The Right Side of Wrong

by Prescott Lane

  “His mother is dead. And he can’t stand his father. No one else I know of.”

  She throws another dress over the door. This one is black, and something about the illusion neckline piques my interest. You think you know what you’re seeing, but you really have no idea. That’s me in a nutshell.

  Slipping it on, I say, “So he’s private. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “Or maybe he’s got things he doesn’t want anyone to know. Especially a young, sweet single mom.”

  Nothing he’s hiding could possibly be worse than what I am. Donning the black dress, I open the door. The look on my friend’s face tells me this is definitely the one.

  She raises an eyebrow at me, saying, “Just know when Slade wants something, he usually gets it.”

  The truth stirs deep inside me. I want him to want me.

  *

  Catrine goes home for the day, and I head back to Slade’s. It’s hard for me to call it home. Such a simple word carries a whole lot of meaning. Is home a building? A place? Is it where the people who love you are?

  I’ve always thought of home more as a feeling. In fact, I think the word home should be an emotion—the best emotion. Imagine if someone asked you, “How are you feeling today?”

  Like I’m home.

  People say all the time that they want to be loved, feel love, find love. They search their whole lives for it.

  Really, they’re searching for a home. The place where they are accepted for who they are. Sheltered and protected from the outside world and all the things that bring them harm.

  I never had that. I hope that’s what I’m giving to Finn. I hope that when I hold him, he feels home.

  Pulling onto the property, I find myself searching for a sign again. This place has to have a name.

  Shithead Slade’s Sanctuary or Twat Turner’s Town.

  Yes, I’m still pissed at him. The truth is, I’m hoping Slade is long gone. I know that’s bitchy. It’s his home, not mine, but I’m still pissed he did what he did to Clay. I can handle my own relationships and friendships without him interfering.

  Why did he feel the need to do that?

  He promised me no more jabs, but he must think he needs to protect his male employees from the whore he has living in his house.

  Employee policy. What a crock.

  That was just the excuse he came up with.

  Slade will always see me one way and one way only. I only have myself to blame for that. You can take the girl off the streets, dress her up, put her in a big house, but she’ll still just be trash. As soon as something starts to smell, you know just where to look. He can think what he wants, but I know who I am. Who I really am.

  Just once, I wish someone else could see it, too, though.

  Slade’s car isn’t in the garage, so he must’ve left already. I’m thankful to have a moment to myself. I’m used to my own company, so it doesn’t matter how much I love Catrine, I think I’ll always be most comfortable alone. It’s what I know.

  My hands are full with Finn, the diaper bag, my purse, and my new dress as I struggle through the door, hurrying to turn the alarm off before it wakes Finn. Anxious to unload something, I toss the garment bag down on the sofa, then carry Finn to our room, placing him down in his crib. The poor boy is wiped out. He shouldn’t be napping this late in the day if I want him to go to bed on time, but I don’t have the heart to wake him.

  Grabbing the baby monitor and the empty bottles out of the diaper bag, I head to the kitchen and immediately stop in my tracks. A new piece of furniture has been added—a high chair. And not just any high chair. This is the Cadillac of baby high chairs. Immediately, I feel my heart soften. Something is sweet about a man shopping for a baby, especially one who doesn’t belong to him. But another part of me, a bigger part of me, is still pissed.

  Like a woman on a mission, I march through the house, unsure why other than to try to work out my frustrations. Does he really think he can just buy me something, and I’ll forgive what he did?

  Of course he does. That’s how us whores operate.

  His bedroom door is open, and I walk inside. The curtains are open, and I sit down on his bed, looking out the huge windows. Hot, angry tears roll down my cheeks. Why am I letting this man hurt me? My whole life, I’ve done everything in my power to prevent men from hurting me. I’ve protected my body, my soul, my heart.

  I’ve never cared what anyone thought of me, much less a man, but even though I hate to admit it, I care what Slade thinks. I don’t want him to think badly of me, and it’s not just because I need this job. The man makes me absolutely crazy, but he makes me feel a lot of other things, too. Things I shouldn’t feel about my boss.

  Running my hand across his comforter, I let myself relax on his bed, breathing in the scent of him. What am I going to do?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SLADE

  As soon as I open the door to the house, I know she’s here. The energy in the place shifts when she’s here. It’s almost like the air gets sweeter. Shoving my keys in my pocket, I glance at the high chair in the kitchen. It’s still in one piece. I was a little worried she’d take a hammer to it. But I should know better. She wouldn’t be that wasteful.

  The house is quiet, too quiet for a baby living here. He must be sleeping. Hopefully, Paige is resting with him. I can’t figure out why she can’t sleep at night, but she’s got to be exhausted. Maybe it’s the sounds of the house, nature, or perhaps it gets too cold or too hot. I wonder if maybe her mattress isn’t the best?

  Contemplating, I head through the house. I was right. She’s resting, but not with Finn. She’s curled up in my bed, not under the covers but on her side facing the windows. Quietly, I walk over to her. She’s out like a light, her soft pink lips open just slightly. This had to be an accident. No way would she walk in here and deliberately take a nap on my bed. But it’s the best kind of accident. She looks absolutely exquisite asleep in my bed, just like I knew she would.

