Part 22 (2/2)
She was done with the game. She was done with Paige.
Why the f.u.c.k had it taken Paige so long to figure out the riddles? Why had she pushed away the facts? That Mayson was begging for Paige to rip off her mask?
Dammit. She'd f.u.c.ked up any possibility of them having a decent future. She'd f.u.c.ked away every sleepless night of s.e.x with Mayson. Every walk on the beach. Everything. She'd f.u.c.ked up everything.
Again, she checked the blog. Nothing. Even her regular readers had gone quiet. Were they, too, waiting to see how this new scenario unfolded?
She could almost hear them collectively holding their breath.
With a quickening of hope, she checked the phone. Nothing. Not a f.u.c.king word.
Down the hallway, she could hear the voices of reporters. Every TV in the club had been tuned in to the chaos, tuned in to Mayson and her crew.
Paige couldn't take it anymore, which was why she'd been hiding out, ridiculously addicted to checking the phone and the blog.
What now? What the h.e.l.l was she supposed to do now? She had no desire to dance. No desire to do a d.a.m.n thing other than buy a plane ticket to Jamaica, crawl across the destruction if she had to, and find Mayson. She had to see her. Had to talk to her.
f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k. This was torture. She was doing it to herself. This was self-inflicted pain caused by her selfish needs. Why did she have to do everything in life with a vengeance? She hated the same way. With a vengeance. Which was exactly why Mayson had finally thrown in the towel. She surely thought Paige a total b.i.t.c.h, unworthy of her time.
Would she ever see Mayson's face again? Why did it turn her stomach inside out to think that Mayson didn't want anything to do with her?
Sam rapped on her door. ”Paige?”
”I'm busy, Sam.” Paige tapped her foot on the floor, ready to jump out of her skin.
Maybe she should grab a bottle of tequila, drive home, and get drunk. Drown her sorrows in the fiery spirit. She didn't care about tomorrow's hangover. Didn't care about missing her routine tonight. The girls could manage without her. They were doing a d.a.m.n good job without her already.
Sam entered despite Paige's dismissal. ”Someone is here for you.”
A surge of excitement rumbled through Paige. ”Who?” She pushed out of her chair and started across the room.
”I didn't ask his name.”
His? Paige grumbled. It wasn't Mayson.
She followed Sam into the club and found a tall black man, hat in one hand, brown box with aqua blue ribbon in the other, standing rigid straight by the front doors.
”I'm Paige. Can I help you?”
”h.e.l.lo, Miss Burton. I'm here to take you to your next adventure.”
Mayson!
Paige could barely breathe. Her heart swelled and her insides ached.
Love. This feeling, these harsh emotions, were love.
She was in love with a billionaire.
But not just any billionaire. A billionaire who gave up part of her life to help others.
The man held the box out to Paige. ”Miss Montgomery asked me to give this to you. You're to open it before we leave.”
Paige took the box, b.u.t.terflies choking the life out of her.
She tore off the ribbon and jerked off the lid. Inside, she found a pair of leather work gloves and a note.
Wouldn't want you to get those pretty hands dirty. Your next gift awaits. If you dare.
Paige glanced up at the man, biting back tears of excitement.
She spun around to face Sam.
Sam only grinned. ”I got the gist, idiot. Go!”
Paige spun back around and took two steps before she remembered the evil orange cat. ”Damien? Can you take care of him for me?”
Sam arched a brow. ”I consider him a gift. Now get the h.e.l.l out of here!”
Without a second thought of doubt, Paige followed the man to a black limo. On the seat she found another present.
She quickly tore into it while the driver pulled away from the club. T-s.h.i.+rts. At least two dozen. In almost every hue of the rainbow.
Another note. Sorry, didn't have time to shop for Salvation Army hand-me-downs.
Paige smiled. She felt like a giddy teenager. Alive. Elated. So full of adrenaline she feared a squeal was about to rush past her lips.
When the driver veered off the freeway, Paige leaned forward. ”Sir? Where are we going?”
He tipped a gaze at her through the rearview mirror. ”My instructions were to take you to your home to retrieve your pa.s.sport.”
Pa.s.sport? Where the h.e.l.l did Mayson think she was sending Paige? And why didn't it matter? Lucky for Mayson, and especially for Paige, she happened to have one. For six years now. Her decision to vacation in New Orleans hadn't been her first option. It hadn't been an option at all. But thanks to an error on the airline's side, they'd mistakenly booked her on a flight to New Orleans instead of Jamaica, where she longed to visit the home of a legend, Bob Marley, her grandmother's favorite musician. She'd talked about him nonstop and their home was always filled with the sounds of reggae.
Ironically, the museum for Bob Marley she'd planned to visit in honor of her grandmother and her love for his music was in Kingston, Jamaica, the very soil Mayson was now rebuilding.
Had fate made that error possible all those years ago? Had fate lead her to the Big Easy, to a masked party, and directly to Mayson?
After retrieving the pa.s.sport from her house, Paige stared out the window from the edge of her seat all the way to Mayson's beach house, down the driveway where the gate was already open.
When the driver continued past the house, along the drive leading toward the back of the mansion, Paige sat up. ”Where are we going?”
”To the helipad, ma'am.”
<script>