by Snow, Nicole
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.
“He was wearing jeans and a black sweater with a scarf today. Reminded me of a cowboy who got his butt kicked.” She pauses. “Why are you smiling?”
“I didn’t know I was,” I whisper, pushing a hand over my mouth.
Mag in cowboy jeans sounds like a recipe for searing me alive. But he has to be a tortured soul if he’s strutting around like he’s been in a saloon fight.
Not that it matters.
It’s over. Done. Epilogued.
I need to start acting like a sane person and let the hell go.
“Let’s get some stuff ready for your parents.” I bolt up, shutting my laptop, and grab my overnight bag to start packing.
Who knows if Mag really would barge in at my parents’ house, but he knows where they live thanks to his oh-so-thorough new hire check. And if a butt-kicked cowboy who’s hotness incarnate shows up on Emily Bristol’s doorstep begging to see her only daughter...
She’s going to clap her hands together, make a high-pitched squeal, sell my ass down the river, start planning a wedding, and then write a book about it.
Mom would never get why I can’t play damsel in distress to some rich jagoff. She’d insist he’s just a scolded alpha hero who’s learning how to control his Neanderthal impulses.
Yeah.
Paige’s house is the safer choice, hands down.
* * *
“I love Logan Square.” I get out of Paige’s car in her parents’ driveway. “I have no idea why you wanted to rent a place smack in the middle of Chicago.”
I’d only been to this suburb a couple of times before college. I always swore when I landed a grown-up job that this is where I’d live. I’d get a house with an in-law’s apartment so I could bring my parents over when I needed to, whenever I could talk Mom and Dad into leaving their decrepit house.
“Because it’s right in the middle of Chicago,” Paige says. “Hello, convenience.”
“I always forget you’re a bigger partier than me,” I say with a sigh.
“My parents won’t be home for a few hours, so we’ll go up and order some pizza.”
The house is beautiful for an affluent couple, but not beyond extravagant like Mag’s or eccentric like my parents. It’s a two-story brick house with a couple of peaks on the roof and plain pink rose bushes in the front yard.
“I like your parents’ place already,” I tell her.
“You always say that,” she laughs. “Your folks’ is better with the whole Hobbit-vibe.”
“Oh, please. Theirs looks like something out of a Brothers Grimm story.”
It was nasty and leaky until Mag made sure it got fixed.
Paige isn’t joking, though. She has her own living room on the second floor. We sit on a couch and she orders pizza. Being waist-deep in good pie shops is one big strike in Chicago’s favor.
“Schitt’s Creek?” I say, my hand already on the remote.
“That’s like your favorite show.”
“More like a guilty pleasure. It’s kind of like scotch. It almost burns your throat raw going down and yet you still want more.” I laugh, stabbing at the buttons to pick an episode.
She raises a brow. “Wow. Since when are you the scotch connoisseur?”
“I’m not, but Mag is.” It’s out before I realize it.
Oops.
“Did he finally stop texting you?”
“I don’t know. I had to power my phone off to keep from responding.” I pull my phone out and turn it on. I’m not sure why.
I’m not hoping he’s still texting.
Definitely not.
It would be so much easier if he just gave up.
Yet I smile when I see my notifications. “Eleven missed messages.”
“All from him? Damn.” Paige smirks, and I can’t blame her.
“I haven’t looked yet.”
But I am now, scrolling down through several missed texts.
Mom: I’m sending you a new charger tonight for that stupid phone. What if you have an emergency, baby?
It’s nice that she cares. But my warm and fuzzy Mom-loves-me smile turns into a frown when I look further down my screen.
Magnus: Why did your roommate lie to me? You’re better than that.
/> What makes you think she was lying, jackass? Is it really that hard to believe someone else would want me?
“He knew you were lying,” I tell Paige in a small voice.
“Oh, Brina.” She rolls her eyes. “He hopes. The show I gave him could’ve won awards.”
Mom: Brina, baby, did you get your phone charged?
“They’re not all from him,” I say, scrolling down. “Mom texted, too, worried about my phone.”
Unfortunately, Mag wasn’t done.