  The one place she can sleep is in my bed? My grin is too damn big at that thought. A hot woman in your bed will do that to a guy, but this is a different kind of happiness. One I’ve never let myself feel with a woman. My control is slipping.

  She shifts slightly, and I lean away. I don’t want to wake her. She needs to sleep. I don’t want her to know I’ve been here. It would embarrass her to know I’ve found her in here.

  Resisting the urge to touch her, to crawl in behind her and wrap her in my arms, I simply take one last look then leave, walking to the other side of the house to check on Finn, who’s also fast asleep.

  Then I head outside to wait. When I’m sure she’s up, I’ll come in like nothing at all happened. Like nothing is different when, in fact, everything feels different.

  The sun is setting over my land. The sun’s rays are captured in the reflection of the pond, the woods already starting to disappear into shadows. The day is settling into night.

  I love this time of day. When the stable hands have all gone home, and I’m alone. Only I’m not alone this time. Paige and Finn are inside.

  I look back toward the house. It was a run-down, abandoned chapel when I found it. I really bought this place for the land, the pond, and room for horses. I never intended to keep the old, dilapidated chapel. The plan was to tear it down and build new. It would have probably been cheaper to do it that way, but at the last minute, with the demo crew on-site, I couldn’t do it.

  Instead, it took the better part of two years and a shit ton of money to transform it. A lot of the woodwork and the beams are original. They’ve all been refinished. The cabinetry in the kitchen is all crafted from old pews. Even the old doorknobs have been repurposed.

  Normally, I like things shiny and new. My place in Nashville is just that—sleek and modern. The ultimate bachelor pad, complete with a hot tub on the balcony. This place is different. It doesn’t look like it’s built for the same man. Maybe I built it for the converted man, the saved man
.

  Salvation—brick by brick.

  The house in the city for the man I am. The house in the country for the man I want to be.

  I’ve never had a woman in this house. Never.

  Its walls have never heard the moans of my one-night stands. Its pool has never been the scene of midnight skinny-dips.

  My converted church house has never had one single room christened.

  This house is a virgin.

  A virgin house sheltering a former . . . and her baby boy.

  It’s hard to even consider Paige in that profession. Stepping into the stables, I unlock Whiskey’s gate. He actually looks disappointed to see me. It’s clear who he likes more. Can you blame him?

  I prefer to look at Paige any day of the week. Wonder if she’s up? Patting Whiskey, I pull out my phone. I can check the security cameras in the house from anywhere with an app on my phone.

  I know I lied to her about that, but I didn’t want her thinking I was spying on her. There aren’t any cameras in the bedrooms or bathrooms, and the only time I’ve checked on her was that first night. If I’m honest, part of it was because I’d just left a prostitute alone in my house, which was cause for a little alarm. I logged on just to check that she wasn’t robbing me blind, finding her mesmerized by the Cooking Channel, confirming my initial instinct about her. The other part of me wanted to make sure she and Finn were okay. I called and reminded her about the alarm and haven’t spied on her again until today. A few times, I activated the alarm from my phone, but only when it was really late at night, and it was obvious she forgot, but even on those nights, I never looked at the camera. I’m not a creep, but I doubt she’d see it that way.

  It only takes a couple of seconds before I see her walk through the den, so I close out the app, lock Whiskey’s gate, and head back toward the house.

  Wonder if she’s still pissed about Clay? Only one way to find out. Heading inside, I hear Finn laughing and follow his little giggle to the den. I find Paige holding Finn up in the air, smelling his rear end and saying, “Stinky, stinky.”

  I let out a little chuckle, and her eyes fly to me. Guilt covers her face. I don’t know how this girl did the things she did. She’s not good at hiding things. “I didn’t think you were here,” she says.

  “Was out with the horses,” I say, my eyes landing on a bag slung across the sofa. “How’d it go today? You got a dress?” I ask.

  Ignoring my obvious and lame attempt to smooth things over, she says, “What’s in the kitchen?”

  “The high chair?” I ask. “You never got around to ordering one the other night, so I just picked up one.”

  “Take it back.”

  “Why? The lady at the store said it was the best one on the market. You wanted a different one?”

  “The brand is fine,” she says.

  “Then what’s the problem?” I ask.

  “You thinking you can just go buy something, and somehow, that’s going to fix what you did with Clay.”

  Yep, still pissed. Women can hold on to their anger forever. It’s so much simpler for males. We just punch each other, and it’s over. “If that were true, I’d feel bad about what I said to Clay, and I don’t.”

  “Of course you don’t,” she says as Finn starts to squirm in her arms. “I thought you’d be in the city tonight.”

  I can’t help but smirk at her. “Thought I should stay and make sure you activate the alarm.”

  *

  Having her mad at me is not the deterrent she thinks it is. She’s probably used to throwing around some bitch routine as part of her tough-girl image, but it only makes me want to make her feel better.

  So for every door she slams, I open one for her, even if I’m nowhere near her. For every side-eye, she earns a smile. Every time she ignores me, I think of something else I want to say to her. Basically, the next week is hell for both of us. On top of that, she’s been run ragged preparing for the golf course opening.

