Page 48 of Tangled in Temptation

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THE FRAGRANT GARDEN air surrounded me as I walked along the pathway through the gardens. The garden was better than therapy. It gave me a chance to breathe and think. The events of the past weeks had left me in a state of perpetual stress. It felt impossible to breathe. Everything was pushing down on me.

The quiet of the garden was so much better than the busy city streets of Manhattan. I bent over to smell a rose and smiled. There really was something to stopping and smelling the roses.

While I walked, an odd sound cut through the air. It wasn’t odd, but familiar.

Catherine’s truck.

That was unexpected. Maybe she had come around and wanted to talk. I would finally get the chance to explain my side of things. I felt horrible for the way things had ended in Manhattan. It had kept me awake and left me feeling like there was a hollowness in my gut.

I started toward the house, thinking about what I would say. I was going to start with an apology. She deserved that at the very least. I walked into the house and made my way to the foyer. I was met by my head housekeeper, an envelope clutched in her hands.

“The contractor just dropped these off,” she said.

I frowned, realizing Catherine wasn’t here to actually talk to me. Behind the housekeeper, I saw a flash of color through the front window.

“Excuse me,” I said and rushed past the housekeeper and flung open the door. Catherine was pulling out of the driveway. Panic seized me, and without a second thought, I sprinted out of the house.

“Catherine!” I hollered.

I darted down the driveway and managed to jump in front of her truck. The screech of tires and the blaring horn filled the air as Catherine slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding running me over.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled.

Breathless and agitated, I moved to stand in front of her truck. “We need to talk.”

Catherine glared at me, her expression a mix of anger and exasperation. “You could’ve been seriously hurt! You’re an idiot! Who jumps in front of a moving vehicle?”

“Just give me a chance to explain.”

She rolled her eyes, her skepticism evident. “Explain what? How Regina is manipulating everything, and you’re letting her? That you are stringing poor Paisley along? Did you talk to her yet?”

“What?” I asked with confusion.

“I saw Paisley this morning,” she said as if it was an accusation. “She’s convinced she’s staying. You need to do something about it before she’s heartbroken. She’s making plans with her friends.”

She revved the engine, preparing to drive away once more, but I stepped in front of her truck, unwilling to let her leave without addressing the rift between us.

“Just stop,” I said.

“I swear, I didn’t realize you were so stupid. Why do you keep jumping in front of me?”

“Because I want to talk to you,” I said calmly.

“Did you ever consider I didn’t want to talk to you?” she snapped. “Unlike you, no one is pulling my strings.”

“That’s not fair, Catherine,” I responded, my voice straining against the sudden tension between us. “I’m not being manipulated, and I am certainly not stringing Paisley along.”

She raised an eyebrow, her anger momentarily giving way to curiosity. “Prove it,” she challenged tersely.

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll talk to Paisley, sort everything out. And as for Regina, she’s not an issue.”

She rolled her eyes. “Congratulations.”

“Why are you so upset with me?” I asked, frustration seeping into my tone. “I’m trying to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” she sneered. “This is just casual.”