The Gideon Affair

by Halliday, Suzanne

  “We are fine, solnyshko moya,” Mickey assured Paige, following her to the other side of the room.

  Edward liked the pet name. It meant my little sun or something like that. Mickey liked to pontificate from his soapbox, and comparing Paige to a bunch of celestial bodies was a favorite theme. He insisted she brought rays of happy sunshine wherever she went, but if you didn’t watch out, that same happy, little sun could burn you alive.

  Hmph. Apt description.

  Her eyes swung to his. No way had he misunderstood the look. Mickey reassuring her was all well and good, but she needed to hear it from him. The problem was, things weren’t all well and good, and if Mickey’s plan was how they moved forward, well … there was every possibility that Paige would have none of it.

  Gesturing, he waved her to him and knew a moment of intense pleasure when she didn’t so much as hesitate.

  As she approached, he held out his hand for her to take, which she did, and he pulled her to the end of the table where he positioned a chair for her.

  “Let’s all sit down and then we can start at the beginning and go from there.”

  Twenty minutes later…

  “So, you see, my dear. In the end, it had nothing to do with our boy and everything to do with Phae Bellamy. Poor kid. In my country, we’d take care of all those involved in such a way that …”

  Edward cut Mickey off. No need for him to finish that inelegant thought. It was bad enough that he was talking to Paige as if words challenged her instead of his usual motor mouth. The last thing this situation called for was a hypothetical trip to the mother country for a bit of justice, Russian style.

  “Anyway,” he drawled with a censorious look directed at Mickey. “Phae was the target, but the girl has some real grit, and according to Perry, she didn’t shy away from making the lot of them big time sorry for messing with her.”

  Paige shook her head and winced. Yeah. He knew the feeling. Once it was all out there, the bullshit was so thick it was damn hard to cut through all of it and find any sense. He’d heard whispers about this kind of shit, but this was the first time he’d looked into the abyss and been given a front row seat. Hollywood was one fucked-up town.

  She leaned heavily, elbows on the table and her chin resting on her clasped hands. A pensive sigh accompanied another head shake, and then she sat back with a grunt, tapping her fingers on the table.

  Mickey was watching her with uncharacteristic tension on his face. He looked at him, a question in his eyes. How the hell should he know how she was going to react, he wanted to say. But didn’t.

  Until she spoke or responded in a significant way, he couldn’t get a fix on what she was thinking. She'd not said a single word as Mickey and he tag-teamed their way through the entire saga.

  She crossed and uncrossed her legs several times. Stopped tapping and then started again. Mickey shifted in his seat, the swivel chair making a faint sound in the room’s silence. Edward was pretty sure everyone could hear his heart beating—that was how quiet it was in the room.

  Paige leaned to the side and slid a hand into a well-concealed pocket in her skirt, withdrawing a fresh roll of mints. Brain food. She insisted the mints helped her focus.

  He watched her intently as she picked open the foil at the end and peeled the paper back on several mints. After popping one into her mouth, she sat there and fiddled with the wrapper a minute, then took a second mint and popped that one into her mouth as well.

  Wow. A two-minter. Some heavy shit had to be running around in her head.

  “Um, so …” she muttered sharply. “Who are the bad guys in this story?”

  Mickey and he exchanged another quick look. The tone she was using gave him the willies. The girl was scary when crossed, and it was probably not the best time to chuckle, but that was what he did when the willies turned to attraction in a big way.

  She scowled at him. In a frosty tone that would make Santa cringe, she snapped, “Really, Edward?”

  He surrendered with a shrug and nodded for Mickey to continue. Let the other guy be in her line of fire; that was okay with him. He was having a good time watching from the sidelines. Unless he was mistaken, Miss Paige Turner was gearing up to clean some poor shmuck’s clock.

  The super-agent, a performer in his own right, dominated the proceedings with a great deal of flair. Moving into quick action, he wheeled a whiteboard close, picked up a marker, and began sketching out the cast of characters.

