Part 8 (1/2)

Paige punched in her response while Sam grumbled her objections.

X: What did you have in mind?

Vinden Gudinna: 2916'52”N 944'33”W...Midnight.

Paige frowned and turned the phone around to face Sam. ”What the s.h.i.+t is that?”

”Looks like coordinates.” Sam withdrew her phone a bit too eagerly for someone completely opposed to this little game.

Paige wasn't supposed to have this kind of reaction, but she couldn't manage to control her emotions from scattering in all directions. Run. No, don't run. Meet her. f.u.c.k her. No. Are you crazy? Why the h.e.l.l not? Hadn't she already walked into a mysterious adventure and left with memories to burn her a lifetime?

Of course she was up for an adventure. What moron would she be if she didn't? Her bloggers depended on her to do this. Depended on her to bring back every glorious detail for their reading pleasure. They'd been waiting for this. Paige had been waiting for this.

Could this woman take her outside the box? To a place she so desperately wanted to revisit again?

”Paige, I don't like this. This isn't normal.” Sam continued punching keys on her phone.

”d.a.m.n right, it's not.” Paige's soul screamed to take the leap. ”Which is exactly why I need to do it. I don't want normal. I want to be s.e.xually ripped apart.”

Paige smiled. This was fun. Fun and s.e.xy. Seemed her mystery woman was smart and fun as well as adventurous. But could she f.u.c.k? That was the most logical question. And the most important.

”If this app is correct, it's the little ice cream shop a few blocks from the club.”

”Ice cream? Seriously?” Her adventure was to eat a d.a.m.n ice cream cone? Or maybe she was supposed to be the ice cream cone. Hmm. That sounded promising.

”I don't think this is a good idea, Paige.”

”That's so surprising.” Paige blew her an air kiss. ”I'll be very careful, Mommy, and will call you as soon as I get home. If I can walk, that is.”

Sam huffed while Paige typed in her response.

X: Ice cream parlor it is. Dark chocolate is an aphrodisiac...and my favorite.

Paige pulled to the curb outside Mayson's mansion. She wasn't ready to pull down the long drive. h.e.l.l, she wasn't ready to be here at all, but Sam had left her no choice. Unless she wanted to run the show for the two weeks' worth of vacation days Sam had acc.u.mulated, she better get this over with.

Another fact she had to admit: if she wanted her charity to take serious flight, she needed Mayson on her side.

And now she'd p.i.s.sed Mayson off with her smart-a.s.s mouth.

Yet wasn't that a human reaction? To be hurt? To be upset? To lash out? To be a complete b.i.t.c.h?

Of course it was! She had every right to be p.i.s.sed at Mayson. She had no business being here. She didn't owe Mayson Montgomery a f.u.c.king thing, let alone an apology.

Would Sam murder her if she left? She could simply mail an apology card. Or she could go all out and s.h.i.+p Mayson a set of dumbbells to a.s.sist with those lickable biceps. Not that she obviously needed any help.

Samantha's voice rang loud in her mind, threatening to leave her a.s.s deep in paperwork and major responsibility, saying that the charity would sink if Mayson bailed.

Dammit to h.e.l.l. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to back down this driveway, take her a.s.s home, and get ready for a masked date. Was it too late to hire another manager? Was there a fat chance in h.e.l.l she'd find one to put up with as much as Sam did? f.u.c.k. No way. Sam was one of a kind.

”Just do it, you big ol' chickens.h.i.+t. You're here now. Just spit out those two meaningless little words and be on your way.” Paige confirmed her decision with a nod then eased up the driveway.

A beige stucco mansion bloomed into view surrounded by tropical foliage and ma.s.sive palm trees. Jesus. What the h.e.l.l did people do in houses that big? Play rugby? Land a jet? Freight train? It was ridiculously huge, but Paige had to admit, she wouldn't turn it down if someone gave her one just like it. She wanted to peek inside. Wanted to see how a billionaire lived.

Would there be furniture laced in gold? Bear rugs? Crystal faucets and chandeliers?

Paige had no clue. But she wanted to know. Wanted to see.

She continued along the driveway until she came to a guardhouse. Did Mayson think she was some kind of celebrity? Didn't she design boring wind turbines or something equally uninteresting? For crying out loud, she was a normal person who happened to be the f.u.c.king bank.

The guard stepped out of the hut wearing a navy blue uniform and approached her window. ”May I help you, miss?”

”I'm here to see Mayson Montgomery.”

”Do you have an appointment?”

”Wasn't aware I needed one.” Had someone failed to mention to Paige that Mayson was actually the President of the United States?

”Miss Montgomery is out for the moment. Would you like me to leave her a message?”

”No, thank you. Just buzz me in and I'll wait for her on the porch.”

”Sorry, ma'am. Unless you have an appointment, I can't allow you on the property,” he announced, his voice stern and forceful.

”Look, mister.” Paige opened her door, forcing the guard into retreat, and stepped out of the vehicle. She refused to turn back now. Not when she was a car length away from getting this farce of an apology over with. This underpaid, wannabe, rent-a-cop wasn't going to stand in her way. ”It's been a long day and I'm out of patience for games. Not to mention you're about to make me late for a date, which will royally p.i.s.s me off. So be a sport and click whatever little gadget opens this ma.s.sive gate, and I'll wait on her porch like a good little Samaritan. Okay?”

The sound of crunching pebbles pulled Paige's attention away from the guard. She turned to find Mayson jogging down the driveway in a sweat-soaked T-s.h.i.+rt, red do-rag around her forehead, and a boxer on a leash leading the way.

Paige resisted the urge to fan her face. She was suddenly hot though the afternoon weather was perfectly cool.

Did the rest of the billionaire population look as yummy as this one? Could they turn a head as fast as this one? Dammit to h.e.l.l. Why did she have to look so edible in those jogging shorts?

When Mayson spotted Paige, she slowed her jog to a walk. A confident, come-f.u.c.k-me walk. A smile slithered across her lips as if she'd expected Paige to be standing in this exact spot when she returned. She no doubt found pleasure in the guard standing rigid straight behind her, earning every dime of his wages.

”I see that sharp tongue doesn't end with me.” Mayson came to a stop entirely too close to Paige, completely invading her personal s.p.a.ce on such a hot day. Cool day. Yes, it was cool. Mayson was the one who was hot. f.u.c.k! ”To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Burton?”

Mayson let her gaze trickle casually over Paige's face, stalling on her lips, before smoothing that rich inspection lower.

Paige could feel every mental touch, and she s.h.i.+fted to her other leg to ease the burn rolling between her thighs.

”I think we're past the point of introductions.” Paige lifted her chin a little higher. ”Call me Paige.”

Mayson's smile deepened, curling up the edges of her lip and indenting a single dimple on her left cheek. ”Paige.”

Paige s.h.i.+fted again as the burn between her thighs roared into an inferno. Her name sounded like an o.r.g.a.s.m rolling off those lips. She'd never heard the syllable sound so erotic.