“You still want to go ahead and marry her?”
“Yes. And in any case, I can’t call it off now without humiliating her.” I laugh bitterly. The media would bring up the fact that she starred in a sex tape, and the vultures would come out again. “But what’s the point? I can’t have her for a year and then lose her to someone else out there she wants more.” I don’t know how I ever thought I could let her go after one year. Was it because I didn’t know I was in love with her?
I wish I could go back in time and somehow make sure I never realized what’s in my heart. Then it would hurt less. Ignorance was indeed bliss.
“I’m sorry.” Elliot brings out a third bottle of scotch. “Two won’t be enough.”
I nod and knock back another mouthful of fiery drink. But no matter how much alcohol I consume, I can’t push Paige’s horrified expression out of my mind.
This is probably why men never say, “I love you” to women first. Rejection and humiliation I can deal with. I suffered through plenty of both when I was young and starting out in Hollywood. But the idea that she will never be mine…that someday she’ll leave me and find somebody else…cuts me wide open.
If it didn’t affect Paige, I would rather call off the wedding than have her for a year only to lose her. If I get used to life with her—as my wife—there’s no way I’m going to survive the divorce…and life without her.
* * *
Paige
Ryder doesn’t come home. I try calling, but he’s not answering. Elizabeth tries as well, but she only gets his voicemail.
“This isn’t like him. Wonder where he is.” She puts down her phone.
“No idea. He didn’t tell me anything.” I already checked his calendar. He doesn’t have any appointments this afternoon. A moment later, my phone buzzes and I jump for it. Maybe it’s Ryder calling me back.
I need to tell him I love him too, and that I never told him because I was afraid. I need to tell him that I was stunned by his declaration and that he is definitely wrong about where I was coming from and that I want him back home.
Mira’s name flashes on the screen, and I deflate faster than a spiked tire. “This is Paige.”
“Is Ryder there? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for over an hour.”
I hesitate, debating if I should confront her about her role in funding Bethany’s company. A part of me wants to hash it out right now, but rationality prevails. It isn’t the kind of topic I can talk about over the phone, especially when I’m emotional and unprepared. Mira is too sneaky and slick. “No. He left this morning and hasn’t been back.”
“He said he wanted me to swing by. Apparently he has something important to discuss.”
“When did he contact you?” Ryder was so angry earlier. Maybe he wants to talk to her about the threats she’s posing against my best friend and stepsister.
“A few days ago. I was out of town, but I’m now back.”
Okay. So whatever he wanted to talk to her about can’t be the blackmail stuff. “Well, I don’t know what it’s about. But I’ll let him know you called when I see him.”
“Great. Thanks.” She hangs up.
“More people looking for him?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah.”
“Where could he have gone?”
It’s a rhetorical question. “Excuse me. I have to get some work done.”
I go upstairs to my office. I need to make two lists. One is everything I want to tell Ryder regarding his declaration. The second is all the things I’m going to tell Mira to get her to leave me and my friends and family alone.
I’m going to fix this.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryder
Something buzzes, the sound like a large and particularly obnoxious bee.
It continues. Probably something important.
I look over at Elliot. “Visitor,” he mumbles.
We’ve killed two bottles of scotch. The third one is about a quarter empty. Alcohol smolders pleasantly in my veins, and I don’t ever want to leave Elliot’s couch.
“You tell anybody you were coming over?”
“No.” I glance at him. “Probably someone delivering another inflatable doll.”
Elliot gives me the finger. “It’s not a delivery guy. They just dump the packages at the concierge desk and run.” He groans and levers himself up. “All right, all right.” He mutters a few choice words, then buzzes the person in.
“Who is it?”
“Your agent.”
A mix of ugly emotions rears its head. I glare at the door as Mira walks in. She’s in her usual black dress and shiny black patent shoes, and she looks as slick as spilled oil. Her red lipsticked mouth purses. “Good god. What the hell is this?”