Rather than discuss the fundraiser or Paige anymore, he asked, “When’s Callie coming home?” Although Dylan had once been a confirmed bachelor, Scott knew he got lonely whenever away from his wife for even a few days.
“Friday morning. We’re having a big party in Greenwich on the Fourth. Jake and Charlie are coming up with Garrett. If you’re not busy, stop by,” Dylan said, referring to his half brother—who also happened to be Scott’s cousin—his wife, and their son. “Trent and Addie will be there with the baby, as will Chase. He arrives on Thursday.”
“Again?” Chase Talbot, Dylan’s younger half brother who lived in England, had visited more in the past ten months than he had in the past five years.
“He comes to see James, not me. He likes being an uncle.”
Scott didn’t see Chase too often, but he’d always gotten the impression Dylan was much closer to his half brother Jake and half sister, Sara, than Chase. Not that it was unexpected, considering the age difference and the fact Dylan called the United States home, while Chase remained in England close to their father.
“Thanks for the invite, but I won’t be around. I’ve got my first date with Paige. Since she lives outside of Providence, I thought I’d take her to Newport for dinner and the fireworks. The Providence Symphony Orchestra is playing down there as part of the celebration too.” Before he’d left Providence, he’d made them a reservation at the Spiced Pear. He still needed to call Paige and let her know when he planned on picking her up. Yesterday he’d intended to but lost track of time. Until now he hadn’t thought of it again.
Dylan took the last sip from his glass. “Stop by Sunday, then. Everyone will still be there.”
Perhaps he’d stop in on his way back to Manhattan. “Maybe. If I do, I won’t stay long. I’m flying out to London Monday morning. We’re still having issues with the new Grosvenor Square project.” So far the company’s newest London project was proving to be the biggest headache he’d faced since becoming the head of architecture, design, and construction for Sherbrooke Enterprise in Europe and South America. If it continued this way, he’d consider asking for a position in the mail room instead.
“Gray and I had a video conference concerning it this morning,” Dylan said.
He’d had one with his cousin as well. They’d mapped out the strategy Scott would use to get the project back on track when he got to England. The sooner he got it going again the better. Various setbacks had already pushed the company’s timetable back three months.
“I’m headed over to the club for dinner. Are you interested?” If his wife wasn’t around, Dylan tended to eat out.
“Nah, I’ve got things to finish here.” If he had to make another trip to Providence this weekend and then fly out right afterward, he wanted to leave a clean slate behind. In order to accomplish that, he had several long days ahead of him.
When Dylan left, Scott reached for his smartphone. Before he forgot again, he’d call Paige and give her the specifics for the weekend. Pulling up her contact information, he pressed Call and waited. When her voice mail immediately picked up, he left a short message letting her know he’d pick her up at five o’clock on Saturday. With one more thing done for the day, his thoughts turned back to his conversation with Dylan rather than his work. A cursory Internet search would answer a question or two he had about the woman he’d be having dinner with. And it wasn’t as if it was illegal to look someone up. Paige could’ve spent the weekend searching the Internet for information about him.
Before he changed his mind, Scott went back to his desk and typed the name Michael Foster into his preferred search engine. Numerous sites popped up on the screen, with the Foster Oil corporate website at the top. Since an official company site wouldn’t have the particular information he wanted, he skipped it. Instead, he opened the second link, which brought him to a popular biography site.
The first page talked about Foster’s parents and where he’d attended school. Scott skipped over it and moved on. The second page got him closer to what he was looking for. It opened with a picture of a young Michael Foster and his wife on their wedding day. Quickly, he scanned the paragraph until he found what he wanted.
In 1951, Michael and Lucinda Foster welcomed their first child, Michael Jeremy Foster Jr. Two years later their daughter Mary was born. Iris, their youngest daughter, was born three years later.
