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

by Nadia Lee

  Elizabeth is there already, munching on a piece of toast with extra jam. She’s in another of her designer dresses, this time a magenta Armani. I saw it on display during my post-engagement shopping spree.

  “Morning.” She smiles at me over a mug of coffee. Her cup reads Beauty Is What You Make of It.

  “Good morning.” The chef places tea in front of me.

  “Nice to have you back,” she says with a smile.

  “Thanks. Ryder around?”

  “Probably still asleep. The housekeeper said he went to bed late.” Then she adds, “He didn’t go out with Elliot.”

  I laugh. Elizabeth is so sweet, and I can’t help but love her more when she treats me like I’m a real fiancée for Ryder, even though she has to know the truth.

  “By the way did you see the latest issue of Lifestyle?” she asks.

  I shake my head. It’s a fashion and high-society gossip magazine, and I don’t read it.

  “They did a feature on your wedding.”

  “What?” I blink. “We aren’t even married yet.”

  “Oh, not like that. They have photos of some of the designs and motifs you’re going to be using. They’re gorgeous.” She sighs. “The ceremony’s going to look like a fairy princess dream come true.”

  A sense of unease tugs at me. People are already making a big deal about our ceremony, and I’m not even sure there’s going to be one. The fallout… Good god. I can’t imagine.

  I finish my simple breakfast of a bagel and cream cheese and go to my office. It’s still the same, despite my extended absence. The antique Louis XIV desk, the armchairs, the view of the pool and the garden…and the über-expensive ergonomic desk chair that’s set specifically to my body’s dimensions. I pause at the sight of the barbed wired wall in the middle distance. I always thought it made Ryder’s estate look like a prison compound. But after having been in the spotlight for a while, I have a new appreciation for it. Actually, it’s a miracle Ryder hasn’t razed the mansion and built a bunker.

  After booting up my laptop, I find the article Elizabeth was talking about at breakfast. Sure enough, it’s on the main page of Lifestyle’s website. The photos are stunning, displaying bridal whites and some lovely spring green shades. I scroll down to the end, then spot the first comment, from a user named lifehack.

  What a waste when they’re probably going to divorce within a year. It’s not like the girl’s hot enough to keep him. He’ll get bored with her once the novelty of fatherhood wears off.

  The rest of the comments, and there are hundreds, are much uglier. It’s like lifehack set the tone for everyone else. The consensus seems to be that I am not worthy of any of this because I don’t fit the image of “beautiful” and “glamorous”. One of them even wrote, Read that Ryder is behind some anonymous funding for animal shelters in NC. He really deserves better than this dog.

  Then one of them posts a meme with a manatee with my face photoshopped onto it. A wedding veil and flowers sit on my head. The caption reads Paigatee.

  The picture is hideous, the photoshop work clumsy and obviously done on the fly, but the effect still knocks the breath out of me. My face heats, and the area around my eyes prickles.

  But Paigatee isn’t the end of it. There are more memes, each nastier than the one before, as though people are trying to one-up each other on the thread. Many of them also reference the sex tape, mocking my body because “who the hell would want to see a fat chick get laid?” Each comment comes with a “Report Abuse” button, but if I clicked all of them I’d give myself carpel tunnel.

  Anger and resentment surge inside me like a tidal wave. My hands shake so hard, I have to curl them into fists. What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment?

  A tight knot lodges in my throat, and I breathe audibly through my mouth. I need to calm down before I start hyperventilating and throw up.

  The rational side of me understands that these people don’t matter. They don’t know me, and their opinions are ignorant and mean. They’ll move on when they find a new target. Really, I should feel sorry for them; they obviously don’t have anything better to do with their own lives than try to pick apart other people’s.

  But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

  * * *

  Ryder

  I get up later than normal. It feels like death to drag myself out of bed, but I have a meeting with Mira later in the morning. I stick my head into Paige’s room to see if she’s asleep, but she’s already gone, her bed neatly made. I sigh. Clearly, she’s taking this job thing seriously.

