by Nadia Lee
She’s so skinny she almost looks anorexic. The midnight blue one-piece dress doesn’t help. The black Cleopatra hairstyle looks harsh for her delicate narrow face with dark glittering eyes. Behind them burns fire or manic zeal. I can’t quite tell which. She always wears the brightest red lipstick, which makes it look like she’s feasted on the blood of the innocent for breakfast.
She probably does. She is too good at her job and knows everything about everyone in Hollywood, including secrets that nobody is supposed to know. I’ve heard some whispers about Satanic rituals, sacrificial offspring and the like.
“Hello, Paige,” she says.
“Hi.” I glance at my watch. “You’re early. The meeting isn’t for another ten minutes.” Thank goodness I made it in time.
“Ryder actually texted me last night. We had it early.”
I pull back at this information. It’s my job to handle his schedule and to make the meeting minutes. “Then why are you still here?”
“To see you.”
“You could’ve called.”
“Not something we can discuss over the phone, dear.”
“Okay. Come on in.” Mira’s not an easy person to deal with, but she’s also not a person you can ignore or avoid.
We enter my office together, and I take my seat behind the desk. She sits in an armchair across from me, legs crossed. Her witchy pointy stilettos gleam, not a scuff on them.
Mira smiles with all the warmth of a bucket of bleach.
“What can I do for you?” I ask.
“Not me, but him.” Her gaze points in the general direction of Ryder’s office. “You should do it.”
I frown. “Do what?”
“Marry him, of course.”
I gape at her. “How the hell…?” I’m certain she didn’t get the info from Ryder because he would’ve mentioned that he took his proposal back.
She shoots me a coy look. “I have my sources. And I’ve been thinking about you. You’re a good candidate with the potential for just the right kind of publicity. A perfect Cinderella for Hollywood’s Prince Charming. I can just see the headlines.” She smiles, revealing her small, square teeth. “Of course, there are benefits for you as well.”
Oh, this I want to hear. Mira’s mind is a scary thing, and I’m curious what she considers “benefits.” “Like?”
“Don’t you want to show Shaun Mann? Didn’t he say you’ll never have another man—among other insults—when you broke up?”
Jesus. “How do you know these things?”
“Darling, there are no secrets in Hollywood. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” She flicks away an invisible speck of dirt on her manicure. “I know you care about Ryder. I can tell, even though you’re trying very hard not to fall for him—for which I commend you. But don’t worry. It’s only for a year.”
The revelation stuns me. I thought…Well, I thought it’d be longer than that. But does it matter? Beggars can’t be choosers.
“In addition, it’s more or less your job,” she says.
“No, it isn’t.” What the hell? “No assistant’s required to marry her boss!” Ryder trusts her, and she’s a powerful influence, but she should also understand she can’t treat me like some second-class citizen.
“Fine then. How about I give you a little something extra?”
“I’m not interested in your money,” I say.
She waves it away. “Oh, don’t be insulting. There are other currencies, especially in this town.” Her head tilts, the tip of her black Cleopatra bob poking the corner of her red lips. “Why don’t we, say… Why don’t I make sure Shaun never gets a gig, ever again? Not even as a stunt man. I can arrange it.”
I gawk at her. That is so mean, so cruel… The notion never entered my mind, not even in my most furious moments with him.
She waits a moment, then frowns. “You want more? Want him utterly ruined and driven out of Hollywood? It wouldn’t be a problem.”
“No!”
“Why not? I would want that if I were you.”
“Look, what he did sucked, but—”
“Oh, more than ‘sucked.’ He tried to use you to influence Ryder to become an action star. Ha! Like I would ever let that happen.”
My eyebrows leap to my hairline. I feel almost naked in front of her, like she’s been going through my trash. “I believe in karma, and Shaun is going to get what’s coming to him. I don’t need you to mess him up.”
Mira crosses her arms. “So you aren’t going to do it?”