Scott continued to read, looking for any further mention of Michael Jr. All he found were details concerning Iris’s and Mary’s marriages and then the death of Lucinda Foster in 1986. After that, it went on to describe the various charities the man supported. Nowhere did it mention his grandchildren, although Scott knew for a fact he had several besides Paige and her brother. One had even graduated from Harvard with his cousin Gray.
With the oil tycoon’s son’s name, he could now do another search and see what he found out about Paige’s father. And Michael Jeremy Foster Jr. had to be her father.
Forget about it. It’s none of my business.
Scott closed the browser before he did anything he’d later regret. If Paige wanted to share her family history on Saturday, fine. If not, that would be fine too. It wasn’t as if they were going to spend their lives together.
***
“O Fortuna”, a song that didn’t fit with the music she usually listened to, but one she loved, erupted from her purse as she turned onto her street. Reaching over she dug blindly through her bag, again cursing herself for not always putting the smartphone in the purse’s side pocket.
Mrs. Wagner, who lived next door, waved as she passed by, and Paige paused in her search so she could return the gesture. Although it didn’t matter much anymore, because she’d missed the call. Whoever had been trying to reach her would have to wait. Before she did anything else, a glass of sangria and a piece of Favre chocolate were in her future. It’d been one of those kinds of days. Once she saw to those two cravings, she’d turn her attention to other matters, like the call she’d missed.
Paige gathered up her purse and insulated lunch bag. As she opened the car door, she spotted Clarissa, a close friend from college and neighbor to the left, walking across the lawn toward her driveway. Even before Clarissa said anything, Paige guessed what the first words out of her mouth would be. She’d been getting the same questions all day, which was why more than anything she wanted to kick back and enjoy a glass of sangria and some ridiculously divine chocolate.
While she doubted it would help, it never hurt to take control of a conversation before Clarissa got going. “Hey, did you and Alan have a nice weekend?” Paige asked when Clarissa stopped near her.
“Fabulous. We had trouble leaving. I would’ve stopped by and dropped this off yesterday, but we got home late,” she answered, holding out a box of Vermont’s best maple candies.
“You’re the best. I haven’t had any of these since the last time you went up to visit your brother.” Was it possible her friend didn’t know about the events at the auction? Could she have merely stopped by to drop off some candy? She hoped so. “Do you want to come in? I made sangria yesterday.”
“Love to. Alan’s working tonight, and I want to hear all about the auction.”
So much for that hope. Paige should’ve known Clarissa would’ve either heard or read about the fundraiser. It’d been all over the Internet and in the society section of the Sunday paper. Perhaps tonight called for two glasses of sangria and Favre chocolate. Some while she answered Clarissa’s questions, and some after her friend went home.
Ryder, her cocker spaniel-pug mix, greeted her the moment she opened the door. After giving him a scratch behind the ears, she let him outside. Then she stopped and dropped her lunch bag and purse on the counter. “Help yourself to anything, including the brownies. I’ll be right back.” Before leaving the kitchen she did a visual search of her purse and located her smartphone. “I need to change.” While her hospital scrubs were comfortable, she’d worn them all day.
As she walked, she logged i
n to her voice mail.
She would’ve known whom the message was from the moment she heard the voice even if he hadn’t started by saying his name. Scott kept the message short and to the point. Other than telling her he’d made their reservation at the Spiced Pear and would pick her up at five on the Fourth, he didn’t say anything else before ending the call.
Man, of all the calls to miss today it had to be his. If he’d called ten minutes later, she could’ve answered. Now what? Should she call him back and let him know she received the message? If it’d been a friend or a family member, she’d finish changing and call them now. Then again, many of them would’ve asked her to call back so they knew the message had been received. Scott hadn’t asked her to. Did he assume a call back wasn’t necessary, or did he think she’d call even though he hadn’t asked her to? He ex-husband would’ve assumed it wasn’t necessary. Benjamin put a lot of faith in technology and never stopped to consider that sometimes messages and e-mails disappeared into the vast emptiness of space. More than once they’d found themselves on different pages because he sent her messages and she never received them.
