Page 43 of Beyond the Hate

“Whatever.” She waves away my concerns. “You can wear your spare suit.”

“Thank god I keep a spare suit in my closet.”

She freezes. “In your closet?”

I moan. “What the hell did you do to my closet?”

“Nothing if you don’t open it.”

I run a hand down my face. “What did I do to deserve this treatment?”

She rears back. “You seriously have to ask?”

No, I don’t. I know she’s referring to the evening at mini golf.

“I was teasing, Paisley. You do know the word, don’t you? You’re supposed to be some genius. Your vocabulary should include the word ‘teasing’.”

She stabs my chest with her finger. “I know exactly what teasing means. I also know what bullying means. And the line between the two can be blurred especially when a person hits on a particular trigger.”

“What’s the issue with you and glasses? Tons of people wear glasses. It’s not a big deal.”

Pain flashes in those hazel eyes and I flinch. I didn’t mean to hurt Paisley. I don’t want her to ever feel pain.

“It just is a big deal.” She spins on her heel and starts to stomp away but I shackle her wrist to stop her.

“Please tell me, Lace. I don’t want to accidentally hurt you again.” I nod to my red-stained pants. “Dry cleaning is too expensive.”

She snorts. “As if you’ll even notice an expense such as dry cleaning.”

I rub my thumb over the pulse in her wrist and it spikes. I use it to my advantage. “Please, Lace. I promise I can keep a secret.”

“It’s not a secret, but I prefer not to discuss it.”

“I understand. After today, we’ll never discuss it again if you don’t want to.” Assuming I can persuade her to speak to me again. She hasn’t spoken a word to me in the week since the incident at the Mermaid Mini Golf course.

She nibbles on her bottom lip as she contemplates her answer. My blood heats as I imagine being the one nibbling on her lip. Tasting those pretty pink lips. Tasting her. I bet she tastes better than the smoothestBuccaneer Whiskey.

“Fine. I’ll tell you.” She scans the area. “But not while we’re standing in the hallway.”

I try to steer her toward my office but she plants her feet. I change direction and lead her to her office instead. She locks the door behind us but when she tries to round her desk to sit behind it, I maneuver her to the sofa. This isn’t about work. We’re going to face each other and be comfortable during this discussion.

And I don’t want her far away from me when I know she’s hurting. If she’d let me, I’d wrap my arms around her and shield her from the world. She’d probably slap me for the thought alone. Paisley doesn’t want anyone shielding her.

She fidgets with the hem of her t-shirt and I let her. I won’t push her. Any more than I already have.

“I have two stepsisters,” she blurts out.

When she doesn’t continue, I ask, “Did you grow up with them?”

She nods. How did she grow up with sisters on Smuggler’s Hideaway and I didn’t know about them? The island isn’t very big.

She must notice my confusion because she explains. “They’re eight and nine years older than me.”

The age difference explains it somewhat. But not completely.

“And have a different last name.”

Ah. Now things are beginning to make sense. “Your dad remarried?”

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