  She can be so dense.

  I stop by her office. Given the awkwardness between us, I should’ve told her to sleep in. I’m pretty sure pregnant women need more rest than usual, and until her doctor looks her over and says she’s all right, I don’t want her to really do anything. Besides, I didn’t ask her to be my assistant to actually make her work. It was just an excuse to have her back where she belongs.

  “Hey, you should be taking it easy. Don’t bother with…” My voice trails off when I see her face.

  There are tear-trails down her cheeks, and her eyes and nose are red. She’s biting her lower lip to keep it from quivering, but I’m not sure if she’s aware that’s what she’s doing. Her gaze is focused on her laptop monitor, and her fists rest in her lap.

  I stride over quickly. “Paige, are you all right?” I glance at the laptop and see a crude meme with a dead whale on a beach. It has Paige’s face on it. The asshole who made it also crossed out her eyes with two Xs. THE ONLY WAY SOME WHALES CAN DIET, says the caption.

  All of a sudden there’s a blood-red haze around everything I see. “What the fuck is that?”

  Paige shakes her head, lower lip still caught under her teeth.

  I kill the browser, nearly breaking the mouse along the way. Paige shouldn’t look at such vile shit. I’ve had my share of disgusting lowlife haters and psychos, and I’ve made it a policy not to bother with social media myself for that reason. But Paige doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of nastiness. Fact is, nobody should ever have to learn how to deal with it.

  “What did I do that was so wrong?” It’s just a whisper, her chin lowered. “Why do they think it’s okay to be so mean to me?”

  I kneel before her and uncurl her hands so I can hold them in mine. They’re cold and clammy, but I don’t care. “It’s not you. It’s them. They’re the assholes.”

  She lifts her face and looks me in the eyes. “But they all hate me.”

  The devastation on her face twists my heart, and I hurt for her. “There are more assholes than you realize.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs. “Paige, trust me, it’s not you. Not at all.”

  “The attack outside Samantha’s office…and now this…” Her head turns to the laptop.

  I take her face in my hands and gently—but firmly—turn it back to me. “Paige, listen. This is not your fault. It is not about you. It’s their ugliness, their smallness. And you know what? Their loss. Because when I look at you, I see a beautiful, smart woman who takes my breath away. And when you aren’t with me, I feel like I’m missing something vital.”

  I’m not saying any of it to make her go ahead with our ceremony as scheduled. I mean every word, and I would gladly step between her and any ravening crowd to keep her safe and happy.

  “Ryder…” she says tremulously. Her hands wrap around my wrists as she leans closer and rests her forehead against mine.

  Her hair falls forward, creating a curtain around my face, and the universe tightens and contracts until there is only Paige. I kiss away her tears because that’s all I can offer right now in the way of comfort. I want her to know she’s not alone.

  She angles her head, and her lips find mine. Everything inside me stills as I rein in an instinctive urge to deepen the connection. This is about Paige and her needs. I want her fearless and bold again. Like in the screening room before things unraveled.

  She runs her tongue over the seam of my mouth
, then uses her lips to relearn its shape and texture.

  I adore her lips, the fullness of them, their soft fleshiness. My blood boils with a heat that has nothing to do with anger. It’s all due to Paige, who is exploring my mouth to her heart’s content.

  Oh, the hell with it. I part my lips, and she flicks her tongue inside, letting me have a small taste. She’s so damn sweet, like spun-sugar happiness and light all rolled into some kind of fabulous girl-dessert, and I crave more. I drive my tongue into her to take it.

  A throaty moan vibrates through her. She slides off her office chair so we can be at a better angle. Her lush breasts press against my chest, and my cock swells.

  She lets go of my wrists and rests her hands, no longer cold and clammy, on my cheeks. The contact seems to sear my skin, and I want her hands everywhere on me, exploring, stroking, fondling and loving.

