Unable to sit still, I walk home. My mind churns with thoughts, and my heart is full of conflicting emotions. But I have to talk to Ryder now. I don’t think I can function without that first.
When I walk in, Sue is coming downstairs with a black trash bag. “Are you all right?” she asks. “You look a little flushed.”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly. I must look horrible for her to remark on it. But then she usually sees me all made up and everything. “Have you seen Ryder?”
“He just went to his office.”
“Thanks.” I walk up to the second floor.
His office is past the assistant’s—the one I used to work out of until a few days ago.
Ryder’s workspace isn’t exactly “corporate”. It’s a big area with lots of comfortable loungers and low tables that he can place drinks on. Instead of books, he has photos of places he’s been on built-in shelves. There’s also a fascinating bit of art on one wall: a nearly empty canvas with just a few black lines and lots of white space, done by a Korean artist. He paid some insane amount of money for it at an auction, calling it “beautiful emptiness.” I’m not sure if that’s actually the title of the piece or not.
He’s on a barcalounger, drinking another coffee. A stack of paper rests on his lap, and from the looks of it, he’s perusing another script. He glances my way. “Thought you went out for a walk.”
I close the door behind me. “I’m done now.” I take a love seat and cross my legs.
Setting aside the script, he sits up straight. His eyes are guarded. “You okay?”
“Is it true you went to a strip club with Elliot?”
Something flickers in his gaze, then he frowns. “Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Probably not.” He sighs. “Yes. Well, technically, I didn’t go with him. I met him at one because he was there and didn’t want to go anywhere else.”
“Am I supposed to believe that?”
“Of course you’re supposed to believe it. You think I’m lying?”
He’s meeting my gaze straight on. Normally I’d think the person was telling the truth. But this is Ryder, one of the best actors around.
“Look, Paige. I don’t care what you heard, but nothing happened. And you know I’d never talk about private stuff in front of a bunch of strippers.”
“How do I know you went there to talk?”
A dull red rises in his cheeks. “Are you telling me you don’t trust me? Especially after that stuff about how trust is more a decision than anything?”
A fist lodges in my throat, and I can barely breathe. It takes a moment before I can gather my thoughts enough to speak. “This isn’t about tit-for-tat, Ryder.”
“I never said it was. You’re the one who’s grilling me here over some gossip. You know how it is in Hollywood. Everyone puts the absolute worst spin on everything.”
It pains me that he doesn’t see how that’s true of me too, because of my association with him. But it’s obvious that he thinks I’m some kind of exception.
And the truth is I’m pretty certain he’s right. He can’t even smile at another woman without it becoming a big deal. But the fact that he won’t give me the same benefit of the doubt he’s asking for hurts. I can’t decide if I should scream or cry.
“Paige…”
I jump to my feet. “I can’t continue right now.”
Before he can stop me, I go to my room. I need to be somewhere quiet to process all this so I don’t do anything rash.
But when I open the door to my suite, a white-hot rage sears my entire body, leaving my skin raw and tight. For a moment I can’t think or even breathe. Then all the emotion gathers in my belly like a knot of angry snakes.
Gone are the blue hyacinths and white tulips. Instead, there are red, yellow and purple tulips in a different crystal vase on my bedside table.
The bouquet is just as large and beautiful as the one from Anthony. It probably cost just as much, if not more.
Ryder follows me in. Concern softens his voice. “Paige, look—”
“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.