A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2)

by Nadia Lee

  “Did you do this?” I ask, my jaw tight.

  “What?”

  I gesture at the tulips. “Where are the hyacinths?”

  Tense lines form on his forehead. “The housekeeper knocked the vase over when she came up here to clean your room.”

  The fury in my gut explodes. “Am I supposed to believe such a lame excuse?” Something close to hysteria edges my voice, raising it until it’s shrill.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Now what? Is there going to be another inquisition over some flowers?” His expression is no longer placid or concerned. It is one of pure justified outrage.

  “If you’d just waited, I would’ve thrown them out myself. I decided to do that when I was out walking. But no—you had to take care of it yourself, didn’t you? You weren’t going to let me decide.” I reach into the closet and pull out a small suitcase. I open it and start tossing in some essentials—underwear, moisturizer and some changes of clothes.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  The sound of his breathing rings harshly in the room. He rakes his hair, then glares at me. “Dammit, Paige. If you walk out now, it’s over.”

  I zip the bag. Suddenly I’m drained and empty. Tears prickle at my eyes, but I hold them back. They won’t do a thing to fix the situation.

  “No, Ryder,” I tell him, facing him with my hand around the suitcase handle. “It was over when you decided that I was the one who released the sex tape for fame and fortune.”

  Chapter Seven

  Paige

  It takes me over an hour to reach my stepsister’s house. The traffic is atrocious, even for Los Angeles, and makes me contemplate moving to a mountain top somewhere in the Himalayas.

  I ring the bell and wait. Bethany and Oliver have given me free run of the place, but I don’t like to walk in unannounced since they’re still rather passionate about each other. After a few moments the door opens wide and Bethany steps out. She’s in a bright sunflower-yellow t-shirt and faded denim capris. A yellow number two pencil skewers a messy brown bun on top of her head. It’s her “I’m home and comfy” look.

  She notes my suitcase, and a concerned expression comes over her face. Instead of asking questions, she pulls me inside.

  I walk into the homey living room. Oliver adjusts his glasses as he walks out of the kitchen. His gaze drops to the suitcase, and a frown appears. “What’s going on?”

  I stand by the couch, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I know it’s sudden, but I need a place to stay for a while. Normally I’d go back to my apartment, but there are too many reporters.”

  Bethany and Oliver exchange a quick look. She takes charge. After all, I’m her family. “Of course, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. But… I thought you were getting married.”

  “In less than three weeks. Is Ryder calling things off?” Disapproval pinches Oliver’s face.

  “Not exactly,” I say. “But I guess they’re off now.” Ryder made that clear when he issued his ultimatum.

  The silence in the room seems to suck all the air out, waiting and anticipating. I resist the urge to babble. The entire mess is just too embarrassing to share with my brother-in-law, even though he’s a sweetheart and I adore him.

  Bethany comes over and hugs me tightly. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  Oliver pats my shoulder awkwardly. “Yeah, um… If you guys would like to talk privately…”

  I shake my head. “It’s all right.”

  Bethany puts a hand at the small of my back and leads me upstairs. “Let me show you to your room.”

  They have three bedrooms. The biggest one is the master bedroom, and the smallest is a home office where Bethany does most of her web comic work. The medium-sized one is for overnight guests and has a double bed. Pale green sheets with an ivy pattern cover the mattress. The curtains are cool mint green against the light cream wall. Even though the room isn’t that large, it feels somewhat spacious because of the colors.

  I set the suitcase at the foot of the bed and perch on the edge of the mattress. My knees shake, and fatigue settles all the way to my bones.

  “Are you really all right?” Bethany asks, settling next to me.

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Not surprising. I saw the news. The baby, right?”

  I nod. We didn’t talk about anything like that when we accompanied Mom and Simon to the airport, but Bethany would have to be deaf and blind not to hear about it.

  “I wish you’d told me,” she says.

  Blinking away the tears before she can notice them, I put my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together. “I’d just found out when you made your announcement. I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

  “Oh, Paige. You know it’s not like that.”

  “I know. But at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, or what was going to happen… If I was going to be a single mom or…what. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for certain.”

  She sighs. “Ryder should do the right thing. It’s his baby, too.”

  I press my lips together. I can’t tell Bethany what’s really going on. It’s not that I don’t trust her to be discreet. It’s just that I can’t let anybody know the entire truth behind the deal Ryder and I struck. Even if he made it clear what he thinks of me, I don’t want to be petty just to get back at him. Undoubtedly he’ll move on—there are thousands of eager women for him. It won’t take him long to find a woman who can play the role he wants.

  Bethany squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you decided to crash at our place. There are pictures of us at the airport with Mom and Dad. It looks like everyone’s tracking your movements.”

  The idea that people are watching me like that makes my skin crawl. I saw how bad it was for Ryder, but it’s one thing to watch it happen to someone else and another to experience it first-hand. “I’m really sorry. I’ll find a place soon. I don’t want you to lose your privacy because of me.”

