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Then why in hell did he bother with a gift?
Part of me is pissed that he tried to get to me through Paige. I prefer people come at me directly if they’re upset. But another part is overcome with guilt; it’s my fault Anthony lost Lauren. I never meant to steal her from him, and I had no idea she and Anthony were dating, but that’s no excuse. I should’ve seen the signs…and interpreted them better.
On top of that, my then-agent Mira played a role in Lauren’s death by putting her on a self-destructive path paved with cocaine and wild parties and an even wilder crowd. Mira did all that ostensibly to save me from Lauren’s grasp. After I fired her, Mira told me she had to do it when she came by to see me in one final pathetic attempt to get me to rescind my decision.
“You don’t know what kind of bitch Lauren was. She killed Anthony’s baby to be with you. What kind of a woman does that? Why would I ever allow you to be with someone like that? The world is better off without her.”
I had no idea Lauren had aborted Anthony’s baby. Thinking about it now, I don’t know what I’d have done if our positions had been reversed. Anthony’s loss feels even more significant now that I’ve held Benni in my arms. Sympathy and guilt are twisting around my old anger until I’m not sure how I feel about my former best friend anymore.
The door to the conference room opens, and one of the secretaries brings Shaun in. In tight black jeans and T-shirt, he’s as lean and fit as ever. He has to be, in order to work as a stunt man.
I can’t stand the son of a bitch. He hurt Paige more than once, including that time when he released the freakin’ sex tape, which he made without her knowledge. For him to send that ridiculous message…
I nod my thanks to the secretary. His gaze flicks in her direction as he checks her out. What a dick. His type is so obvious. He thinks she’s some inconsequential nobody, her worth measured only by how young and hot she is. What he doesn’t know is her opinion might hold some sway over my decision, because she’s been with the firm for ten years, and she’s smart, organized and often knows what her bosses need before they even voice it.
Once the door closes, Shaun licks his lips and smiles. “Hey. I’m Shaun Mann.” He sticks his hand out.
I stay seated and take another swallow of my coffee, giving him remote and aloof. I’m not touching the douchebag.
He pumps his hand in the air once, exaggeratedly, making a joke out of my rejection, then sits down. “So.” He clears his throat, rocking back and forth in his seat. “Heard you wanted to see me.”
I pull out the offending card from a manila folder in front of me and flick it across the table. He picks it up and reads it, his face collapsing into an angry frown.
“That bitch. This was for her eyes only.” He looks at me like a small dog sizing up a bigger and meaner one. “This wasn’t about you. Really.”
Right. Because he honestly thinks Paige is the one who holds the keys to the kingdom. He isn’t the only one to think they can manipulate her to get to me. “She’s my wife. Anything having to do with her and our baby is about me.”
“If she told you it’s yours, she lied. It’s mine.”
“Oh?” I arch an eyebrow.
“I can prove it.”
“Okay.” I lean back in my seat. “And then what?”
Confusion clouds his face. “Then you’ll know the baby’s mine.”
“You’re that eager to claim the girl as yours? Why? To start paying child support?”
He starts. “What? Why would I pay child support?”
God save me from idiots. It’s kind of unbelievable that we’re actually members of the same species. He should be categorized as homo simpletonius. “If it’s your kid, you have to pay. What, you thought fatherhood was free?” I tap my chin, giving him thoughtful. “Do you know how much we spent on the baby’s stroller?” I pause for dramatic effect. “Twenty-five grand.” We didn’t actually pay for it, but that’s a minor technicality.
He chokes. “No baby needs a twenty-five-grand stroller!”
I give him a pitying look. “That’s the least of what Hollywood babies get. We economized some because Paige felt uncomfortable. You know she grew up middle class.” I lean forward. “Now listen. You don’t get to send a bullshit note like that to my wife and get away with it. You don’t get to threaten me or my family and get away with it.”
“But—”
I infuse my voice with pure malice. “Keep talking and you won’t be able to get a job washing dishes in this town.”
He shuts his mouth.
“Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to forget all about Paige, that child and any subsequent children we might have. If not, I’m going to ensure your life is pure hell.”
He explodes to his feet. “I’m just as good-looking as you! I deserve to be a star!”
Oh boy. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And yet nobody’s bothered to cast you in a starring role.”
His face turns scarlet.
“You can have all the plastic surgery you like, but you’ll never be me. There’s only one me…and a hundred thousand guys like you.” I steeple my fingers. “Now… You owe me for the shit you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything!”
“That card? The sex tape? Don’t play dumb.”
“Hey, I was a victim of malicious hacking.”
“That might’ve worked on Paige. Not me. You should’ve never made the damn thing in the first place.” Now I should toss him a bone. Not that I give a shit about Shaun, but for guys like him, a hint of kindness after a beat-down is all it takes to make them back off. It isn’t my preferred method, but Paige needs some peace. And Shaun is a source of stress. “Look, I don’t want to run you out of Hollywood. All you have to do is stay away from me and my family. Go your own way, and we’ll go ours.”