  “Welcome to a Hollywood shuffle,” he opined as the names were revealed. “Everything always starts in the mud, eh? Our two mud rats are Joann Jones and Markus Gladford. We’ll leave Miss Jones out for now and just focus on the no good director.”

  “Timeframe,” Paige snapped.

  Oooh. She was good. Edward had to give it up. She was no fool.

  Drawing a big, ugly dark ring around Joann’s name, Mickey snarled his answer. “When the circle rounds, I think it’s pretty clear whatever sick hole she’s got herself in will be at the root of everything.” Grunting a dramatic, “Pfft,” he radiated disgust.

  Edward knew exactly what Paige really wanted to know. She’d had a heavy hand in negotiating his contract. If he’d been cast for nefarious reasons, she was going to be pissed.

  “We don’t know how deep this thing reaches, babe.” She was biting at her lip; eyebrows bumped together … listening intently. “And to be honest,” Edward added with a lazy shoulder roll, “we’re better off not knowing.”

  Mickey agreed as he grabbed a water bottle then used it as a prop, swinging it wildly and using it to make his point.

  “It’s-always-there. The-depraved-underbelly-of-fame-and-celebrity. Sex-drugs-power-intrigue. Old-Hollywood-meets-new-Hollywood-only-now-there’s-eyes-everywhere-and-cell-phone-cameras-and-YouTube-and-the-papparazzi-behind-every-trashcan. It’s-not-enough-to-have-talent. All-you-have-to-do-is-ask-Phae-about-that. Or-you-Edward. You-have-actual-talent-and-despite-a-few-rookie-missteps-have-managed-not-to-sell-out-for-fame.”

  Paige’s hand smacked the wood conference table, startling Mickey from his rant.

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it, M. Edward’s a god, blah, blah, blah. Back on point, please. When did this start?”

  He took over at that point. Mickey was managing to make things worse.

  “Phae was the target, Paige. When she didn’t play with Markus and Joann, that sick as fuck producer calling the shots, Alan Sperry, wasn’t happy. That’s what M’s referring to. We want to steer clear of whatever sick, twisted sex-for-play thing they have going on. And don’t even get me started on the drug angle. Jesus but people are stupid. Anyway, because Phae rocked the boat and threatened to expose those two, they hatched this crazy sideshow starring me to take the heat off what was really going on.”

  Mickey laughed in a way that sounded more evil than friendly as he added a bunch of names to the board. “Perry Waterman is in full damage control mode. Alan has been a wingnut for years and fuck knows why Perry continues to clean up the guy’s messes. But he’s offered an olive branch to Gideon in exchange for … well, I suppose you could say it’s in exchange for not blowing this whole thing up.”

  “I don’t like where this is going,” Paige drawled.

  Shit. She had no idea.

  “No!” She bolted out of her chair so fast it toppled over. “Absolutely not. Are you two out of your minds?”

  Here we go, he thought.

  “Who came up with this brilliant idea?” She was yelling. “Do you know what you’re suggesting?” The yelling had turned to accusation and finally, “Why me? No, for real, Edward. Why me?”

  He took a big, deep breath and put his hands on Paige’s shoulders. The string of disjointed questions she was barking indicated a healthy dose of shock. She was freaking out for good reason. “Sit down, babe.”

  Mickey had left them alone to talk, but so far, all she’d done was go off on him.

  “Oh, back off, bud,” she snarled. Wheeling away from him, she put the conference table
between them and kept yelling. “I’m serious, Mr. Banning. Whose crazy idea was this?”

  If it weren’t for the fact that her face was on fire and her breathing choppy, he might have feared for his well-being. Instead, his libido read the signals she was putting off and was taking careful notes.

  Flushed face. Mouth slightly swelled from all the lip biting. Heaving chest. Eyes flared with more than heat.

  She was crazy if she thought a table was going to protect her.

  Turning all the cards face up, he gave it to her straight. “Moira made the suggestion and Mickey accepted for you.” He winced without letting it show, appalled at his clumsy words.

  “Moira Kennedy? Oh my god, Edward. Moira?”

  She wasn’t ready but needed to know what was happening next. Using the drip-drip-drip method of imparting information would never work with Paige.