  She snorts. “Don’t even think about it. They’re welcome to watch me drive to the grocery store, the post office…and my gynecologist! I’m so boring, they’ll lose interest within a week.” She puts an arm around my shoulder. “No matter what, you have me and Oliver. And Mom and Dad, too. We love you and we won’t let anything happen to you, okay? So cheer up. I want to see you smile.”

  Her unconditional love thaws the cold knot in my chest, and I manage a tiny smile.

  “There you go.” She tightens her hold on me. “Have you had dinner yet? If not, Oliver made a killer quesadilla and guacamole…unless you can’t keep anything down?”

  I shake my head. “No morning sickness. And I’m ravenous. I’ll join you.”

  “We already ate, but I’ll set you a place and re-heat some of the food. Come on down whenever you’re ready.”

  The wooden stairs creak under her steps. I inhale the mild detergent on the sheets and will myself to cheer up. Moping won’t solve anything, and I have to pull myself together. I’m going to need a new job and a place to stay ASAP.

  But first things first. It’s time to eat and fortify myself. I won’t waste away like some distraught Victorian maid. Paige Johnson is made of sterner stuff.

  So I get up and pull myself together. When I reach the dining room, one end of the rectangular table has a plate piled with quesadillas, a bowl of what looks like homemade guacamole and some salsa. At the other end is a stack of papers. Bethany is reading through them, a frown on her face.

  Oliver hands me a glass of OJ, and I take my seat. His quesadillas are amazing, gooey with tons of cheese. I eat in silence for a few minutes, just savoring the food.

  Finally, the edge comes off my hunger. “What’s that?” I gesture at the papers.

  “The contract for that investment,” Bethany answers without looking up. She jots something down in a spiral notebook. “My web comic thing.”

  “Any problems
?” I ask. Her brows are pinched with more than just concentration.

  “It’s just so…grabby. It’s like nothing I create would be my own anymore. Ditto for the other artists I want to showcase. I can’t have that. I need to talk to my lawyer about it.” She purses her mouth.

  “Can’t you just walk away? You can just raise the capital you need through crowd funding.”

  She shakes her head. “It isn’t that simple. I’ll owe them fifty thousand dollars in a break-up fee.”

  My jaw slackens. “Oh my gosh.”

  “It’s my fault. I should’ve read the initial agreement more carefully. I was so excited that I basically skimmed it.”

  Oliver squeezes her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Anybody in your position would’ve done the same.”

  I nod. “What your wise husband said. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work. You’re too smart not to.”

  “Thanks,” Bethany says. Her chin firms a bit. “And you’re right. I will.” She returns to the contract.

  I munch on the food, watching my stepsister. No matter what she faces, I know she’ll find a way through. She’s the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be…but somehow can’t seem to manage to become.

  Chapter Eight

  Paige

  The next day, the house is empty after breakfast. Oliver went to work, and Bethany went to see her lawyer.

  I sit on the IKEA couch and tap my knees. Not having anything to do feels really weird. Normally, I’m on call even on weekends and have errands to run on Ryder’s behalf. Once we got engaged, I spent most of my time being dragged around by his personal shopper and fashion consultant. To have an entire day when I don’t have to be anywhere or deal with anybody? It feels like I stepped through a portal into some alternate universe.

  A dark remote on the coffee table catches my attention. I start to flip through the channels, then stop when a show mentions me and Ryder.

  The well-dressed hosts with perfect makeup and perfect hair and perfectly bleached teeth talk about us like we’re some kind of gossip topic. I guess we are, except I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.

  They speculate about why Ryder is marrying me—probably the baby, and they talk about why I should be careful because things like that surely can’t last even if the man in question is known for donating huge sums of money to help underprivileged women and children.

  “I mean, there’s a big difference between donating once in a while and dealing with it yourself every day for the next eighteen years,” says a blue-eyed blonde who looks positively gleeful.

  “At least it solves the mystery of why he’s marrying her,” a brunette says. “It was on a lot of people’s minds.”

  Bitch.

  Fat cow.

  Beached whale.

  And so many other hateful things said about me online flood my mind. My hands start shaking, and I turn the TV off. I don’t need the stress.

  The doorbell rings. Grateful for something to do, I get up. It’s probably a delivery man, but I check through the peephole anyway.

  Standing outside is Elliot Reed. I open the door.

  He’s in a white t-shirt and denim shorts, his feet stuck in black flip-flops. A pair of sunglasses dangles from one hand.

  Despite the fact that he’s Ryder’s half-brother, they look nothing alike. I heard that he takes after his mother, who was Wife Number Two. His hair is dark, but compared to Ryder’s it’s a shade or two lighter. He also didn’t get the classic Pryce profile with those perfect, aristocratic lines. But he’s still a striking man, with even features and a charming smile.

  Unfortunately for him, I’m immune.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He gives me the smile. “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  “Right. Because you routinely hang out in middle class neighborhoods that don’t have high-end bars or strip clubs.”

  “Ouch,” he says with a wince. “Guess I deserved that.”

  I give him a look.

  “Can I come in?”

  “If Ryder sent you—”

  “He didn’t.”

  I gaze at him, wondering. “All right,” I say finally. “You can come in.”

