parents, but he might show up there, too. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Cool. You know, I’m surprised,” Paige says, sitting up. “He never struck me like the kinda guy who’d go full Romeo. You think he’d really show up at your parents’ house?”
“Who knows. I didn’t think he’d come here either and he’d just stick to bombarding my phone...were the flowers nice?” I can’t believe I’m asking, but here we are.
“Hmm, do you really want to know? Can’t see how that’s going to help this.” She tilts her head, studying me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have when I let out the next question.
“But were they?” I whisper.
She closes her eyes and nods. “It was a full bouquet. Birds of paradise, I think. They looked expensive.”
“Pssh.” I roll my eyes. “Ruby probably picked it out. Also, he’s a billionaire. He doesn’t buy anything cheap or dull.”
“The flowers were intricate. Some serious time and thought went into them, but it could be normal for high end florists.”
Another question scrapes at the edge of my heart. I’m afraid to ask, afraid to know, but more afraid to hold it in.
“How did he look?” I venture. The real question is more like did he seem tortured and sleepless? Beaten to a pulp? Is Magnus Heron miserable without me?
She shrugs. “He sure looked more worn than his fancy photos online, but I’ve never met him. I don’t have much to compare it to.”
“He usually walks around in a three-piece suit looking like a GQ model,” I tell her, shutting my eyes and trying to shield my brain from his perfect image.