  Moving toward he, he laid it out. “Yeah, Moira Kennedy. And she’s on her way here, Paige. We can’t wait. The story is getting out ahead of us as it is. It’s now or never, babe.”

  “There has to be another way,” she pleaded.

  Putting his arms around her was self-serving but he did it anyway. Now that he knew what it felt like to hold her close, he wanted to explore those feelings. Only the fucked-up-ness of their present situation stopped him from going further.

  Some part of Edward knew they were at a crucial moment in their relationship. What he was asking of her was a lot, but hidden in the request being made on the pretext of calming a career crisis was the ultimate in self-serving wants. Paige herself.

  He wanted her and wasn’t averse to pinning her down in any way he could.

  With an arm around her waist, he held her fantastic body against him and feathered his fingers down the side of her face.

  “Will you marry me, Paige?”

  She lowered her forehead onto his chest and mumbled, “You’re killing me.”

  When she looked up again and met his eyes, she solemnly asked, “Who’s asking? Edward or Gideon?”

  Ouch.

  What the friggin’ hell was going on? Was she being Punk’d? That had to be it because although this really couldn’t be happening, somehow it was.

  They’d stumbled into a Hollywood nightmare of sexual depravity, drugs, money, and power.

  As if that wasn’t enough of a movie plot, Gideon, or rather Edward by way of Gideon, was being offered a brass ring. The winning jackpot, the genie in a bottle, all wrapped up into an arrangement where for his silence he was going to get his dream opportunity—to direct. Going behind the camera was really what he wanted and here was that very opportunity being dangled in front of him.

  But it wasn’t enough for Gideon Shaw to simply play along. To protect Phaedra Bellamy, he was agreeing to let the sex tape thing play out one more time and laugh off Joann’s suggestion of involvement. He would just keep his head down till a new scandal distracted everyone and they could finally put it behind them.

  And that was where Moira came in. She could spin the most deplorable stories in a positive light. Getting an invitation to the director’s club was cool and all, but that was the great unknown. There was still the matter of Gideon Shaw the actor and worldwide celebrity. The backlash couldn’t fall solely on him.

  And somehow that convoluted logic led to this insane plan to take some of the sting out of having his reputation trashed by pulling a secret romance out of their hats. Moira thought it was just the thing to keep the ladies in swoon mode and the guys wishing they could all be the handsome actor.

  That was how she ended up in an audacious embrace that had her plastered to Edward from the waist down. Some part of her almost wrapped her legs around his waist before she snapped out of it.

  The icing on the cake? Hearing him ask her to marry him.

  Was it physically or emotionally possible to be ecstatic and crushed at the same time?

  Until she heard him say the words, the notion of being married to Edward hadn’t entered her mind. Not in any meaningful way, despite years of doodling Paige Banning on scraps of paper or the hundreds of pins she’d put on a Pinterest board labeled Dream Wedding.

  But now that he’d said the words, all she could focus on was how cruel and fucked up this situation was. For her. She was in love with Edward and no matter what, Gideon, although very real, was also a figment of their imaginations. Who was asking?

  It was impossible to ignore the pout on her face, mostly because it felt so foreign. So not her usual self.

  Hold on. What was happening? How could she possibly navigate this bizarre situation if she wasn’t herself?

  “This would be funny as a plot line.” The joking comment was more for her than for him. Every comedy had a potential dark side. “But I don’t feel like laughing.”

  Edward nodded solemnly and tightened the arm around her waist. Despite Paige’s resolve to behave with adult decorum, each time she felt his body press into hers, she practically became a giggling, drooling twit.

  He still hadn’t responded to the Edward-Gideon riddle, which was the only reason she wasn’t all over him like a rash. It wasn’t a trick question, for heaven’s sake. An answer wasn’t too much to ask.

  Her granddad, an irascible old-school gentleman farmer who wore his Army hat every Veteran’s Day and Memorial Day and who never met a flag he didn’t stop to salute, teased her nonstop when she was younger about her complete lack of ability for waiting. If being patient was a virtue, she was screwed.