  He walks in, looking around the humble living room. It’s smaller than Ryder’s bedroom, and it is decorated with inexpensive furniture and second-hand items. Shelves have tons of framed pictures of Oliver and Bethany—an unbroken photographic record from the time they became an item to the present.

  “Nice,” he murmurs.

  “I bet you’ve never set foot in a house that’s worth less than three million.”

  Something flashes in his gaze, then disappears just as quickly as it appeared. “Now who’s being a snob?” He sits in the couch. “Elizabeth called me.”

  I frown. “About?”

  “You.”

  Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall across from him. “If there’s anything she wants to talk to me about, she knows my number.”

  “Yeah, well. I thought I should do this face-to-face.”

  I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to go on.

  “Nothing happened at the strip club,” he says.

  My lips curve. “Riiiiiight.”

  “Look, Ryder wanted to talk, I was already there, and I didn’t want to leave. So he came by.”

  “Regular bars not good enough for you guys?” I say, uncrossing my arms.

  “You know about the deal with our father, don’t you?”

  I nod. No point in being coy with him.

  “I thought so.” He taps his lips like I’ve just confirmed something important for him. “Then you know I need to marry too.”

  “And how does that relate to the strip club?”

  He frowns and smiles at the same time, like you do when someone doesn’t get an obvious joke. “I’m looking for a wife.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His announcement has short-circuited my brain.

  Now he actually laughs. “You haven’t heard?”

  “No.” I blink. “But why? You could have anybody you want.”

  “Maybe that’s exactly why I want a stripper. Besides, it’ll be more fun this way. You watch.” He winks.

  Then it hits me. Why he’s doing this—it’s to show to his father that he can’t be controlled. I snort a laugh. “You are terrible.”

  “Thank you. I try very hard.” He grows serious. “Paige, why are you making this more complicated than it needs to be?”

  I sigh, then shake my head. “Ryder doesn’t trust me.”

  “And? So what? It’s only for a year. I’m certain my brother offered more than enough to make up for a year of your life, and he’ll take care of the baby as well.”

  Elliot’s right. I know that. But I need Ryder’s trust if I’m going to do it. It’s the least I want from him, and I don’t even know how to articulate that so I don’t end up sounding like a whiner.

  “If you have…feelings for him, you should tell him,” Elliot says, his eyes gentle and understanding. “He doesn’t do well with games.”

  “Like that woman.” The bitter words tumble out of me before I can stop myself.

  “Yeah. Like Lauren. But that was a long time ago. Even if she left scars, that doesn’t mean he’s unsalvageable.”

  We talk for a while longer, but don’t make much progress. Elliot finally gets up. “I’ll show myself out. Just think about what I said…but if you really aren’t going to go through with the wedding, tell him now. He’s going to need to come up with a contingency bride.”

  * * *

  Ryder

  If I had things my way, I would’ve been up and out early this morning. Started drinking early, too, because alcohol is great for making me feel less bad about the crap in my life.

  But Elliot isn’t answering my calls. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he’s avoiding me. But why? He never does that. It’s got to be Elizabeth getting in the middle of things. She can be pretty medd
lesome when she puts her mind to it.

  I’m already feeling like shit. Guilty shit. I shouldn’t have told Paige that walking away meant it was over. She might’ve spent the night with Renni or Bethany and come back after cooling off a little. But I made it clear she couldn’t come back…not unless she wanted to grovel.

  Sighing, I rub my forehead. Fucking Anthony. The history between us—and knowing that he’s plotting something—brings out the worst in me. It’s like I can hardly think or speak rationally. For some reason, Paige refuses to believe Anthony is dangerous. But he’s made it clear to me that he’s going to pay me back for Lauren. It doesn’t matter that she played both of us, did drugs…or that the Mexican authorities ruled her death an accident. He holds me responsible.

  And I can’t fault him for that. I just wish he’d come after me, not the people around me.

  Elizabeth’s already at the table by the time I go downstairs for a late lunch. She’s in a bright red sundress that makes her look like a cardinal. The chef has made a salad, some garlic bread and cheese lasagna, and the housekeeper placed it all on a raised platform like an offering to the gods. My staff isn’t stupid. They know what’s happening, which is why we’re having my favorite for lunch.

  The second I take my seat, Elizabeth says, “You made a big mistake.”

  “You say that about everything I do.”

  “This time is especially bad. You know Paige didn’t release that sex tape.”

  “It’s not about the damn tape.” I lean back in my seat. The lasagna suddenly looks about as appetizing as a brick on my plate.

  She puts her fork down. “Then what is it?”

  “She’s in a snit over those flowers. The ones from Anthony.”

  She narrows her eyes, pursing her mouth. It’s her I know you look. “You threw them out, didn’t you?”

  “The vase broke. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Reeeeaaaaally?” She drags the vowel out. “How did that happen?”

  I get up and get myself some scotch. If I can’t eat, I’m going to drink. “The housekeeper knocked it off the table,” I mutter.

  “Ryder, what are you doing? Channeling Grandma Shirley?”