“Do you want me to pour you some sangria?” Clarissa called from the kitchen.
After her guest left, she’d figure out whether to call Scott or not. First, she needed to get through the interrogation her friend probably intended. “Please. I’ll be right out.”
Paige left her smartphone on the bed and grabbed the clean shorts off the top of her unfolded laundry basket. She always took a shower after work, but tonight it’d have to wait until after Clarissa left.
A tall glass of white sangria, her favorite kind, sat on the kitchen island when she reentered the kitchen. An identical glass sat in front of Clarissa as she sat nibbling on a brownie.
“Ambrosia makes the best stuff,” Clarissa said, pointing to the bakery box on the counter she’d grabbed the brownie from. “It’s a good thing there isn’t one a little closer to us or I’d be there every day.”
Paige agreed. Unfortunately, working in the city meant she could easily stop in several times a week. “I’m breaking into my stash of Favre chocolate tonight. Do you want any?” She didn’t offer her good chocolate to just anyone.
“Bad day?” Clarissa knew her well.
“Let’s say challenging.” Paige grabbed the candy from the cabinet above the stove.
For a moment Clarissa considered the offer, glancing at the chocolate Paige held before looking over at the bakery box again. “As tempting as it is, I’ll pass tonight. I’d rather splurge with another brownie if it’s okay with you.”
“Knock yourself out.” The more brownies her friend ate, the fewer she would. And she’d already had one with lunch today.
Paige popped a small piece of chocolate in her mouth and closed her eyes. Heavenly. It was the only word to describe it. Hands down, Favre made the best chocolate available. She’d only discovered the small European chocolate maker two years ago when Aunt Bebe brought some back from Switzerland. Since then she asked her aunt to pick her some up every time she traveled to Europe. If she ran out between her aunt’s trips, she ordered directly from the company website. Unfortunately, the shipping costs were ridiculous.
“Okay, I have to ask. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the Helping Hands bachelor auction on Friday? And don’t tell me you forgot about it. A person doesn’t spend that much on a ticket to an event and forget about it.”
“Just didn’t think of it?” she offered as an excuse before sipping her drink. At the time it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. She assumed she’d sit next to Aunt Bebe, have a nice meal, watch a lot of women spend money, and then go home. Knowing her aunt as well as she did, maybe she should’ve considered her answer before agreeing to go along. “And I only went to keep my Aunt Bebe company. She bought the tickets, not me.”
“I wish someone had purchased me a ticket. I would’ve loved to go. Do you think your aunt wants another niece?” Clarissa leaned forward, propping her elbows on the kitchen island. “Anyway, how did you manage to win Scott Belmont? I’m sure all the bachelors including him went for a lot, considering who attended. The article I read said Milan Novak was there as well as several Sherbrookes, Zoe Laurent, and Selena Cruise.”
She hadn’t seen the two actresses Clarissa mentioned, but considering the other women in the room it didn’t surprise her they’d been there too. “He did, but I didn’t exactly win him.”
“C’mon, I saw the picture of you on stage kissing him, and your name was listed alongside his.” She reached for her brownie and broke off a chunk. “If you didn’t win him, how did you end up on stage kissing him?”
While both her granddad in Texas and her aunts had more money than they knew what to do with, neither Paige nor her parents did. So, she never saw a reason to tell people, not even Clarissa, just who her relatives were. After all, it wasn’t anyone’s business.
“All Aunt Bebe’s doing. She tugged my arm up at the last minute. Before I put it down the auctioneer saw it.” Paige mentally growled thinking back to the fundraiser. “She paid for everything Friday. The only thing I bought was my dress and shoes.”
Creases appeared in Clarissa’s face as she sipped her drink and considered Paige’s words. “Well, that makes a little more sense, I guess. Even if you had that much money just lying around you’d never waste it on something like a bachelor auction. Aunt Bebe, she’s the one who lives in Texas and took you to New York City for your birthday?”
