Page 17 of Peyton's Price

When she hadn’t replied, he’d gone to her work, announcing himself as a family friend only to learn Peyton hadn’t been at work for days. She had emailed to let them know she’d contracted the flu. Simultaneously relieved and concerned, he’d driven out to the house without warning her that he was coming.

The ‘For Sale’ sign on the lawn of the McMansion caught him off guard, but the lights were on. The television was playing loud enough to be heard on the sidewalk.

Maybe she couldn’t hear her phone. Now that he was here, Liam had texted and rang the doorbell, but he was being steadily ignored by the occupants inside.

“Fuck this.” He went down the concrete path leading to the driveway, slipping along the side of the house, searching for windows out of the line of sight of the neighbors.

The rear window just beyond the driveway was open a tiny crack. The room behind it was dark. He pulled out his phone.

Areyou too sick to come to the door? Or are you so mad at me that you can’t stand the sight of me?

The minutes stretched without a response.Jaw clenched, he fished out his keys. He wedged the thinnest one under the frame of the mesh screen, then worked it up and out. Then he opened the window wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Breaking and entering Peyton’s home was a bit high-handed—even for him—but Liam was at his wit’s end. He needed to talk to her. They had to get back to normal somehow. Even if she did decide to stay out here in California, they could still talk on the phone or something…

A flash of shame coursed through him, but he ignored it, hefting one leg over the sill and climbing inside. He certainly hoped Peyton would be in a more receptive mood than her silence suggested. Otherwise, the headlines were going to be very colorful. ‘Hotel magnate arrested breaking into San Mateo home’.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.Only Peyton could reduce him to breaking and entering, but there wasn’t anyone else in his life who would ignore him like this. Why was she so damn stubborn?

This is humiliating, he thought, brushing himself off as he took stock of the empty bedroom he found himself in.

This is Peyton’s.Enough light filtered in from the window for him to be able to tell.

He recognized her things. Maggie had helped her pick out the dark bedspread embroidered with star constellations. The Tiffany lamp on the desk was from his brother, and Jason had bought the silly cartoon mousepad at a street fair as a joke.

What was wrong with this picture? Liam couldn’t put his finger on it. He flipped the light switch, scanning everything that was visible and out in the open. It took him a long moment, but then it hit him.

None of the objects were from him. True, he wasn’t a big gift giver, but he’d known Peyton forever. Over the years, he’d bought her enough knickknacks to fill several shelves at least. But there was nothing of that here. Not even one of the picture frames she’d claimed to love.

She left the charm bracelet.Peyton had treasured that thing. It was as if…

His skin broke out into a cold sweat. Peyton hadn’t just left Boston—she had left him.

Liam dropped onto the bed, sitting on the edge with a thump. This wasn’t about the job or because she wanted to make enough money to pay off that old debt. Peyton had moved across the country to get away from him. She’d intentionally left everything that reminded her of him behind. He was being cut out.

Bile rose up his throat. Swallowing hard, he sat there, willing Peyton to come into the room so they could talk. When he took a breath, he was surprised at how difficult it was to draw one deep enough.

Fuck. Liam rubbed his face, but he put his hand down when he noticed it trembling. He hadn’t felt pain like this since his parents died.

You have to get ahold of yourself.For a moment, he weighed leaving, crawling out the window and returning when he had a plan. Maybe all she needed was time…

No. He was here, now. He could fix this—fix them. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he’d think of something once he saw her.

When it came right down to it, Peyton had never said no to him. Not about anything important. Taking a deep breath, he headed for the bedroom door.

* * *

Peyton wasn’t sittingwith Dylan. The young man was alone, hunched forward and holding a phone in each hand. One of them was familiar. Peyton had chosen that model as standard issue for the hotel IT staff for its extensive bags of tricks and flexibility—that and she’d drooled over the distinctive metallic blue casing. She’d cajoled him into approving the expensive devices because they matched the Caislean’s hotel uniform.

Liam frowned. The last time he’d seen that phone, it had been surgically attached to Peyton’s hand. If it wasn’t there, it lived in her pocket. She never went anywhere without it.

A creeping disquiet began to climb up his spine. Scowling, he froze where he was, deciding not to announce his presence. Something was wrong here.

Dylan was drunk. A half-a-dozen empty beer bottles were scattered on the coffee table in front of him. More were lying haphazardly on the floor.

If Peyton were here, she’d have already picked them up. She was a very neat person. After growing up with an alcoholic father, she didn’t approve of excessive drinking. Peyton never had more than two cocktails a night unless they were very spaced out. She never stopped anyone from having fun, but she watched out for her friends when they went out partying. Liam found her attitude about alcohol to be healthier than a lot of others with similar backgrounds.

On a hunch, Liam fished his phone out and texted Peyton’s number, asking her to call him back. His hand fisted as Dylan picked up the blue phone, checked the screen, then dismissed the message.

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