Magnus: I don’t even deserve an answer?
Fuck no, you don’t. I type it into the screen and stop just short of hitting send.
“Brina? Are you texting him?” Paige asks.
I sigh and delete it.
Not getting answers is obviously bothering him, and I want to keep that going.
“No,” I say glumly, scrolling through more messages.
Magnus: Okay, maybe it wasn’t a lie. If your boyfriend’s real, I hope he deserves you.
You sure didn’t.
“Oh, now he says maybe it wasn’t a lie,” I hiss out.
“See?” Paige throws her head back and giggles. “I told ya! He hoped it was a lie.”
I just hope there’s an end to these texts.
Mom: Honey? I haven’t heard from you in hours. I’m starting to get worried.
Magnus: Your mother called the office looking for you. She seems worried.
“Crap. My mom called HeronComm thanks to my radio silence,” I say. My gut tightens.
“Too bad, so sad. Tell him you were having wild movie star sex with your biker boyfriend, who your parents don’t approve of,” Paige suggests with a wicked grin.
“You’re so ridiculous,” I tell her, stifling a laugh.
But these text messages totally aren’t.
Mom: Brina, where are you? Text me back. You could be dead in a ditch somewhere! How would I know? And now I heard you randomly took a vacation from your job? What’s going on?
Greaaaat. I feel sick, and the bile only climbs up my throat when I see more from King Asshole.
Magnus: Sabrina, please call your parents.
Magnus: Also, if I hear from them again, I’m sending Armstrong out looking.
“Oh my God!” I belt out, ignoring the TV.
“What?” Paige asks.
“Now he says he’s sending his driver to find me if Mom calls the office all panicked again.” I shake my head.
“Isn’t that called stalking?” Paige blinks.
“It’s because Mom called them, all worried. Her writer brain has me kidnapped by an evil mafia group or something, or maybe I’m in a coma waiting for a kiss from Prince Charming.”
Paige giggles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to laugh. It was just—”
“I love my mom, but she’s way funnier when you don’t have to live with her.” I start to text back a reply to my mom before Armstrong goes on a wild goose chase.
“Are you texting him?”
“Nope, telling Mom I’m alive before she gives Dad a heart attack.”
Paige nods. “Good call.”
Sabrina: I’m alive and well, Mom. Please don’t ever call my office again.
Her reply comes back near instantly.
Mom: Yay! And you should call your office, honey. People are worried about you.
It’s not my office anymore.
Also, I refuse to count Mag among “people.”
He’s horny, overworked, scrambling after poor Jordan, and doesn’t know what to do with himself.
None of those things are my problem, even if my heart goes out to the boy.
Mag needs to find another outlet. It can’t be me. But I’m sure my mother already has visions of wedding bells, white dresses, explosions of flowers, and cute little party favors.
Sabrina: You can tell him I’m alive so he doesn’t send his driver out looking for me. If you tell him more than that, I’ll never speak to you again.
Mom: Oh, Brina. That bad??? I’m sure you can work this out.
Sabrina: He’s no romance hero and he’s not my boyfriend.
Mom: Hint-hint...I’m a pretty good judge of character.
Yep, she’s insufferable, but I love her.
Sabrina: Fine, Mom. He can be a hero, but this is not my story.
Mom: Okay, baby. I’ll drop it.
Thank God. This isn’t a freaking book you can tie up with a happy ending, Mom. Stay out of it.
All words that flash through my head but I’ll never say out loud.
I won’t let Mag’s pain make me hurt Mom. Oh, and speak of the literal devil.
A new message lights up my screen.
Magnus: Thanks for letting your mom tell me you’re okay. Are you coming back to work next week?
Nope. Buzz off.
“This is hopeless. Now he wants to know if I’m going back to the office,” I say with a groan.
“No, loser!” Paige holds her hand up in an L on her forehead.
Magnus: Jordan left with my dad that night. I haven’t seen him since. His mom is going to hate me.
Awesome, here comes the pulling on my heartstrings.
It’s partly his own dumb fault. He let her son leave with a lunatic. Though he didn’t have much choice.