  Eh, whatever. Mr. Silent can take a hike. Paige fingered the smooth silk of a tie she’d chosen for him to wear. She started to talk only to have her words vanish into the ether when Edward’s hand slid slowly from around her waist to perform a bold caress of her ass.

  If he did that again, it was gonna be go time. “How come you get to grab my ass, but I can’t get an answer to a simple question?” Oh, good lord. She could still feel the pout. Sooooo not the impression she wanted to give.

  He shifted slightly, but it was just enough for her to experience an obviously aroused Edward cradled in the soft heat of her body.

  “The question was insulting,” he growled. Wrapping a big hand about her neck, he immobilized her, plastered her to him with her hands trapped against his chest as he told her with his body what he meant.

  “Who were you kissing the other night, Paige?”

  She went completely still. Something about the tone he used tugged at her emotions. She’d hurt him with the question just as her blunder when they’d talked about the sex tape had wounded him.

  Him, Edward. Not Gideon.

  She raised a hand and stroked his chin, saying, “We’re calling that kissing?” She’d meant the jest to sound funny, but her voice came out husky and lush. “I thought it was more like a mutual throat exam.”

  His eyes narrowed briefly—she hadn’t expected that and then the grip on her neck intensified. She had a heartbeat to read his expression before his mouth crashed onto hers.

  A balls-out claiming replaced the slow sensuous exploration from their first intimate encounter and shook Paige to her core. This time, he didn’t seduce her mouth. This time, he plundered. She felt consumed. It was intoxicating.

  He gave her an opportunity to catch her breath and then went in for a second, even more devastating tasting that left her trembling with a desire so shocking she questioned whether any of this was real.

  When he finished reducing her to a boneless heap of jelly, he ground his manhood into her and stared her down. “Who are you kissing, Paige?”

  “Edward,” she whimpered in a tiny voice.

  His eyes told her of his approval. “Look,” he ground out. “I know this seems fucked up, but let’s be honest. We made the jump to light speed before today, and we did that on our own.”

  She had to agree with him. Once they had opened that door, there was no sense in pulling back. But figuring out their feelings was a far cry from will you marry me?

  “Is what I’m asking a bit extreme? Yes. I’
ll give you that.”

  Did he have to punctuate that comment by squeezing her ass? He wasn’t playing fair.

  “But ask yourself this … if we admit that there’s something real going on but do nothing while Joann traipses around the globe insinuating that she’s been in my bed—how could that possibly be helpful? If we don’t shut her down and do it now, the pressure will destroy everything and then that bitch will have fucked up maybe the best thing that’s ever happened. For either of us.”

  The door of the conference room flew open. There was a flurry of activity and voices in the hall and then who could only be described as none other than the dragon lady herself, Moira Kennedy, made a grand entrance.

  Clapping her bejeweled hands together with glee, she flounced into the room and chirped, “Children! Children! Now that’s what we want to see. Young lovers … okay, maybe not so young,” she mocked with a throaty laugh, “but lovers, all up in each other’s business while the fragrance of passion drifts through the air.”

  Edward and she quickly drew apart, but he reached for her hand and held on tight. The gesture felt protective. Paige couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like that before.

  “Mrs. Kennedy,” he began with a polite nod. “Thank you for coming.”

  The flamboyant public relations master made quite the show of dropping an enormous Birkin bag on the conference table as she instructed a hovering secretary to bring her coffee. Black. Stat.

  This was no flashy industry troubleshooter with a PR squad. Nope. Moira Kennedy was a shrewd businessperson who Paige noted was taking in every detail of the room, the employees milling about, her, Edward … especially Edward.

  Boy, she was good. Her smoke and mirrors approach was entirely understandable; after all, she was a powerful woman operating in a man’s world. Paige liked her on the spot, scary or not.

  Turning to face them, Moira put her hands on her hips and looked Edward and her up and down as if they were up for auction. Something inside Paige broke loose, and she grunted a chuckle that she couldn’t deny. The other woman’s knowing smile went a long way to helping her calm down.