Brutal Bargain: A Standalone Novel (Brutal Billionaires Book 4) by Laurelin Paige

Author:Laurelin Paige [Paige, Laurelin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paige Press LLC
Published: 2024-10-09T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

ADLY

Ipause on the way out of the yoga room—scratch that, Ax’s room—to survey the latest items that the movers have brought up. Most everything has been delivered in sealed plastic totes, but some of his stuff is in crates with no lids.

I know I shouldn't.

But I’m not about to let an opportunity to snoop go by.

Transferring the clothing and hangers to balance on one arm, I use the other to move a stack of manila folders in one of the crates and uncover a pile of photos to pick through. There are several of Ax growing up. Most of which I know are him because I remember what he looked like in the periods they were taken. I’m guessing the younger ones are him too.

I’m studying a picture of a toddler with thick dark hair climbing onto an older woman’s lap when Ax and the movers return with another load.

“Who’s this?” I ask, holding it up for him to see.

“Me.” He turns to the movers behind him. “You can put all those boxes on the other side of the bed.”

“And your grandma, I’m guessing?” I’ve already put the photo down before he answers in the affirmative. I hold up another picture of a woman about my age with dark hair and a bright smile. “Is this your mom?”

He barely glances from the box he’s ripping open. “Yep.”

“She was gorgeous.” Ax’s parents were divorced soon after I was born, so I don’t remember meeting his mother, if I ever did. I’m pretty sure he saw her regularly while growing up, but she lived in London, and he always flew to see her.

Then she died when he was twenty-one. There’s a pamphlet from the funeral in the stack of photos that I don’t ask about, as well as a clipping from an obituary. He took it hard, I remember that.

The next picture is a high school graduation notice of a teenager that resembles Ax’s mother enough to assume she’s a relative.

“Who’s this?” I flash it toward him as he walks by.

Frowning, he snatches it out of my hand. “Would you stop going through my shit?”

He seems annoyed and distracted, but I don’t sense real anger in his tone.

“I can’t help it. It’s right there.” Under another crate and a bunch of random stuff, but totally right there.

He tosses the announcement back on the pile and picks up the crate. “What are you even doing in here?” He finds his answer when he arrives at the closet. “You still haven’t cleared everything out?”

I lift up the clothing. “Hello! Doing it now.”

“You were supposed to have it ready before I got here today so that we wouldn’t be on top of each other. What happened to boundaries and safe space?”

I give a casual shrug. Obviously, when I was talking about boundaries and safe spaces, I was talking about me.

Also—less obvious, perhaps—I’m getting used to the idea of being on top of each other. In all the different ways that roommates can be on top of each other.

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