*
Leaning against my doorway, I listen to Finn breathing sweetly, peacefully. It should lull me to sleep, but it doesn’t. I’ve perfected tossing and turning so much it should be an Olympic sport. I reach out, rubbing the fabric of my dress between my fingertips. I should’ve known better than to hope. Girls like me don’t wear dresses like that unless they’re bought and paid for by the man paying for our attention. No fairy godmothers are coming at the last minute to send us to the ball. There is no Prince Charming. There’s only Slade Turner. And he won’t be showing up with a glass slipper to pledge his love. He didn’t even want me at the ball.
I feel stupid for dwelling on it. It’s silly to be upset over something as trivial as a party. If only I could sleep. I look toward the other side of the house to the only place where sleep was possible. I know he’s not coming home tonight. He can stop me from coming to his party, but he can’t stop me from sleeping in his bed. My passive-aggressive side takes over, and I walk in that direction.
*
My eyes flutter open, but it’s not Finn’s cry that’s waking me. Fingers lightly brush my hair from my face. Slade’s blue eyes pierce through the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
“Shh,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Suddenly, I recognize my surroundings. I’m in his bed. I’m not under his covers or anything, but him seeing me here is bad enough. I’m sure he didn’t expect to come home to find the help asleep in his bed. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to come home tonight at all. “I’m sorry,” I say, starting to sit up. “I just . . .” There’s no good explanation as to why I’d be in his bed.
Encouraging me to lie back down, he says softly, “No, I’m sorry. I found out my father was coming to the party. I wasn’t expecting him to come, and I couldn’t stop him. That’s why I asked Catrine to have you stay here. I didn’t want you blindsided.”
I lean up on my elbow. “I thought you didn’t want me there.”
“Paige,” he says, cupping my cheek. “How could you think that?”
I have to be dreaming. His lips are just inches from mine. “I haven’t been very nice to you this week. I thought this was payback.”
“No, I was looking forward to seeing you tonight,” he whispers.
“You could’ve called me,” I say. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here.”
“I wanted to see you,” he says.
My heart is beating so loudly in my chest, I think he can probably hear it. “Eventually, I’ll probably run into your father. I can handle it.”
“I can’t,” he says. His voice is quiet, but the jealousy is loud and clear.
“Slade, that was the first night I was with your father. Nothing happened between us. Not even a kiss.”
I see his body relax in relief. His hopeful eyes fall to my lips, and at that moment, all I want is for him to kiss me—to be viewed as a woman and not anything else—but he pulls back. “I should go back to the city. I just wanted you to know what happened tonight.”
In what is probably one of the most honest moments I’ve ever had, I reach for his hand.
He looks down at our hands, then up to my face and says, “You better mean the next thing you say or do.”
I’m too confused by what I’m feeling to be sure of anything. Slade is not a patient man. He turns for the door, leaving me alone in his bed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PAIGE
An entire week passes without a word from him. I can’t explain what happened on the night of the party. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the night, or maybe it was being in his bed. Who knows? But I almost kissed my boss. And I’d have let him do more than that. Now, I’m not sure how to move past it. Should we talk about it or avoid it? Judging by the radio silence, I guess Slade’s choosing the latter. And I’m not going to push a conversation with my boss.
My emotions waver from wishing I’d kissed him to thinking I should have never grabbed his hand. What never changes is the certainty that I’m falling for him, though it’s a mystery as to why. He’s hot one minute and cold the next. I’d chalk my fascination up to him just being sexy and wanting to know what it would be like to have him kiss me, but it’s more. I hate to admit it, but he seems to want to take care of Finn and me. I grew up on fairy tales where the prince always saves the princess. The New Age movies always have some twist where the female characters are strong and can save themselves. I believe in that message. Hell, I am that girl.
Still, having a man want to protect and take care of you, no matter how misguided and Neanderthal-like it is—it gets a girl going. So I’m falling for him despite my best efforts not to, despite the fact I’m bad for him, and despite the fact this is the worst idea in the history of love affairs.
There are too many reasons this is wrong for it to possibly be right.
I’m not going to dwell on it anymore right now. It’s a beautiful Tennessee Saturday, but more importantly, it’s my twenty-first birthday. Most twenty-one-year-olds might binge-drink or fly to Vegas, but I’ve decided to give myself my first birthday party. Finn is the only person on the guest list, and he’s easy to impress. I might even let him have a tiny bite of cake. He had a rough day, too—his six-month checkup with his pediatrician.
It’s so nice she’s open on Saturday mornings, which helps working parents out. So while it’s my birthday, Finn got a couple of shots today, so I think we both deserve cake. Finn and I went to the store and bought balloons, birthday plates, candles, and everything we need to make my first birthday cake. And I’m doing the whole thing from scratch.
Because it’s my first time baking a cake from something other than a box mix, I’m keeping it simple—yellow cake with chocolate icing. From start to finish, it takes me about three hours. I know most people could do it in half that time, but most people aren’t baking with a six-month-old.
After setting up the decorations on the island, I place the cake in the middle on a little cake stand I found in the cabinet, then pluck Finn out of his playpen. “Alright, buddy, let’s get you changed, then party time.”
Smiling and already singing “Happy Birthday” to myself, we head to our room. I’m in the middle of changing his diaper when I hear the sound of the garage door opening. It has to be Slade. Catrine doesn’t work weekends. I feel myself smiling. Maybe he remembered it’s my birthday. It was on the paperwork he made me fill out, so it would be incredibly sweet of him to remember.
I place Finn in his crib, taking a second to brush my hair. I look at myself in the mirror, the stupid grin on my face. The man drives me crazy, but something is between us, and it’s time we get it out in the open.
Propping Finn on my hip, I’m almost skipping toward the kitchen. “Slade? I can’t believe you remembered.”
I grind to a halt, finding a long-legged, raven-haired beauty with a fork in my cake. She didn’t even bother to cut it. She’s just standing there, eating my birthday cake right off the cake stand, sticking her fork in it over and over again. To make matters worse, she’s one of those women who oozes sexiness and knows it.