Page 68 of Delicate Storm

I groan to myself before closing my eyes and searching my mind for the name of the magazine. M…? No. Something about glitter. No… Silver and…Got it.

A second later I have the cover image in front of me and a link directing me to the rest of the article. My finger hovers over the link. This is it. The moment.

Cursing myself for being so goddamn crazy over this, I laugh and press on the screen, ready for whatever I see.

But when the first picture loads, my eyes widen as my jaw comically drops. Scrap that. I’m not at all ready because…Jesus fucking Christ.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Paige

My eyes bounce between my latest sketch and the junk stack of paper on the floor which is getting dangerously close to toppling over. I can’t seem to get anything right at the moment. Sometimes the hands look disfigured, sometimes the lips are too thin, sometimes the eyes don’t bore into your soul like I want them too. Like they once did.

And I have no idea what I’m doing differently.

Is it my new environment? The fact that I’m not living the same carefree life I was living back in New York. Yes, I helped work on charity events, and used my platforms to raise awareness for the things I was passionate about. But my spare time was mine, and I spent that time living my best life.

Now, it feels like I’ve been hit in the face with reality. Nothing has really changed, and yet, everything has. I’ve had a wake-up call but I can’t even pinpoint what it was that woke me up.

I trace my finger over the pencil strokes of the face, taking in her smile lines and the evidence of a happy life, and instead of adding it to my rejection pile, I fold it in half and slip it intomy top drawer, giving myself another twenty-four hours to mull over it.

Not that I have a deadline for anything. I just don’t like to dwell on things for too long.

When I’m done, I pour a glass of wine and pull up the file for the Storm charity event. The board opted for my conservative venture consisting of a cocktail-style dinner with a dance floor and silent auction but allowed me to at least set a theme. What theme, though, is still to be decided.

Setting pen to paper, I try to brainstorm, but my mind drifts to my afternoon by the pool, or more specifically, to meeting Easton’s mom and his beautiful little boy. I had planned to leave them alone, because what good could possibly come from getting to know the family of a guy you’re not supposed to have anything to do with? But when Isaac fell over in front of me, I couldn’t hold back.

Turns out my heart isn’t frozen or dead like Christian claimed it to be, because that little boy’s expression broke it. It wasn’t so much the tears of pain that got me, but the fear in his eyes when I raced over, as if I was going to make it worse. As if I was going to scold him for it. I would have blamed Easton; I’ve seen his gruff side, so it easily could have been that. But when he asked for his dad to make the pain go away, it was clear he wasn’t the issue. But who?

His Nana very obviously worshipped the ground he walked on, but I guess you never know what goes on behind closed doors.

A memory of Easton’s and my first conversation comes to mind and I remember what he said about his ex. How she was always breaking shit. Is that Isaac’s mom? I’m not even sure she’s still in the picture, but if she is… No.Goddammit. I can’t get involved. It’s not good for anyone at this time in my life. There’s too much uncertainty. But one thing I know for sure…I don’t like her. Even if she’s nice.

Getting back to my work, I spend the next hour researching themes, trying to find one that works for a bunch of brawny men and executives, and when my phone rings, I welcome the distraction. Even if it is an unknown number.

“Hello, Paige speaking.”

“Paige, it’s Austin.” The guy I hired to look into the Mikkleson family.

“Austin. Hi. Please tell me you’ve found something.”

“I have, but you’re not going to like it.”

Shit. “My ex is involved.”Dammit. I may not care for him anymore, but I was genuinely hoping he wasn’t a part of it.

“No,” Austin states plainly, making me frown. “At least, I don’t think so. Other than his questionable habits with women, namely having a different woman in every country, when it comes to his business, he’s squeaky clean. To the point that I have to wonder if he’s actually clueless.”

My lips quirk into a smile, but I don’t let the humor take over because that’s not why he called. “What won’t I like then?”

“Your mom invested in their company about six months before you called me.”

“What the actual fuck? Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. I’m not usually hired to understand people’s psyche.”

“Sorry.” I huff out a laugh. “I know that. But I don’t get it. Did you find anything else? Evidence, maybe? Something I can use to ensure it’s not just my word against theirs?”

“Not yet. Their systems are tight and they’re undoubtedly being careful now that they think you know something. But rest assured, I will. It’s only a matter of time.”

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