We could have worked it out.
Maybe I could’ve snatched the kid while he took the old man down. Or just maybe—
Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me.
He couldn’t even look at me that night.
I hope Baxter Heron doesn’t do too much damage, and maybe Jordan learning the truth about the last piece of his family will bring him peace. After everything his poor mother went through, I hope she finds a happy ending too.
But I won’t be there to find out.
It’s not my story and not my fight.
I don’t have enough heart left for it to shatter again. If I let Magnus Heron back in my life, my dad and I will be sharing a prescription soon.
There’s only one last thing left to do. It hurts, but it’s time.
Paige watches me mash at buttons on my phone. “Brina, what are you doing?”
“Blocking Heron’s number,” I say point-blank.
I try not to wince when I hit the button.
Paige stays up serving me pizza and ice cream, watching movies all night, ever the supportive friend.
At some point, I go to the room connected to hers by a bathroom. I’m emotionally drained and need to rest, but sleep hasn’t come easy. I crash in a bed softer than my own, but just can’t get comfortable.
I miss having over six feet of solid rock and sculpted muscle clinging to me.
His absence is like a vast, empty chasm with a sea rushing through it, the waves rolling down, shoving me deeper into a dark abyss.
Yes, it’s agonizing and overly dramatic.
Yes, the tears come fast and furious and there’s no damn stopping them.
Yes, I cry myself to sleep that night with knives scratching at my soul.
Then I dream of him again.
We’re lying in his huge cloud of a bed, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets.
His arms are around me, and his earthy smell mingled with fragrant cologne makes me swoon a hundred times. My head rests on his shoulder—right where it belongs—and I can’t hide my smile as he runs a hand through my hair, slowly winding it around his fingers.
“Big news, woman. I love you,” he says, his eyes hot blue stars.
“That was my headline!” I whisper, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his chin. “I love you more, Mag. Now and forever.”
Then I start pushing the blankets down, so much warmth leaving my body.
His arms slide around my waist, cinching me to his side, yanking me back. “Where do you think you’re going? It’s Saturday.”
“The office,” I say. “The airline sent feedback, they need—”
“Stay with me,” he growls, so fierce I’m taken aback.
The plea in his voice makes it impossible for me to do anyt
hing else. It also reminds me how deep our connection is.
I lean down and meet his mouth.
The kiss is slow and sensuous, but not the kind of heat that leads to more—just the kind when you know this person you’re kissing is part of you.
Except when I wake up, the kiss is a lie.
I never got the chance to tell him I loved him, too.
Because he never said it outside my tormenting dreams.
Not even once.
If he really wants to hunt me down, it’s all he’ll ever have to say.
26
Simply Perfect (Magnus)
Another week of nothing.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
My attorney’s private eyes keep watch on Jordan, but we haven’t found a way to force my dad back to the States yet. Marissa flutters in and out of consciousness, but when she’s alert, she’s incoherent.
She doesn’t even know that I let that jackass leave with her son. I’ve tried to tell her twice, and after a look of horror, she slips away and comes back the next day, her memory wiped.
Goddammit.
I can’t keep torturing her, torturing myself, like this.
And yes, I know the clock is ticking.
Every second Jordan spends with our father, the more he’s in danger. They could split the Virgins for places where I’ll never get him back.
Sabrina hasn’t taken my calls, of course.
I think she blocked my fucking number.
I can’t get a response to my emails either—or maybe they’re just lost in the mess of over ten thousand messages—and reading the Google Finance headlines this morning makes me want to stay in bed.
HeronComms’ shares are down. Plummeting. Not that I give a shit.
I’m too busy pining over a battered heart like some lovesick boy to effectively run the company I rescued years ago. My own private hell, an obsession with a woman who despises me.
Fuck!
What difference does it make? What difference does anything make?
I pry myself out of bed with a snarl and dress in a jet-black suit Brina always complimented. I’m going to her apartment.
I’ll stand outside her door in the rain until she decides to talk to me or call the cops. It’s the only thing I can think to do. My last-ditch effort to save my sanity, and my woman.