Her tone holds a naked edge. If what Shaun did is worth utter ruination and being banished from the place he loves more than life, what is a refusal going to be worth?
At the same time I can’t have her boss me around like this. I work for Ryder, not her.
“Don’t try to intimidate me,” I say evenly. “I don’t dream of being a star. I don’t have to be in Hollywood to get a job, or to be perfectly content…even if the notion is about as familiar to you as a non-organic, non-gluten-free granola bar.”
Her lips twitch, and I can’t decide if it’s a smile or sneer she’s trying to hide. “So what do you want?” she says, her voice quiet.
I’m about to tell her nothing, but then I stop. “There is something. Kind of breaks your rules for working for Ryder, though.”
Another hand-wave. Rules, schmules, apparently. “Now we’re talking. Who do you want gone?”
“Would you stop? I’m not asking you to do anything like that.”
“Why not? You’ve been here four years. There must be somebody you want to destroy.”
Wow. “No, I really don’t. Hate is a waste of time. Now listen. It’s my roommate. Her name is Renni Wainger. She’s an aspiring actress. You know I never, ever use my connection to Ryder to further anybody’s career, but I’m going to make an exception this once because I like her and I think she just needs a break.”
“Oh honey, I don’t take on new clients, especially a nobody.”
“If you’re any good, you’ll be able to do something for her. If not…” I purse my lips. “You’re the one who suggested a little pot-sweetening.”
Mira sighs. “Has she been in any movies?”
“A couple of TV episodes.”
“Text me the info. Did she have any lines?”
“A few.” Renni and I watched the shows breathlessly for her parts.
“Does she already have an agent?”
“Used to, not anymore. They parted ways.”
She sighs again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I raise a finger. “Nuh-uh. I need better than that. I won’t trade a yes for a maybe.”
Her lips firm. “Fine. If you agree to marry Ryder for a year, I’ll take her on.”
“For a year. Minimum.”
“All right. I’ll give her a fair shot.” She gets up, then stops and gives me a narrow-eyed look. “You really should’ve been an agent, Paige. You wouldn’t have been half-bad.”
I give her a sweet smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“If it makes you happy. Agents are all fucking bastards…except me, of course.”
Chapter Ten
Ryder
I should go out and get drunk. Bang some girl who wants bragging rights. Monday mornings aren’t the absolute best time to find a sex partner, but I’m sure it can be arranged if I call Elliot.
Normally the idea of booze and nubile girls would get me going, but right now I don’t feel like moving even an inch off my office barcalounger. And the week of fishing didn’t help. I didn’t catch a thing because apparently not even fish want to be around me.
Talking to Mira was a bust. She couldn’t come up with a solution either, except to marry Paige. When I told her I’d blurted out the proposal, then taken it back, she looked so mad for a moment I thought she’d punch me.
She didn’t, of course. My face is worth millions.
“Idiot!” is all she said before she stalked out in disgust.
“Yeah, thank yo
u for telling me the obvious,” I muttered under my breath, my eyes closed and an arm flung over my head.
Mira isn’t the only one who thinks I’m stupid. My parents thought I was pretty stupid too. My grandmother on the Pryce side of the family actually thought I was slightly retarded. I heard her telling my mother, “It really is too bad about the child. Such a handsome boy. I suppose we must do what we must to make sure his résumé isn’t too embarrassing for a Pryce.”
It nearly killed the old bat when I didn’t go to college in spite of all her maneuvering. I’m sure she’s still rolling in her grave about that.
A knock sounds at the door. I open one eye. Mira again?
“Come in,” I say.
Paige walks in, and I sit up. She’s the last person I expect to see.
She takes a loveseat. “How was your trip?”
“Meh. Didn’t catch anything.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I’m allowed one failing,” I joke.
Instead of laughing, she runs her hands down her skirt. “I’m here to talk about your proposal.”
I wince inwardly. But I guess we have to talk about it eventually.