He juts his chin out, but his eyes cloud with broken aspirations and dashed dreams, and his body visibly deflates, all the fight gone.
Contempt stirs in my gut. It’s over. But it’s all I can do to walk out without punching his face. He only respects people who are stronger and meaner than him. And this talk we’ve just had is going to ensure he stays down.
I leave the conference room and thank George Marlon. He’s one of the name partners at Marlon Edelstein, probably the best firm specializing in entertainment and corporate law. He looks the part with his thousand-dollar haircut and Armani suit, the tennis-toned body, the dark features unhandsome but strong and bold.
“Glad to help, Ryder,” he says with a big smile.
I smile back. That “help” has a price tag of over half a million dollars in legal fees per year, but hey, who’s complaining?
And if Shaun ever decides to try this ridiculous bullshit again, I’m siccing George on him. I’m the nice guy. George doesn’t stop until he rips out your jugular.
I walk down the hall, whistling, and check my phone. Two texts from Paige with photos of Benni smiling. I feel myself grinning like an idiot. God, she’s just too adorable. I can’t wait to get home.
Shoving the phone into my pocket, I step into the waiting elevator and almost sway when I see Anthony Blackwood standing there. I blink, wondering if I’m hallucinating. But it’s him, large as life and wearing a white dress shirt, navy jacket and slacks, no tie.
“Anthony,” I say, facing the reflective surface of the double doors in front of us.
He merely nods, his eyes unreadable.
Fuck. This isn’t how I imagined our meeting would go. “Didn’t know you had business here.”
He shrugs. “Legal stuff.”
Right. He has clubs and other business interests. Marlon Edelstein occupies five floors in this building, the top one devoted to corporate law and tax strategies. This is awkward. “Thanks for the present,” I say, then clear my throat.
“I didn’t send it to you. I sent it to Paige. I owed her one.” His face tightens.
“Tony—”
“No! You don’t get to call me To
ny anymore. That name’s only for close friends and family.”
His cold words hit me like a kick to my belly. “I’m sorry—about Lauren.” I turn my head toward him. He deserves this much. “I know it’s late.”
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing’ll bring her back.” His voice is flat, but grief fleets through his gaze, which he keeps focused straight ahead. “Next time I won’t be so helpless.” Half-vow, half-statement, spoken firmly.
“Just like you owed one to Paige, I owe you one, too.”
“You owe me more than one. Go back to your wife and baby, Ryder. Happiness is fleeting, while life is long and painful.”
I inhale sharply. I’ve always known that repairing our friendship would be almost impossible, but this hurts anyway.
The elevator stops with a ding, and Anthony steps into the lobby without so much as another glance in my direction. He still cuts an imposing figure—always did—but somehow he looks alone and unreachable as he walks away.
Chapter Five
Ryder
When I get home, I pour myself a finger of scotch and go to the nursery on the second floor. We’ve modified the master bedroom suite, combining it with the adjacent suite and putting in a doorway that connects the bedroom to the nursery. It’s huge now, with everything a baby could want or need. The walls are a mix of green, blue and white, with bright yellow, pink and red tulips. I offered to have someone come in to stencil the flowers, but Paige wanted to do it herself. Since I wasn’t letting my pregnant wife toil away on her own, we scheduled a day when we could do it together.
Paige is holding Benni in the rocking chair near the crib and Mom’s insane mobile. She looks up when I walk in. “How did it go?”
I give her a kiss on the crown of her head. “No problems. Shaun won’t bother us again.”
She sighs, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad. But what’s the drink for, then?”
“Celebratory,” I say, making my voice light and casual. “I’d get you one, too, but you’re nursing.” I give her a grin, not wanting to talk about the encounter with Anthony. I’m still processing it myself, but I’m pretty sure he won’t try to make contact or anything else with her.
I place my empty glass on a small table and take Benni from Paige. She mewls softly and settles in my arms like that’s exactly where she belongs. I press my lips to her head and stroke her small, delicate back, finding joy and comfort in her fresh baby smell and gentle breathing.
Paige dabs at her eyes. I run a hand over her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, her voice thick.
“Then why are you crying?”
“Just grateful…and happy. I feel like I’m too happy.”
I chuckle softly. “No such thing. Besides, I plan to make you even happier.”
She smiles weakly. “I wasn’t sure how you’d really feel about Benni. It’s easy to say you’ll love her, but it’s another thing when you’re, you know, confronted with…” She swallows.
She doesn’t have to say more. I get it. And it stuns me that she had any doubt, but I’m also glad she feels comfortable enough to bring it up. I kneel in front of her, supporting Benni with one arm, and place a hand on Paige’s knee.
“This little bundle is part of the woman I love more than life. She couldn’t be more precious to me. And she’ll make a great older sister to our future babies. Look how sweet and even-tempered she is.”
Paige nods, then slides down, pushing the chair back. She puts her arms around me and Benni, then whispers, “I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Paige.”
And I know our future’s going to be brighter than the sun.
——
Want to know what happens to Ryder’s incorrigible half-brother Elliot? One click here → An Improper Deal [US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia].
