A Hollywood Deal(30)

But looking at the “props”, I can’t help but think that I’m in way over my head.





Chapter Twelve



Ryder

The way our conversation ended yesterday morning still chaps my ass. The idea that Paige thinks that I’m so shallow and fickle really bugs me. On the other hand, she does know all my habits…and vices. She was just making a logical assumption based on her observations, and I shouldn’t take it personally.

After all, I do want people to think of me as a carefree playboy who can’t be satisfied with one woman. That way no woman is going to think she can reform me, or make me fall in love with her, or any of that happy horseshit. And I like it that way. The girls don’t get hurt, and it gives me my freedom because nobody can get close enough to draw blood.

Once was enough.

I time everything so that dinner will be ready just as the shiny stretch limo pulls in to my Malibu place. I could’ve chosen a restaurant, but I really wanted something more private than that…although not so private that the news of our engagement doesn’t leak.

Two stories high, the structure has everything you could possibly want—all the modern amenities, including a massive climate-controlled wine cellar, an integrated audio system and a rooftop infinity pool—and most importantly the view. The walls fronting the ocean are all glass; they and the ridiculously large terrace have an unobstructed view of the Pacific, and the place is as private as it can be for the location.

The limo driver texts me—Five minutes. I check everything in the kitchen once more then go out to wait for her. On the other side of the street is a once-respectable Honda with mud spattered plates. It’s been there ever since I arrived, and I can see shadows on the other side of the dark, tinted windows. I roll my eyes. The paparazzi shouldn’t have bothered.

Within a minute the limo pulls up, and the driver steps out to open the door for Paige. When she emerges my chest tightens.

She is seriously stunning in that blue number. I wanted Josephine to send me pictures of the clothes she selected, but she refused, saying I needed to wait to see what Paige chose.

Well, the wait was worth it. Blue silk flows over her generous curves. One bare shoulder is practically begging to have a trail of hot kisses left along the collarbone. The breeze from the ocean teases her hair, blowing it around her head like a silken cloud. When she turns to thank the driver, I see the low back. There’s no way she’s wearing a bra underneath that dress, and the knowledge pulls all my blood downward.

She climbs the steps to the top where I’m standing. Her eyes shine as she looks up at me. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” I say with a smile.

“So. Malibu, huh? I thought this place was a myth.”

“A myth?”

I guide her across the front portico, putting a hand to the small of her back. She is unexpectedly soft under my palm, and her scent wraps around me. It has to be some kind of perfume because it’s too enticing to be natural. Not to mention it’s too complex, with layers and layers of different aromas. I could stand next to her and inhale all day long.

Which is completely not the role this situation calls for.

I unlock the door to the house and re-enter the security code.

“I’ve heard people talking about it,” she explains. “I know you pay property taxes, but I’ve never seen you do anything here.”

We go inside together.

The ground level is completely open, no walls anywhere. Combined with a thirty foot-high ceiling, the place looks palatial. I don’t allow any paintings to be hung in there because of the direct sunlight. Instead, I have a few glass sculptures I commissioned, with one of the walls being a giant TV screen.

Paige turns to me. “It’s gorgeous. When did you buy it?”

“A few years back. It was a gift to myself to celebrate the first movie I starred in.”

“I remember that one. Hit. The title totally fit the success of the film.”

I shrug although my chest fills with an absurd pleasure. Millions of people follow my career. Given that she’s my assistant, it’s only natural that Paige keeps track, even though Hit came out before she started working for me. Why does it matter that she instantly knew exactly which one?

But somehow it does.

“How come you never use this place?” Paige asks.

“Eh. Too far out,” I lie.

It’s too open, too vulnerable.

I spotted several paparazzi out on the beach earlier. They’re keeping a low profile to ensure I don’t call the cops on them. It’s actually kind of funny; this is the one time I actually want them around.

Paige sniffs. “Whatever you have cooking smells incredible.” She looks around. “Did you get a chef out here?”