  Just as I want to—

  “Uh… Ahem, guys.”

  I jerk back and curse under my breath. The meeting with Mira.

  Paige’s face is suddenly bright red, but at least she no longer has that hurt and angry look. Her lips swollen and her eyes dilated, she looks like a woman who’s been thoroughly kissed.

  “Don’t suppose you’ve had time for coffee yet,” Mira says, barely containing a schoolgirl smirk.

  “Ah, not yet.” I stand and help Paige up. She takes her seat again.

  “Well, why don’t you get some? You know, take that edge off. So we can actually have a productive discussion?”

  Paige is on her feet immediately. “I’ll get it for y—”

  “You sit back down,” I say. Her eyes and nose are still red—well, more like pink now—and I don’t want the kitchen staff to see her like this. Besides, I don’t know if it’s good for her to be on her feet too much anyway. “I’ll get it.”

  She sits, and I push her chair at the desk. “And relax. That’s an order.”

  * * *

  Paige

  Ryder goes for the coffee, leaving Mira and me alone in the room. “Nice to have you back,” she says.

  Her dark hair, cut Cleopatra style, is exceptionally glossy under the light, and she’s wearing a black dress with a patent leather belt cinched tight around her waist. Her stilettos look long and sharp enough to kill a crocodile, with golden edging at the tips of the heels. The red lipstick is stark against her milky skin.

  “Thanks,” I say. It seems kind of inadequate after the display she just saw. But she and I aren’t close enough to chit-chat about that kind of personal stuff.

  “So I take it the wedding’s on?”

  “If he can give me the answer I asked for, yes.”

  Her dark brows pinch together into a sharp V. She takes a seat in front of my desk. “What answer?”

  “It’s…kind of personal.”

  “Okay. But this ‘answer’ determines whether or not you’re going to show up for your wedding?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  She gives me a very, very penetrating look. “Is this some kind of test?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then why the hell were you kissing him like you want him for brunch? You playing a game?”

  “Not a game. Something very important to me.”

  She levels an absolutely flat stare at me. “More important than your precious friend Renni?”

  “What?”

  “Let me spell it out for you. Not marrying Ryder would involve consequences for her.”

  My chest tightens. “Are you threatening to fire her?”

  “Oh, sure. I could do that, but so what? She wouldn’t be any worse off than before I took her on.”

  Not even close to true. Everyone would know Renni was let go because Mira didn’t believe she had what it took to become a star. It would be incredibly damaging to my friend.

  The agent studies her manicure. “I have something better. I know her boyfriend isn’t all that into her.”

  I lean forward. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Paige. He’s gay. Gay men don’t dig their girlfriends.”

  Damn it. How did she find out? “Who told you something that ridiculous?” I ask, doing my best to stay calm and collected.

  “It’s called research. I make it a priority to look into my clients to make sure there aren’t any surprises that can derail my efforts. She’s ‘dating’ darling Pyotr for money so he can trick his grandfather into believing he’s heterosexual.” Mira tsks. “I heard that the old man really hates gay guys.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Is it? I think you know better.” She crosses her legs, the motion indolent. “I don’t want to hurt Renni anymore than you do, I’m sure. I’m hoping to make her a star and make some money off her. But Ryder is my priority, and I won’t hesitate to do whatever I have to make sure you don’t do anything that can damage his image or reputation. You’ve already done enough with that sex tape and the scene in front of Jones & Jones.”

  Her blatant victim-blaming pisses me off, especially after what I put up with this morning. My voice comes out louder and sharper than normal. “I didn’t release the damn tape! And I certainly didn’t ask to be attacked!”

  Mira almost yawns. “My dear, it doesn’t matter what you did. What matters is how it affects Ryder. Besides, you can’t deny that you left him. Breaking off the wedding at this point would be damaging. Very difficult to spin. You’re supposed to be acting grateful to be his bride.”

