The Billionaire And His Son Want Me Back (Paisley) novel Chapter 2

The airport buzzed with activity, a symphony of distant announcements, hurried footsteps, and rolling suitcases blending into the steady hum of life. Crowds ebbed and flowed in a rhythm that was both chaotic and strangely orderly.

The cool, filtered air carried faint traces of coffee and jet fuel, grounding Paisley in the reality of her impending departure.

Her flight had begun boarding. Just as she was about to step forward to hand her boarding pass to the attendant, her phone buzzed insistently in her pocket.

She slid her ticket across the counter and answered the call without checking the caller ID. But before she could say a word, Grayson's young voice shrilled through the speaker. "I want rainbow pasta!"

Paisley paused mid-step, glancing down at the phone. It was Dominick's number.

"There's frozen pasta in the fridge," she replied coolly, her voice even and detached. She collected her boarding pass and continued walking toward the gate.

"The nanny said it's all gone." Grayson's voice climbed in pitch, sharp and grating the way children's voices do when they're on the verge of a tantrum.

Paisley's lips tightened. She'd worked hard to instill discipline in Grayson, especially when it came to shouting or making demands in public. But this naughty boy had his father's stubborn streak, and lately, her corrections only seemed to irritate him further.

Her tone remained indifferent as she replied with a frown, "Then it's gone."

"That's not fair," Grayson wailed. His voice rose again, teetering on the edge of a full-blown fit. "Come back right now and make it for me. I want it now."

Paisley inhaled slowly, her grip on her phone firm but calm. "Ask your precious Marissa to make it for you," she said, her voice laced with an edge that cut through his whining.

The line went silent for a few heartbeats, but it wasn't long before Grayson's crying and howling began in earnest, loud enough that Paisley had to hold the phone slightly away from her ear.

After a muffled scuffle on the other end, Dominick's deep, irritated voice finally came through. "Paisley, why are you picking a fight with a child? He's just a kid. He doesn't understand."

By this point, Paisley had stepped into the cabin, her heels clicking softly against the carpeted aisle. She flashed a polite smile at the flight attendant and handed over her handbag before settling into her seat in first class.

Reclining slightly, she adjusted her tone to one of detached finality. "If a child doesn't understand, then surely the adults should, don't you think?"

Her mind drifted as the seatbelt light blinked on. Grayson hadn't always been this way. Up until the age of two, he'd been a sweet, clingy little boy who adored her, proudly declaring to anyone who'd listen that his mother was the best in the world.

'When did that start to change?' she wondered. The answer came to her with a pang of bitterness. 'It must have been when Marissa came back to Harrowfell.'

Everything Paisley had forbidden, Marissa would indulge. If Paisley said no to candy, Marissa would slip it to him behind her back. If Paisley enforced bedtime rules, Marissa would sneak him out for late-night games.

At first, the Vanderbilt family had always looked down upon Paisley. Slowly but surely, their obvious preference for Marissa over Paisley began to seep into Grayson's perception. In his young, impressionable mind, Paisley had been recast as a villain—a meddling outsider, a scheming woman who broke up the family.

"Dominick," Paisley said firmly, "we're divorced now. There's no reason for us to keep in touch anymore."

Without waiting for a response, she ended the call and switched off her phone.

As the plane ascended, Paisley stared out the window, the city shrinking beneath her until it was no more than a blur of lights and distant memories.

She took a deep breath, the hum of the engines steadying her frayed nerves. 'It's over,' she thought. 'I've left it all behind.'

*****

Four years later, in the heart of Harrowfell, inside the director's office at the prestigious Harrowfell Hospital, the room exuded an air of understated luxury. Rich mahogany paneling adorned the walls and soft, ambient lighting cast a warm, golden glow.

Paisley, however, had no interest in conforming to the room's dignified atmosphere. With her legs casually crossed in an unbothered fashion, she lounged on the plush sofa, leaning back as if she owned the place. She exuded an effortless charm, her casual demeanor oddly endearing.

Jonathan Walsh, the director of the hospital, strolled over with a wry smile. He patted Paisley gently on the head. "You're a mother now, for goodness' sake. Can't you sit like an adult for once?"

Paisley huffed and grudgingly straightened up, though the playful glint in her eyes remained. She reached into her chic leather tote and pulled out a small, neatly packaged bag of herbal tea. "Here. Make it last. It's a pain to prepare, you know."

The tea itself wasn't difficult to mix, but the ingredients were another matter entirely—rare and hard to procure.

Jonathan chuckled as he took the tea, his expression softening with gratitude. "You're still the most thoughtful kid I know. My health practically depends on your herbal concoctions these days. Sit tight. I'll pour you some of the coffee I just bought. You'll love it."

He handed her a delicate porcelain cup, and Paisley took a careful sip, her discerning palate immediately picking up on the premium quality. 'Top-notch beans,' she thought, her approval faint but clear.

Jonathan leaned against his desk, his gaze warm but probing. "Paisy, how long are you planning to stay in Harrowfell this time?"

"A while," she replied, setting the cup down on the coffee table with a soft clink.

One of her screenplays had recently been adapted, and the production was set to start filming locally. As the lead writer, she needed to be on-site for the shoot. On top of that, there were other odds and ends demanding her attention.

Jonathan grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "Ever thought about coming back here to see some patients? Maybe teach a few students while you're at it?"

"Nope. Not happening," Paisley said, cutting him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

This wasn't the first time Jonathan had tried to coax her into joining the hospital's ranks, and she had no intention of giving in.

Jonathan opened his mouth to press the issue further, but before he could get a word out, Paisley's phone buzzed sharply, its timing a small miracle.

She picked it up with a muted sigh of relief and answered quickly, pretending the call was urgent. Within moments, she was making her exit, leaving Jonathan behind with an amused shake of his head.

Not long after Paisley left, the administrative director knocked and stepped into the room. "Mr. Walsh, Mr. Vanderbilt is here to see you."

Jonathan straightened as Paul Vanderbilt, a spry old gentleman with sharp eyes that missed nothing, entered the office. His gaze immediately fell on the coffee table, where a glass carafe of freshly brewed coffee sat, steam still curling lazily from the spout.

The fine aroma filled the room, unmistakably from an exclusive roast. One look at the half-empty cup and Paul's shrewd mind began to piece things together.

Paul teased, "Well, well. Who was it this time that got you to bring out the top-tier coffee you usually don't touch?"