Paige nodded. As far as she remembered, Aunt Bebe was the only one of her aunts her friend had met. Neither of her dad’s sisters had visited since she bought the house two years ago. Her mom’s sister had stopped by a few times, but she didn’t think Clarissa had been over at the time. “She doesn’t have any children and has always spoiled Joe and me. Sorta like a grandmother.”
“There’s spoiling, and then there’s spoiling. What she did falls into the second category, my friend. I wish someone would spoil me like that. My aunt buys me new shoes every time she goes to the outlets in Wrentham, but that’s about it.”
“Uncle Earl, her husband, is the CFO of Foster Oil, so she can afford it.” Paige selected another chocolate from the box. Later she might regret it, but right now she needed another small taste of heaven.
“Guess I should’ve studied business in school instead of sociology.”
Paige forced a laugh. “Maybe we both should’ve studied business.”
Once Paige answered the questions regarding how she’d ended up the proud owner of four dates with Scott Belmont, Clarissa wanted details concerning the rest of the night. Who had she seen? Did she talk with anyone famous? What was everyone wearing? She did her best to answer the firestorm of questions and not let her annoyance show. While she understood her friend’s fascination with the auction, after all, it had been a well-publicized event, and may have shared it under different circumstances, she didn’t want to think or talk about it. Especially considering all the questions she’d answered at the hospital today. Instead, she wanted to pretend it never happened for as long as she could.
After finishing her second brownie, Clarissa checked her watch. “Wow, I’ve been here for two hours already. Sorry. I really didn’t mean to stay so long tonight.” Standing, she took the final sip from her glass. “I want to finish my laundry tonight and catch up on Code Red. Alan hates watching it, so I need to get it in when he’s at work.”
She’d watched the medical drama a few times and didn’t understand how her friend enjoyed it. While the lead actor was drop-dead gorgeous, the character always came across as a jerk and the writers got so many details wrong. “Have fun.”
Alone finally, Paige poured herself another glass of sangria and snagged more chocolate. This time though she saved the good stuff and opted for the leftover chocolate eggs she had from Easter. Something told her she was going to need the good stuff in the upcoming weeks, thanks to Aunt Bebe and her actions Friday night.
After biting into the
large filled chocolate egg, she licked the caramel from her bottom lip. Yep, not as good as the other stuff but good enough. With no other distractions, she reconsidered her dilemma from earlier. Should she call Scott back? He’d given her his number. If he objected to receiving calls, he wouldn’t have shared it. Besides, he may not be available to talk anyway. She might find herself leaving him a message. Before she changed her mind, she got her smartphone and searched her contacts list.
She counted as the phone rang. If not picked up after six or seven rings, most calls went to voice mail. Five. Six. Seven. Scott’s recorded voice came through, telling her to leave a message.
Thank you. “Hi Scott, it’s Paige,” she started her voice mail message. “Sorry I missed your call earlier. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
Paige hit End and breathed a sigh of relief. Although highly unlikely, she hoped nobody else grilled her about the auction or Scott because then maybe she could forget about him and their upcoming date until Saturday morning.
In my dreams, maybe.
Chapter 4
Her smartphone buzzed, indicating she’d received a text message, and Paige glanced over at the bureau where the device sat.
Have fun tonight, the message from Aunt Bebe read.
With a roll of the eyes, she recapped the mascara and stepped back, pleased with the reflection in the full-length mirror. Two nights earlier she’d checked out the Spiced Pear’s website. While she’d heard the restaurant served delicious food, she knew little else about the establishment. She’d assumed it wasn’t the type of place you showed up to in shorts and T-shirt, but wanted to make sure. The pictures posted on the website confirmed her suspicions. While she had at least three outfits appropriate for the evening ahead, she’d used the upcoming date as an excuse to go shopping. Although she’d learned to curb the habit when she’d shared a dorm room in college with two other girls, she loved to shop. Shopping and good chocolate remained her two biggest weaknesses. She used any reasonable excuse to indulge in either.
Falling For the Billionaire Page 4