Already read all the books in the series? Then check out Anthony Blackwood’s story, Sins [US :: UK :: Canada :: Australia] today!
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About An Improper Deal
My life crashed and burned two years ago, and now I’m a stripper—a very bad one. Worse, I’m in debt to a dangerous man who orders me to seduce a billionaire prodigy. Except why would a guy as handsome and rich as Elliot Reed want me, a girl with no education, no prospects, and a younger sister to feed?
But Elliot is more than the incorrigible bad boy that the world sees. He is kind to my sister and looks at me like I’m a decadent dessert he wants to devour. When Elliot offers me money for sex, I wish I could walk away, but he ups the ante: a million dollars for one year of marriage. The man’s gotta be insane, but beggars with less than a hundred bucks in the bank can’t be choosers, and I want to give my sister a life better than my own.
Now, trapped between a man who controls my future and a man who could own my heart, I wonder if I haven’t screwed up my life even worse when my “husband” refuses to call me by my given name, and I run into my ugly past…and his.
Excerpt
Annabelle
“I would like you to marry.”
The announcement makes me start, and I choke on my coffee.
Mr. Grayson pulls a pristine white handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and hands it to me. It smells faintly of detergent. I take it and wipe the drink off my chin and shirt. Thankfully my T-shirt is black.
The man is in his mid-thirties, with medium brown hair and brown eyes. He has the kind of average face that any company wanting to advertise an everyman product would use. I’ve never seen him wear anything but a suit, even in Vegas, where we first met, and its oppressive desert heat. Now the outfit makes him stand out in this casual bistro, where everyone else is in T-shirts and shorts.
“I’m only twenty-two,” I tell him. “What’s the rush?”
“You’re twenty-two without an education or career prospects. Being in Los Angeles doesn’t change that.”
His tone is matter-of-fact, but I can’t help stiffening a little. Does he think I chose to be a college dropout or fail to develop real skills? All the opportunities I thought I had—my parents and everything else—have been stolen from me.
“Then why did you bring me to L.A.?” I ask. He didn’t just bring me here. He paid the moving expenses, helped my sister and me get an apartment.
“The man is exceptionally rich,” he says, like he hasn’t heard my question. He often ignores me when he doesn’t think what I’m saying is relevant. It’s very 1800s…and very irritating.
Two years ago I would’ve never tolerated this kind of treatment. But now, well, beggars can’t be choosers. Without help from Mr. Grayson, my sister and I won’t survive for long. Nobody wants to hire a college dropout with minimal skills, not in this economy. A willingness to learn and work hard don’t matter much when you can’t get a single reference. The people from my past won’t lift a finger to help me, just to spite my dad. It doesn’t matter that he’s dead or that Mom died with him. To them, my parents got what they deserved. And now Nonny and I are getting it.
The notion constricts my heart until I can barely breathe.
“Probably old and without all his teeth as well,” I add, trying to pretend I’m not hurting thinking about what could have been.
“He’s twenty-six. Soon to be twenty-seven.” Mr. Grayson corrects me in that same factual tone of voice.
“Then why can’t he find a wife on his own?”
“He prefers to marry quickly.”
“Do you work for him?”
More ignoring. I try a different tack. “What’s wrong with him that he needs to go to this extreme?”
“He wants to marry a stripper.”
Stunned, I wait a beat so he can laugh at my gullibility, point a finger and then say, “Gotcha!” But of course he doesn’t. He isn’t the joking type.
“A stripper,” I say flatly.
“Yes. So you will strip at a club he frequents.”
“Yes, you will. You don’t have a job anymore.”
I clench my teeth. “I can always get another.”
“Can you? You’ve been looking for over a month.”
Bastard. The only reason why it’s taking so long is this crappy economy and my lack of skills. These days, you need a college diploma to flip burgers.
“So you will do whatever it takes,” he continues. “I’m counting on it.”
“But why?”
“For your own sake. And your sister’s. Don’t you want to be able to provide for her?”
“Is this some kind of sick revenge—”
Mr. Grayson merely cocks an eyebrow. “Annabelle. Do I look like a person who lost everything in your father’s Ponzi scheme?”
I inhale sharply. What my dad did hurt a lot of people, and Mr. Grayson’s blasé tone pisses me off. “Then why?”
“My motivations—and employment—are irrelevant. Simply do as you’re told and your sister will continue to be looked after.” He slides a picture my way. “This is the man.”
I don’t look at the photo. “What’s his name?”
“It’s better you don’t know. Less chance of a slip-up.”
“You want me to just walk up and propose to him?”
Mr. Grayson’s thin lips curl. “We prefer that he proposition you first.”
Proposition? The word makes me pause.
He continues, “Ideally, he will think it is all his own decision.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Hardly. And I hope for your—and your sister’s—sake that he does proposition you. I’ll email you the details.”
He gets up, smoothes down his suit, and leaves. I gulp the rest of my drink. Infuriated or not, I can’t afford to waste free coffee, especially when it’s this good. I gather up everything on the table—napkins and the offending photo—ready to toss them in the trash.