  I’m shaking so hard, I can’t speak. There are so many things I want to say, but none of them are appropriate.

  “Don’t think I won’t use what I have on your friend to keep you in line. It’s not the first time I’ve had to protect Ryder from some woman who didn’t know her place.” She stands up. “Now, in case you weren’t aware, he and I have an appointment to talk about his next project. So I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re going to toe the line. Have a productive day, Paige.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paige

  Mira might’ve left, but the after-effects of her threat haven’t. My hands are shaking.

  But I get up, pace a bit and take a few breaths. Try to put the unpleasantness behind me. There’s work to do. Having Ryder’s ring on my finger doesn’t mean I get to slack off, even if he did tell me to “relax.”

  There are piles and piles of things to go through, and the temp assistant didn’t organize any of it with any discernible logic. Okay, I think, surveying the carnage, electronic stuff first. I answer all the emails that have been read but are languishing in the inbox, then forward all the invoices to Ryder’s accountant for review and payment. Next, I go back and reconcile all the weekly financial reports from said accountant with my own records to make sure everything matches up. It’s one of the things I’m supposed to do, and it helps us check everyone’s work to make sure that all invoices are paid on time, and there are no unusual items. Of course, since the temp assistant didn’t do any of the reconciliation, I spend most of that time working on past reports.

  A couple of hours later, Ryder stops by my office. I hear the clacking of Mira’s heels receding down the hall.

  He’s still in a white button-down shirt and khaki shorts, and hasn’t bothered with shoes. A day’s worth of beard covers his jaw. The look is singularly disconcerting. I’ve seen him unshaven before, but never when it was okay to touch, and right now he looks eminently touchable. I’m also certain he won’t object if I finish what we started earlier. I hide my hands underneath the desk and curl my fingers.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “Fine.” I smile for his benefit, although I’m not okay. Not really.

  He shifts his weight. “That’s a lot of stuff.”

  “Yeah. The temp kind of got behind.”

  A snort. “Did he do anything?”

  “Something, I would imagine.”

  Ryder shakes his head. “Worthless. No wonder Mira
was bitching about him.”

  Tension returns to my shoulders and neck. I feel the muscles there knotting up, but make a conscious effort to relax.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” Her threats are about me, and I don’t want to involve him. Mira is his agent, and she’s been with him longer than me. I don’t want to cause any friction between the two of them.

  He shakes his head. “You remember that question you asked me yesterday?”

  The sudden change of topic disconcerts me for a moment. “What about it?”

  “Do you think ‘nothing’ is the answer you would’ve given your fiancé?”

  I lean back in my seat. He has a point, but I don’t want to blur personal and professional. I look back at him, my mouth stubbornly closed.

  “Okay.” He nods as though he’s reading my thoughts. “If you really considered me your fiancé, would you have said the same thing?”

  “Ryder…” I link my hands together and rest them on my lap. “I’d never say a word about it to anyone, fiancé or not. It’s just not my style. I’ve never talked about work issues to people outside the office, ever.”

  “Right. So. Let’s try this again.” He takes a seat across from me. It’s the same chair Mira took when she threatened me in that gratingly languid tone. His ankle rests on his knee. “I’m also your boss. That means ‘inside the office,’ right? So now, tell me what’s wrong.”

  I have to laugh. “If I ran to you every time there was a problem, you would’ve fired me a long time ago.”

  His eyes narrow. “So you aren’t going to tell me at all?”

  “No.”

  All he can do is instruct Mira to back off. And the thing is, I can sort of understand why she felt the need to show her claws. She wants to make sure I don’t do anything to screw up all the hard work she’s put in on Ryder. Hollywood isn’t just about a pretty face and a hard body. There’s an image to maintain. Ryder’s done his best to be a sexy playboy, and it’s Mira who’s made sure he gets publicity for things other than wild parties—all the charities he sponsors and the crazy amount of money he donates to his sister’s foundations. He’s probably fed half the continent of Africa by now.