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We brainstormed ways to look more impressive, and decided a looming marriage would make me look like a grown-up.
Paige was my warm, outgoing executive assistant. She has an art degree and a keen interest in architecture. She’s also beautiful, smart, and likes to spar with me—at least she did.
She was the obvious choice for a fake engagement.
I paid her to play the part under an NDA. The goal was to convince you I was responsible enough to secure a contract for your Chicago jewel.
The events of the last few weeks with my family have been horrific, but somewhere in all the noise, I found the truth.
My intentions were less than honorable, and I’m deeply sorry.
I also understand if you no longer wish to do business with us. I wouldn’t want to do business with someone I couldn’t trust either.
However, the love you saw in my eyes on your yacht that day—the reason you assumed the package was fake—was a bigger truth. How could I not fall in love with her?
Not for the sake of a phony engagement, but for real.
My grandparents always dreamed of designing a Winthrope hotel. Grandma considered it her crowning achievement, and it was the last great dream of my grandfather. I thought immortalizing their legacy was the most important thing in my life.
I thought losing this contract and letting my grandmother down was the worst thing that could happen.
However, my priorities were misplaced, and I was wrong.
Losing Paige Holly over my lies has been a cataclysm.
If I thought it would win her back, I’d trade any deal, any dollar amount, and fall on my sword any way she wanted a thousand times over. Of course, that’s entirely my problem and not yours.
But I had to come clean.
I apologize sincerely for this whole fiasco and hope you’ll find the right firm to partner with on your best endeavors.
Thank you,
Ward Brandt
Senior Partner, Brandt Ideas Inc.
27
Dreaming Alone (Paige)
After three weeks of hardcore moping in my apartment, I’ve almost watched all of Netflix.
Now I’m jobless, Wardless, and have to face the fact that I’m not good enough.
Again.
Oh, and Brina’s not here.
She can’t be around nonstop the way I was for her when Mag went on a heart-smashing spree. We’re not roommates anymore and she has a life that’s fluid. Progressing. Evolving.
Wonderful changes and movement I’ll never have.
My phone rings, jolting me out of my stupor.
That stupid unrealistic hope pops in my head like it does every damn time my phone makes a noise. I glance at the screen and—
Nope. Not him. Ward remains MIA with my heart.
I dread taking the call, but she is my mother.
She was also right. I shouldn’t have let the fakery with Ward leave me open to sticking my heart in a bear trap.
Blech.
As soon as Winthrope was ready to sign, I wish I’d insisted on collecting his signature and severing ties. But I didn’t, and I’m so not in the mood for another “I told you so” talk right now.
Still, I slide my finger over the answer call button, steeling myself.
“Hello?”
“So, I guess he’s snagged his client?” Mom asks.
How would I know?
“I guess,” I say flatly. “What does it matter?”
“Milah called today. She’s worried about you. She saw your breakup news online.”
Oh, good. The whole world knows now, and I guess I’ll get gossip obsessed bird-people chirping under their breath wherever I go, desperately snapping pictures of the poor girl who got dumped by a Brandt.
I fake a shrill laugh into the phone.
“Well, you know the truth, so you don’t have to worry.”
“I do, though, because this is another scandal.”
“This is America, Mom. Engagements end all the time. It’s not that big a deal.”
“So when you meet Mr. Right, how will you explain your pretend engagement? And how do you think he’ll respond?”
“If he’s got my glass slipper, he’ll laugh about it and we’ll split the cash.”
“Paige! At least tell me you’re hunting for studio space and not sleeping all day?” Mom says in a rush.
It sucks that she cares, even if she can be annoying and way too concerned about appearances that are actually a me problem.
Also, I refused the rest of the payment.
I’m kind of afraid to spend the deposit when I didn’t technically finish the contract. It’d be the ultimate parting shot from a self-absorbed Wardhole to slap me with a lawsuit.
There isn’t going to be any studio. Not anytime soon. I might as well tell her.
“So, I think you know I kind of fell for Ward a smidge,” I say. A massive understatement, but I know she’s been talking to Liv since doomsday hit. “We got involved, and then he played me like Austin did, so I packed my stuff and left before the ninety-days were up. I didn’t finish the contract. He offered to pay me anyhow, but...I told him I didn’t want his money.”
