“My ruin? Last I checked, I’m still in one piece.”
He’s always the dramatic one.
Nick just shakes his head. “Whatever, dude. When do you think Grandma’s coming home?”
“With two giant assholes out of the picture, probably soon. Can’t imagine her staying gone more than another week or two.”
“Great. That’s when we get to the hard part, right?” he asks bitterly.
“Hard part?”
He sighs and I know exactly what he means.
“We have to tell her the deal’s off, and it’s my fault,” I say, every word an icicle in the Florida sun.
“It’s not all yours, Ward. I never should’ve let Mom in my office. My desk shouldn’t have been such a mess, and the file damn sure shouldn’t have been out in the open. What did you do? Besides scare off a pretty sweet girl, I mean.”
Does he have to remind me?
I fucked things up with Paige. Royally.
That’s what I did and it’s enough for ten lifetimes.
“Grandma emailed me last night, asking if I was going to stay engaged for real,” I whisper, watching my knuckles go bloodless as my fist closes. “She saw the latest photos from our final outings and said we looked so happy together.”
“You did. And that’s my fault too. If I hadn’t been giving you shit about marrying her, the conversation she overheard would’ve never happened,” he says quietly.
Nick wasn’t the one who put the stupid shit I said in my mouth, though. The memories come at me like spinning knives.
Paige drooling adorably on my pillow in her sleep, a mane of blond hair and strawberry-sweet whispers tucked in my arms. The corners of my lips turn up.
Paige insisting I’m no broken, battered beast and kissing me like she meant it. I doubt she still thinks that now.
Paige, on all the mornings we spent at my lakeside estate when she had my coffee ready, greeting me with a smile I’d take any day over her damnable barista cup messages.
Paige, on all the gunmetal Chicago nights at my penthouse, when a single sticky kiss would become a tangled marathon in my bed, unbridled passion we were never too tired for.
Paige, calling me Orion, when all I did with my caveman club was bludgeon her heart into ground beef.
Yep, I’m a Grade A dumbass.
The days with Paige in my office, my home, my life were the best lie I ever told.
Because somewhere along the way, it became the living truth.
Now, I’ve sunk my grandparents’ legacy because Winthrope will find out about our con one way or another. There’ll be no deal after that, not after he realizes I tossed away a woman I swore I lov—fuck.
I stop short of thinking that word.
“Ward?” Nick waves a hand in front of my face. “Ward, you home?”
I blink slowly, my brows falling down.
“Get out of my face,” I growl, pushing at his arm.
“Shit, okay. You just looked like you were in a trance.”
I shake my head. “I was thinking. You should try it sometime.”
He’s quiet for a minute.
“Earlier, when you said Dad cost you too much this time, did you mean Paige?”
We’re going there again?
“No. I meant Winthrope,” I lie.
“Good, because I’m not sure you can pin the blame on Dad for that one.”
What the hell?
Of course, I can.
He sent the dirt to Ross Winthrope with a little help from our weasel mother. I stare at my brother. Does he plan to elaborate or is he just being a jackass?
“Obviously, our rift wasn’t caused by the package. Winthrope didn’t believe a word of it, and Osprey wouldn’t print it. Still, I knew they wouldn’t stop, and word would keep circulating until someone did believe it,” I tell him. “Paige would’ve been collateral damage.”
It’s true. I may have hurt her, but if I’d let everything drag out, it could’ve been disastrous.
His eyes narrow as he looks at me.
“No...no, I don’t think so. She would have sworn it was no hoax—or that it only started as a sham. She wouldn’t have backed down, Ward. Hell, she’s the whole reason we got something on our parents, remember?”
I wish I could deny how much her Enguard Security link helped us. Almost as much as I wish I could pretend I’m not missing her like hell.
“She has guts. I’ll give you that, but why would I drag—”
“Forget guts. She would have done anything for you. That evening on the balcony when you had a conniption fit, you were trying to convince you. Not me.”
“Why would I try to convince myself I’m not the marrying type? You’re making no sense,” I snap.
“Maybe not. But you’ve never had to declare it out in the open before.” He shrugs. “If you’re doing something stupid because you’re afraid you’re like Dad—”
“I’m nothing like Dad.”
“No, you’re not. That’s the whole point.” He turns toward the sinking red sun, this wizened look on his face that’s totally unlike my dumpster fire of a brother.