At the same time I know Ryder needs to let off some steam, and he probably can’t do that with Blake or Elizabeth—they’re both too proper. And Lucas…well, Lucas doesn’t party anymore.
Ryder looks like he’d like to murder someone, probably Julian. A few irate letters and invoices are better than him getting booked for patricide.
Elliot texts back pretty quickly. Sure, sugar lips. Tell Ryder I’m free until my flight tomorrow. Maybe dinner too?
“Want to have dinner with Elliot?” I ask. “You have a reservation at Morton’s at seven.”
“Yeah.” Ryder breathes out heavily. “You okay on your own?”
I shoot him a quick smile. “I’m an adult, Ryder. I’ll be fine.”
Going out with them means heavy drinking and partying past midnight. I can’t do either, and I don’t want to tell Ryder about my pregnancy right now. He has enough on his plate.
“Oh, by the way… Jarvis gave me this. Said it was for you.” I hand him the note.
“It’s probably some pathetic plea to get him an audition.” Ryder takes it anyway and unfolds it. His face turns pale, and an ugly tremor runs through him. A sudden flush rises from his neck, and he crumples the paper and throws it against the partition. Hard.
“Fucking bastard.” His voice shakes. “Fucking bastard.”
I reach down and pick up the paper. What could Jarvis have said to anger Ryder like this?
The note says, Make sure to avoid another Lauren.
Pretty name, but no matter how I rack my brain, I can’t think of a single woman named Lauren who’s been around Ryder in the last four years. Maybe it’s somebody in the Facebook group, but I dismiss the thought. If she is to be avoided, she did more than join the pointless group.
“Who’s Lauren?” I ask.
Ryder glares at the paper I’m holding. “No one.” His tone’s still tight with anger and something that seems suspiciously like pain. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to hear about this again. Ever.”
I nod.
“Forget it ever happened.”
“Done,” I say, but I’m thinking Not likely. It isn’t every day my debonair boss reacts this strongly. Not even a huge fire on the set of his last movie ruffled his feathers. The name definitely means something, and now I am insanely curious.
We drop our bags at the hotel, and I ask the driver to take care of Ryder and Elliot. They’re going to need a designated driver after they’re finished doing…whatever it is they’re planning to do.
“Have a great time,” I say to Ryder as the chauffeur holds the door open.
Ryder nods. His face is back to its old self, but there’s a hint of grimness to the set of his mouth. “If you change your mind about coming out, give me a call.”
The chauffeur shuts the door with care, and through the window I can see Ryder reaching for a bottle of scotch.
This is not going to end well.
Chapter Five
Ryder
We’re still in the first club. We were going to move on, but I don’t feel like leaving. Seems like too much damn effort.
It’s a sweet club. The VIP room isn’t bad either. Elliot picked it out, which means it has the nicest liquor, best music and hottest girls in the skimpiest outfits.
“You sure you don’t want to get any girls up here?” Elliot asks.
“Not really.” I don’t want their faux smiles, their grubbing hands and calculating eyes.
Lauren. A name I haven’t thought of in years. I pushed it out of my mind, and didn’t even associate with women with that name.
But the note brought everything back, ugly memories flooding my head like a cesspool. I knock back another scotch. I know Dad wrote that shit, and he did it to push my buttons. I’ll be damned if he succeeds.
Elliot peers at me. “You okay?”
I should be working off my frustration with hard partying, overdrinking and getting laid, but right now, all that stuff feels like superfluous bullshit.
Look at me. Not even thirty and already a cynical, bored bastard.
The slightest encouragement from me, and all the women on the floor will do anything they think I want. They’ll strip down, grind against each other, get on their hands and knees, put on a fucking live porno show and suck my dick. They’ll do all sorts of things and afterward, brag to their friends about having me, like it was some achievement on par with finding a cure for cancer.
I never let it bother me before, but now it does. It makes me feel like I’m Dad, leveraging my stardom to make them do what they wouldn’t normally do so I can get off on it. An orgasm provides great stress relief. Reduces tension too.
But the effect seems to be wearing off, like I’m developing a tolerance for it.