"I can deliver the swag bag now," Paige offered. "I don't care for line dancing, and it's too early to go to bed." Sitting in the common area would mean more matchmaking attempts. No thank you; she'd had enough of those, especially as Sean-who supposedly was her plus one-had met Em, the girlfriend of Tate and Elle's late brother, and had been rendered a blabbing mess. Talk about falling hard.
"No, I couldn't bother you."
"It's no bother, I assure you." Besides, Paige needed a break. Being surrounded 24/7 by couples wallowing in marital bliss was damn hard.
Violet didn't seem too convinced, but she caved in. After retrieving the swag bag from her unit nearby, she gave it to Paige. "Don't think I won't call my grandson to come pay us a visit while you're here. He's a great catch. And as an extra bonus, you get me too. Before Tate came into the picture, I tried to hook up my granddaughter Tessa with James, but no luck. He was not biting."
Paige laughed. This place was crazy.
Avoiding the common area so as not to get sucked into the whirlwind, she walked out of the compound. Miami was a beautiful city-too humid and hot for her taste and her makeup, but beautiful nevertheless. Such a pity she couldn't enjoy it with Nico, although their relationship wasn't the kind that included long walks along the beach, hand in hand. It was more along the lines of wham-bam, I'll break into your place next week, ma'am.
The hotel was too far away for a night stroll, so she flagged a taxi. In ten minutes she was downtown, in front of the very luxurious marina hotel.
At that moment, the gangplank of a huge yacht was lowered. Several bodyguards disembarked, and right after them a couple. The woman hung on the man's arm, smiling and looking mighty cozy. He seemed like one of those megarich, conceited assholes who cluttered South Beach. Full of himself. Too tanned and wealthy for his own good.
Paige didn't recognize him until they were face-to-face. The megarich, conceited asshole with the bimbo perched on his arm was Nico.
Chapter Ten
Nico threw his cell on the table, tired of listening to the same automated voice tell him the number he was trying to reach was blocked. Damn woman. He'd gotten another burner, but she still hadn't picked up-not before and certainly not after he sent her a text. His answer the fucking phone now got him nowhere very fast. Well, no, there had been a fast result: new number had been blocked instantly. Paige was flipping him the analog finger. The digital finger. All the fingers.
She was not supposed to come to Florida, much less leave the Eternal Sun, damn it. What had she been doing at that hotel? She'd looked at him so belligerently, so extremely betrayed yet so proud at the same time. She hadn't said a word, in no way had shown they knew each other, but Nico had seen fuck you, bastard written all over her face. With her accusing stare still burning his skin, he'd watched her bolt-elegantly, head held high, her short dress bouncing with every step, her military boots never missing a beat. So haughtily gorgeous.
He'd wanted to run after her so fucking badly. But he hadn't moved a muscle. Hadn't even given her a second glance. He'd continued smiling at some shit Carmela had been saying.
Paige had told him on several occasions how important honesty was to her, how her asshole of a fiancé had lied repeatedly. Cheated on her too. And how she'd put up with it and hidden what was going on. Nico hadn't cheated or lied, but it certainly looked like he had.
She wasn't going to forgive this easily. Or at all. He'd blown it.
And maybe it was for the best, he pondered as he poured himself a shot of tequila and drank it straight up.
"Maldonado always kept the best brands of vodka for you," Carmela said from the door. "I don't understand your aversion for it, Russian."
He poured another shot and drank it under her scrutinizing gaze. Didn't bother to answer. Vodka was to be enjoyed in the Siberian cold at minus thirty degrees. Not in Florida, in a heat wave that made the inner side of his eyelids sweat.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Carmela was very perceptive. Which explained why she was alive in a world run by men, where human lives were cheaper than dirt.
"Work," he said in a grunt. He didn't have to be more specific. God knew-and Carmela knew even better-that they had more than one open front.
"I see. Maybe I can do something about relieving that stress."
Nico watched as she approached. Maybe she could. Most probably. He'd heard Carmela was extremely talented in bed.
She pulled at his office chair, turning it toward her. "Relax," she said, kneeling between his legs, her sweet smile deceptive. "Don't mind me."
His skin crawled at her proximity, as if he had a dangerous predator in front of him about to eat him alive.