“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.
“Ryder, look. I can’t ask you to interfere on my behalf every time I have an issue. That wouldn’t be right. Also, I’m here as your assistant, not your fiancée. We should keep our personal and professional boundaries, you know…intact.”
“But you’ll ask me for help if you can’t take care of something yourself, right?”
I’ve never asked him for a favor on behalf of a friend, and I don’t think I can now, despite the situation. Still, I don’t want to upset him. So I give him the answer he wants. “Sure.”
He studies my face for a long moment. “Okay.” He gets up. “Got it.”
* * *
Ryder
Paige is a terrible liar. She wouldn’t ask me for help if she were hiking through the Sahara with a thimbleful of water.
I thought the connection we shared in the morning meant something, but I see that it only meant something to me. It doesn’t to her…not the way I want it to.
I walk back to my office. The wet bar has a fresh bottle of scotch, compliments of some new distillery. Never tried their stuff before, but I won’t turn down a chance to maybe discover a new favorite.
After pouring a generous amount into a tumbler, I plop down on my usual barcalounger. I went over to see about taking her out for lunch. Yeah yeah, the media is awful, but I can get a private room at one of my cousin’s restaurants without a reservation. And a change of scenery might cheer her up.
But instead, I’m more convinced than ever that unless I figure out what Paige meant by how I trust her as my assistant but not as my fiancée, our wedding may just be called off.
Seriously though, no matter how long and hard I think about it, I feel like she’s overreacting. I don’t think I’ve treated her differently because her status has changed. As a matter of fact, I treated her with more respect and consideration as my fiancée. And I loved her body like I’ve never loved anything before. My cock hardens every time I think about the way she tastes…or that keening sound she makes in the back of her throat when she’s close to orgasm…
Shifting, I lean back and stare at the near-empty canvas that is Beautiful Emptiness. What few lines it has are fluid and beautiful. Mira thought I was insane to pay so much for the painting. Ditto for my business manager, Brian Miller.
Of course they share that opinion because they don’t appreciate art. They only see it as an asset: buy it low and sell it high.
My mind wanders, and I start to see shapes in the blank spaces between the lines.
Lace. Smiles. That shy look in her eyes as she lowers her eyelashes. Her belly grows. Masculine and feminine hands link together. Hips bump into each other, and there’s passion, but there’s also more.
A genuine emotion that I can’t identify.
For it to be called love, it’s too damn happy and stable, like it’s something that can last. In my experience, love is complicated and doesn’t last. Not to mention, it comes with more terms and conditions than a mini-series contract. Break any of them, and you’re screwed. There are no re-takes.
But I want what I see in the blankness. And a part of me is furious because I was so close to having it with Paige until the sex tape incident.