“I was drunk,” I say. “Don’t take it seriously.”
She cants her head, although her posture remains stiff. Thoughts cross her face, but I can’t read them.
“But you said it, which means you thought about it,” she says. “You aren’t the type to just blurt things like that out.”
No, I’m not. I might play around with a lot of women, but I never give them false hope.
I consider my words. She ended things with her boyfriend not too long ago. I have no idea what happened between them, but I don’t want to inadvertently hurt her with careless words. “I want my grandfather’s painting that he left for me.”
Something dawns in her eyes. “The one you’re saving that space for.”
I nod.
“And marrying me will help you get it?”
I rub the back of my neck and tell her the gist of Dad’s proposal. Her eyes grow wide, and her lips part.
“What’s so special about your grandfather’s painting that he thinks he can make you do that?” she asks after I’m done. “You have so many already.”
“But not a single one by my grandfather. Most of his paintings went to my father, and the rest are with museums.” I should just tell her the whole ugly mess. She’ll find out soon enough if she really wants. Too many people know about my fucked up family. “It’s not just any painting. It’s a portrait my grandfather did for me the summer I turned eighteen.”
“If you want a picture of yourself, all you have to do is goo—”
“It’s not the same.” I lean forward. “Photographs are just…replicas. Sure, you can change the lighting or highlight certain aspects of the subject, but if something’s not there for the camera to capture, it’s not there. Make sense?”
She nods.
“But paintings are different. Much more subjective. Artists can add or subtract whatever they want because it’s just them and the canvas and the brush. It’s like…an interpretation. Grandpa’s portrait shows all that’s best in me, the way my grandpa saw it.”
It also says that I am somebody. That I’m worthy of success and happiness. I don’t tell her that, though. Too private. Grandpa was the first one to believe in me, the only one to encourage me to pursue what makes me happy. “I tried to buy the portrait. The fifty million I offered was a fair price.”
Paige gasps.
I continue, “However, Dad refused, precisely because he knows how much the work means to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Empathy softens her face. God, she’s sweet.
Most women I know would be flinging whatever empty words they could come up with, all the while figuring out how to use me to become famous. Paige is the only one not in my immediate family who looks at me without calculation. Like I’m just a person with feelings, not Ryder Reed, the Hollywood icon, a stepping-stone to fame and fortune.
“Don’t be. It’s my fault I’m stuck in a situation like this.” I run a hand over my face.
She gives me a WTF? look. “None of us can choose our parents.”
“That’s not what I mean. My grandfather died seven years ago. I should’ve contested the will right then.” Old regrets and anger surge through me. I was so stupid back then, so stupid! Too obsessed with making my way in the world so that Dad would never have anything to hold over me. I thought having tons of money would do the trick. But no. So long as Dad has Grandpa’s painting, he has the means to make me dance to his tune. No amount of money can represent what the painting means to me. “Mira and the publicists thought it’d look bad to squabble over the paintings since they were worth at least fifty million bucks apiece. If they held no monetary value, then it would’ve been fine to sue because it’d look like I was just a grieving grandson who wanted something of his grandfather’s. All the people around me thought I should let it go because they were certain Dad would leave the paintings to us kids. What else was he going to do with them, right? And if he ever tries to sell them, we could buy them. But the idea that he’d actually use them as leverage never occurred to any of us. If it had, I would’ve acted very differently.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Her voice is quiet, but outrage burns in her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s doing this to you just because you skipped the wedding.”
Her anger on my behalf is soothing, but at the same time it arouses a mixture of emotions that makes me want to squirm. People don’t feel anything just on my behalf. I’m too handsome, too rich, too whatever to deserve even an ounce of anything real. And the weird thing is I generally prefer it that way. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, hoping to defuse her. “It isn’t the first time.” The first time was much, much worse…and destroyed things too precious to be bought.
“It is a big deal. I don’t want to pry or anything, but…is your father always like this?”
