Page 3 of Delicate Storm

CHAPTER ONE

Paige

NY socialite Paige D’Angelo spotted at JFK airport. Sources say she’s on the run, but if they know why, they’re not talking.

If running away from your problems was a crime then I’d say…Lock. Me. Up.I’m as guilty as they come. But it’s okay, because I look damn good in orange.

Luckily, I also look good in my comfy travel pants and sneakers that I specifically put on because I thought I was being stealthy, sneaking into the airport unnoticed.

I was dead wrong. I’ve already found four different photos of myself online, all with similar headlines.

It’s only now that I’m settled in the lounge that I can relax.I hope. You never know who’s lurking around the corner, waiting for their chance to make a dollar.

Taking a deep breath, I pull out my book and make myself comfortable, tapping my foot as though it’ll speed up time.

I’m early.

And I’mneverearly. I’m that friend you give a fake start time to, an hour ahead of schedule, knowing I’m always late. But I’m here now, two hours before my flight, because I’m desperate to get out of this state. Hell, if I could leave the country for a while, I’d do it. If I didn’t think my mom would cut me off. She already threatened to write me out of her will simply because I was moving to California.

Not that it would matter.Much.

I may have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I’ve always worked hard for my money. From a young age, my parents were sure to instill the value of every dollar. Dad came from a modest income family and worked his ass off to build his business. Mom came from one of New York City’s wealthiest families and yet she always had a job and made my dad pay back every cent she ever loaned him. Which wasn’t much to begin with. My brother and I used to joke that Mom and her family were only wealthy because they Scrooged their money away. That was until we were old enough to realize we never went without. We were always dressed in the latest fashion, always had the most up-to-date technology. Whatever we wanted we got. But the second we started acting like the spoiled brats that we were, the money disappeared.

And because of that, I made sure to forge my own path. I may not be a self-made billionaire. Or even a millionaire for that matter. But if my family wealth was to suddenly dry up, I’d get by. Comfortably. And I’m proud of that notion.

When I’m almost certain no one is watching me, I relax into my latest read, and after I’ve been reading for an hour, my phone buzzes with a text from my dad, making me smile.

Daddio: You know I trust you completely, but please put your old man at ease and let meknow you’re on your way to the airport. Your flight leaves in a little over an hour

He thinks he knows me so well, but I’m a changed woman.

I had to be.

Paige: I’m in the lounge with a coffee and a book. If you need photo evidence, I’m sure the Internet will provide

I’d laugh at my own joke, only I’m not sure that it is one. But it will make my dad smile. He’s been making headlines almost as much as I have lately.

Daddio: I’ll have a car waiting for you when you land. Love you, Kid

I don’t respond because I’m not big on “love yous.” Not yet anyway. And he won’t be expecting a reply, so I’m safe.

Dad and I haven’t always gotten along. I wasn’t a huge fan of him putting work ahead of his family, and took Mom’s side when they divorced. But over the last few years, things have been better, and now—after a few months of him asking me—I’m moving across the country to live with him.

It’s going to be interesting to say the least, but the timing feels right. I’m ready for a new adventure, and I’m ready to take a break from my New York City life.

It’s time to give California a go.

I toss my phone on top of my bag, and it lights up again with another text.

Airline Announcements: Your flight has been delayed. Your revised flight departure time is 11:05

Goddammit. Another hour to wait. If I’d been late as usual, I wouldn’t be stuck here for as long.

Blowing out a breath, I stretch my arms out in front of me and scrunch my nose. I’m about to start reading again when an attendant stops to collect my empty glass and I smile. “Don’t suppose you know any way I can kill a couple of hours? My flight’s been delayed.”

I roll my shoulders as I speak and her eyes zero in on it.

“You could go for a massage,” she says, pointing to where I’ve just grabbed my neck, making me pause as my eyes light up in anticipation.

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