“It’s about Paisley.”
My stomach goes into knots. I was just getting out of my snow gear when I stop. “What’s going on with her?”
Dad’s glance darts to the left, and I know that he’s not looking at our fireplace but is beyond the wall with the tourists. “You know how important the event is tomorrow night. Your most important sponsors are going to be here, Knox, and I want everything to go off perfectly.”
I slip out of my snowboard pants real slowly and hang my jacket up. Melted snow drips onto the ground. “And what’s that got to do with me?”
“Paisley’s new here,” he says, putting his elbows onto the table and tenting his fingers. His smartwatch lights up with a message. He ignores it. “I realize that I cannot expect her to understand the rules of the upper class from one moment to the next. But you can help her, at least with the basics. Show her the different kinds of champagne we have, how to pour them properly, and what all she needs to pay attention to during dinner. Oh, and take her to a boutique. She needs a dress.” His mouth twists in sympathy. “I noticed that she showed up with a single jute bag. The poor girl.”
With a jute bag? Jesus. What the fuck happened to her?
“Dad,” I answer slowly. “I don’t know if I’m the right guy…”
At that very moment the front door opens, and Paisley comes walking in. Her hair looks disheveled, and there’s a big brown spot on her shirt. It looks like a baby puked on her or something. Her annoyed expression confirms my suspicion.
“Paisley, good to see you. Are you finished upstairs?”
She nods. With a tired smile she nods at the spot on her shirt. “My nerves are too.”
Dad laughs. “I bet. You’re doing a great job. We’re really happy to have you with us. That’s why Knox just said he’d be happy to take you under his wing tomorrow. He’ll help you out with a few things, and you all can go look for a nice dress for you. Okay?”
“Ummm…” Paisley looks over to me. Her eyes grow wide and the displeasure in them mirrors exactly what I’m feeling.
“Great.” Dad gives her a big smile, looks at his smartwatch, and pulls his phone out of his pocket to send a message. Without looking up, he walks past us, gives me a pat on the back, and then takes a call. He casts me one more glance over his shoulder. “Thanks, son. Don’t wait for me to eat. I’m going to be late tonight; I’ve still got a number of things to do.” With that, he disappears through the door.
Paisley and I look at each other, but neither of us says a word.
Eventually, I let out a sigh. “Give me ten minutes. I’ve got to shower.” My eyes fly to the spot on her chest. “You should, too.”
Paisley makes a face like she would rather be spit on by a hundred newborns than spend any time with me. But she knows that she doesn’t have a choice if she doesn’t want to lose her job. And I know that I don’t have any choice because, damn it, I simply cannot tear myself away from this girl.
19
Beauty in the Broken
Paisley
My body gets carried away by two emotions: tingling joy and a heart racing with uncertainty. I shower longer than necessary and take even more time drying my hair. But the more time I take, the more nervous I get. So I put the hair dryer to the side, shake out my hair, and take a deep breath before going back to the living room.
Knox is lying on the couch playing with his phone. Hearing my steps, he looks up. “Weird.”
“What’s weird?”
“I waspositiveyou’d been swallowed up by the drain.”
“Ha, ha,” I say, sitting down at the other end of the couch and digging my toes beneath a cushion. “Do we wanna get started?”
“Yeah. I just need your help for a sec.” Knox sits up and hops over to me. He gives me his phone. “How does he do these polls?”
He’s referring to the snowboarder Jason Hawk, his face and wide smile staring back at me from the whole flood of images of his Instagram posts.
“He’s terrible,” I say.
“Right?” Knox scrolls through the photos before stopping on a particularly terrible one showing Jason with a trophy and flashingthat smile. I can see his molars. “His mouth is huge. Like Cheshire Cat inAlice in Wonderland.”
I nod. “What kind of poll are you talking about?”
“Wait.” Knox clicks on Jason’s profile image and his story covers the phone. In the background, I see him midjump, in the foreground the poll button. The question:Who thinks I’m going to stomp @knox-winterbottom into the ground at the X Games?