“He can be nice when he wants to be, but he has his pride.” And boy was that pride hurt when he realized he had never been good enough. Mom made that clear somehow when they divorced, even though it was he who caused the rift by cheating on her.
You had to hand it to her. She hired the nastiest lawyer she could get and absolutely crushed Dad. Of course my grandmother helped too. Shirley Pryce was a scary woman without an ounce of warmth in her heart. I’m just glad she never had any interest in taking us in for a summer.
Paige takes a moment to process everything I just told her. Then she asks, “Why me, Ryder? You can have anybody.”
Because you’re hot, babe.
Hey, it’s your job to give me what I want, right?
’Cuz you’re available, doll.
Easy, casual answers fleet through my head. Every single one of them is acceptable for Ryder the movie star, but not the Ryder Paige wants to talk to. And I don’t want to give her one of my flippant answers. It feels like a betrayal.
“I’ll never find a woman who won’t turn against me in the next six months. Whoever I choose would want me to help them become famous, and if selling me out accomplishes that, they would create a huge publicity stunt around Dad’s proposition for attention, and mark my words, they will find out.” Dad will make sure of it to humiliate me, to make a point I’m nothing on my own. “If it was just me, I might risk it. But I don’t want my siblings dragged into it, especially Elizabeth.” Bitterness drags me down until I’m almost hunched over, my elbows resting on my knees. Understanding in Paige’s eyes pulls at me. “I don’t like it that I asked you because it makes you a means to an end. Most won’t know, but Dad and his wife”—I spit that word—“and my siblings will.”
“Thanks for explaining everything.” Paige is so quiet. Then she nods to herself, takes a few sips of ginger ale and places the glass carefully back on the table. Folds her hands in her lap. “I’ll do it.”
At first I don’t understand. I was bracing for a no. If I were a woma
n, I wouldn’t do it. I stare at her, my heart knocking against my ribs. “You will?”
She nods. Her expression is serious. “But I need to tell you something too.” She chews on her lower lip, making the plump rosy flesh glistening.
“Okay.”
“I was meaning to tell you anyway, but…” She drags in a lungful of air. “I’m pregnant.”
This is not one of the possible responses I imagined. “Pregnant?”
“Yes.” Her brow tightens.
“Is your ex the father?”
Now her entire face is pinched like she has a slice of lemon in her mouth, but she nods.
I straighten to ease the tension at the base of my neck. Holy shit. This must mean that the asshole refused to take responsibility for the child. I think it through. His name is…Don? Vaughn? Shaun. A stunt guy.
Then it hits me what a shitty situation Paige is stuck in. A lot of single moms have a hard time, especially when they don’t have any financial help or moral support. Elizabeth’s foundation does a lot of work overseas, but it also helps women and children within the States too. Every time my sister wants a check from me she gives me reams of statistics, including ones about the abject poverty faced by single moms and their children.
As though, without those numbers, I would laugh in her face and tell her to go away because I have another Ferrari in my sights. Maybe I come across like a jackass all the time. The media portrayal of me is bad—wild parties, women, booze.
Paige has the dubious honor of witnessing all that first-hand. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m as bad as the media say… I shake my head inwardly. No. She’s seen too much. She has to be desperate. Like, really desperate.
I ran a background check before I hired her. She’s from a small, conservative, potato farming town in Idaho, and her stepfather is a public school teacher. Pretty safe bet that pregnancy out of wedlock is not the kind of thing that is okay in her family…even if the guy did screw her over.
I lean forward. “How can I help?”
Paige swallows and blinks away some moisture in her eyes. Finally, she gathers herself. “If we do this, I’m going to give birth before the year’s up. So…I want you to claim the child.” She hurries on, words tumbling out. “You don’t have to be responsible for the kid in any way. That’s not what I’m asking for here. But I need to know that my ex isn’t going to have any claim over the child. It’s important to me.”