I roll my computer chair away from my desk. So much for finishing any work today.
“I’d planned to go to my parents, but he might show up there, too. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“Cool. You know, I’m surprised,” Paige says, sitting up. “He never struck me like the kinda guy who’d go full Romeo. You think he’d really show up at your parents’ house?”
“Who knows. I didn’t think he’d come here either and he’d just stick to bombarding my phone...were the flowers nice?” I can’t believe I’m asking, but here we are.
“Hmm, do you really want to know? Can’t see how that’s going to help this.” She tilts her head, studying me like I’ve lost my mind.
Maybe I have when I let out the next question.
“But were they?” I whisper.
She closes her eyes and nods. “It was a full bouquet. Birds of paradise, I think. They looked expensive.”
“Pssh.” I roll my eyes. “Ruby probably picked it out. Also, he’s a billionaire. He doesn’t buy anything cheap or dull.”
“The flowers were intricate. Some serious time and thought went into them, but it could be normal for high end florists.”
Another question scrapes at the edge of my heart. I’m afraid to ask, afraid to know, but more afraid to hold it in.
“How did he look?” I venture. The real question is more like did he seem tortured and sleepless? Beaten to a pulp? Is Magnus Heron miserable without me?
She shrugs. “He sure looked more worn than his fancy photos online, but I’ve never met him. I don’t have much to compare it to.”
“He usually walks around in a three-piece suit looking like a GQ model,” I tell her, shutting my eyes and trying to shield my brain from his perfect image.
“He was wearing jeans and a black sweater with a scarf today. Reminded me of a cowboy who got his butt kicked.” She pauses. “Why are you smiling?”
“I didn’t know I was,” I whisper, pushing a hand over my mouth.
Mag in cowboy jeans sounds like a recipe for searing me alive. But he has to be a tortured soul if he’s strutting around like he’s been in a saloon fight.
Not that it matters.
It’s over. Done. Epilogued.
I need to start acting like a sane person and let the hell go.
“Let’s get some stuff ready for your parents.” I bolt up, shutting my laptop, and grab my overnight bag to start packing.
Who knows if Mag really would barge in at my parents’ house, but he knows where they live thanks to his oh-so-thorough new hire check. And if a butt-kicked cowboy who’s hotness incarnate shows up on Emily Bristol’s doorstep begging to see her only daughter...
She’s going to clap her hands together, make a high-pitched squeal, sell my ass down the river, start planning a wedding, and then write a book about it.
Mom would never get why I can’t play damsel in distress to some rich jagoff. She’d insist he’s just a scolded alpha hero who’s learning how to control his Neanderthal impulses.
Yeah.
Paige’s house is the safer choice, hands down.
“I love Logan Square.” I get out of Paige’s car in her parents’ driveway. “I have no idea why you wanted to rent a place smack in the middle of Chicago.”
I’d only been to this suburb a couple of times before college. I always swore when I landed a grown-up job that this is where I’d live. I’d get a house with an in-law’s apartment so I could bring my parents over when I needed to, whenever I could talk Mom and Dad into leaving their decrepit house.
“Because it’s right in the middle of Chicago,” Paige says. “Hello, convenience.”
“I always forget you’re a bigger partier than me,” I say with a sigh.
“My parents won’t be home for a few hours, so we’ll go up and order some pizza.”
The house is beautiful for an affluent couple, but not beyond extravagant like Mag’s or eccentric like my parents. It’s a two-story brick house with a couple of peaks on the roof and plain pink rose bushes in the front yard.
“I like your parents’ place already,” I tell her.
“You always say that,” she laughs. “Your folks’ is better with the whole Hobbit-vibe.”
“Oh, please. Theirs looks like something out of a Brothers Grimm story.”
It was nasty and leaky until Mag made sure it got fixed.
Paige isn’t joking, though. She has her own living room on the second floor. We sit on a couch and she orders pizza. Being waist-deep in good pie shops is one big strike in Chicago’s favor.
“Schitt’s Creek?” I say, my hand already on the remote.
“That’s like your favorite show.”
“More like a guilty pleasure. It’s kind of like scotch. It almost burns your throat raw going down and yet you still want more.” I laugh, stabbing at the buttons to pick an episode.
She raises a brow. “Wow. Since when are you the scotch connoisseur?”
“I’m not, but Mag is.” It’s out before I realize it.
Oops.
“Did he finally stop texting you?”
“I don’t know. I had to power my phone off to keep from responding.” I pull my phone out and turn it on. I’m not sure why.
I’m not hoping he’s still texting.
Definitely not.
It would be so much easier if he just gave up.
Yet I smile when I see my notifications. “Eleven missed messages.”
“All from him? Damn.” Paige smirks, and I can’t blame her.
“I haven’t looked yet.”
But I am now, scrolling down through several missed texts.
Mom: I’m sending you a new charger tonight for that stupid phone. What if you have an emergency, baby?
It’s nice that she cares. But my warm and fuzzy Mom-loves-me smile turns into a frown when I look further down my screen.
Magnus: Why did your roommate lie to me? You’re better than that.
What makes you think she was lying, jackass? Is it really that hard to believe someone else would want me?
“He knew you were lying,” I tell Paige in a small voice.
“Oh, Brina.” She rolls her eyes. “He hopes. The show I gave him could’ve won awards.”
Mom: Brina, baby, did you get your phone charged?
“They’re not all from him,” I say, scrolling down. “Mom texted, too, worried about my phone.”
Unfortunately, Mag wasn’t done.
Magnus: I don’t even deserve an answer?
Fuck no, you don’t. I type it into the screen and stop just short of hitting send.
“Brina? Are you texting him?” Paige asks.
I sigh and delete it.
Not getting answers is obviously bothering him, and I want to keep that going.
“No,” I say glumly, scrolling through more messages.
Magnus: Okay, maybe it wasn’t a lie. If your boyfriend’s real, I hope he deserves you.
You sure didn’t.
“Oh, now he says maybe it wasn’t a lie,” I hiss out.
“See?” Paige throws her head back and giggles. “I told ya! He hoped it was a lie.”