  If she’s waiting for me to apologize, she’ll be waiting until hell freezes over. I don’t feel bad for warning Clay away. He’s not what she needs, and there is no way in hell he was just looking for friendship. I saw the way he looked at her. I know that look. I look at her much the same, but Paige seems clueless. For a woman who lived the life she did, how can she not know when a man wants her? I thought that was a prerequisite for “working” women?

  We seem to be at a stalemate. I won’t apologize, and she won’t cool down until I do. My mother always called herself a peacemaker. She said she had to be in order to be married to my father. So she was the one who always said she was sorry even though my father was usually the one at fault. She wanted peace at any cost.

  I didn’t inherit that trait. Obviously, Paige doesn’t have it, either. So here we are.

  One week into this argument, there’s a high chair she refuses to use and a party to attend tonight. I’ve stayed out at the ranch most of the week, but the opening forced me back into the city last night. Five hundred of Nashville’s most influential will be there tonight, so this needs to go off without a hitch. Stepping into my closet, I reach for the garment bag that’s home to my tuxedo. I wonder what Paige’s dress looks like. All I saw was a very similar bag.

  I hope her dress isn’t red. I don’t want to think about her with my father.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PAIGE

  The opening of the golf course is tonight, and I’m excited about it. Catrine asked her mom to babysit Finn for me, which was so sweet. I’ve got a new dress and shoes. All I need is to grab a few more things, and Catrine and I will be headed out to drop Finn off and then go to the party. I look at my dress hanging from the top of my bedroom door. It’s floor-length and black, but it’s cut low, almost to my navel, and covered in illusion fabric. Catrine said I looked hot and classy, so I trusted her.

  The past week has been a whirlwind. Slade was around a lot more, but I tried to keep my distance as much as possible. Falling asleep in his bed had been a warning sign, a big one. I’m too comfortable. I’m too close. If I’ve learned any lessons in my life, it’s that close and comfortable are dangerous. So I stayed busy. Not sure Slade cares that I’m giving him the cold shoulder, but it’s better this way. Or at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of. Clay’s still not really talking to me, and I’ve just had to accept that. I can’t force his friendship, especially if he feels like his job is in jeopardy.

  “Paige,” Catrine says from behind me, and I can tell in her tone something isn’t right. “Slade just called.”

  “Oh no,” I say. “Is there a problem? Did the band flake? Because I’ll yank their deposit so fast.”

  “No,” she says, looking down and rubbing her belly bump. “He says I should take it from here.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Taking my hand, she says, “He said for you to stay here.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking wistfully at my dress.

  “I tried to tell him how hard you’ve been working.”

  “I understand,” I say, not wanting to take any joy away from her. It’s not her fault, and this may be her last chance to dress up and have a night out for a while.

  Her head shakes. “I’m sorry. You really should be there.”

  I guess my attitude this week has come back to bite me in the ass. I wanted distance and space, and now I’m getting it. I hope I’m not also getting fired. “It’s his party,” I say, putting on my bravest face. “Do you have everything you need?”

  She nods, giving me an extra-long hug before she leaves. Does she know I’m being fired? Is this her farewell hug? I simply smile at her. Someone with my history learns how to smile through the worst shit. This is nothing, and the last thing I want is for her to feel bad.

  When she’s gone, I sit down on the sofa with Finn in my lap, giving him a smile. “We don’t need a party, a dress, or dancing.” Only this time, a tear falls down into the crease of my smile.

  *

  Le
aning against my doorway, I listen to Finn breathing sweetly, peacefully. It should lull me to sleep, but it doesn’t. I’ve perfected tossing and turning so much it should be an Olympic sport. I reach out, rubbing the fabric of my dress between my fingertips. I should’ve known better than to hope. Girls like me don’t wear dresses like that unless they’re bought and paid for by the man paying for our attention. No fairy godmothers are coming at the last minute to send us to the ball. There is no Prince Charming. There’s only Slade Turner. And he won’t be showing up with a glass slipper to pledge his love. He didn’t even want me at the ball.

  I feel stupid for dwelling on it. It’s silly to be upset over something as trivial as a party. If only I could sleep. I look toward the other side of the house to the only place where sleep was possible. I know he’s not coming home tonight. He can stop me from coming to his party, but he can’t stop me from sleeping in his bed. My passive-aggressive side takes over, and I walk in that direction.

  *

  My eyes flutter open, but it’s not Finn’s cry that’s waking me. Fingers lightly brush my hair from my face. Slade’s blue eyes pierce through the darkness. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shh,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Suddenly, I recognize my surroundings. I’m in his bed. I’m not under his covers or anything, but him seeing me here is bad enough. I’m sure he didn’t expect to come home to find the help asleep in his bed. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to come home tonight at all. “I’m sorry,” I say, starting to sit up. “I just . . .” There’s no good explanation as to why I’d be in his bed.

  Encouraging me to lie back down, he says softly, “No, I’m sorry. I found out my father was coming to the party. I wasn’t expecting him to come, and I couldn’t stop him. That’s why I asked Catrine to have you stay here. I didn’t want you blindsided.”