A Hollywood Deal(42)

I don’t like this. Paige was going to become a target of the media; that was inevitable. I knew it, and I planned ways to mitigate their tactics. But this is something entirely new and unexpected. My fans sending hate mail to her?

The original Brother Grimm’s version of Cinderella runs through my mind. I read it to prepare for the Cinderella retelling I starred in. The stepsisters cut off parts of their feet to fit into the slipper because that’s just how desperate they were.

Of course they failed. Prince Charming wasn’t going to be fooled by that kind of trickery. Cinderella’s doves plucked out the sisters’ eyeballs at the wedding as punishment. Frankly, I prefer that ending to the saccharine one in the script…but the director disagreed.

“Fucking stepsisters,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” Paige says.

“Nothing. Just file them somewhere and let’s go. We have a meeting.”

“We do?” She checks the schedule. “You have nothing for the day except an hour of kickboxing later.”

“That was before. We need to see a lawyer about our prenup.”





Chapter Eighteen



Paige

Our prenup.

It seems to make the marriage even more real. I knew this was coming. A man like Ryder doesn’t marry without one, even if his intended is an heiress with billions in her bank account.

And I have nothing. So it’s only prudent that he protect himself.

My skin prickles during the elevator ride to the lawyer’s office. The heat in Ryder’s eyes earlier in the morning threw me off, and I felt desire unfurl inside me. I had to pretend to drink tea to buy some time to compose myself.

But all that work gets undone as Ryder stands close, his scent alluring. I want to pretend this is nothing, that I feel nothing.

I clench my thighs together.

My phone buzzes again, and I take a look. It’s Shaun’s twentieth attempt at trying to talk to me. He’s sent me hundreds of texts, all basically saying the same thing—call me. I make a mental note to look up how to have his number blocked; I don’t need the aggravation of a persistent ex. Our relationship’s over, just like he wanted.

The elevator doors open with a soft ping, and we step out into the reception area. It’s discreet, but also warm and welcoming with soft green and earth-tone colors.

I try to put a few feet of distance between us, but Ryder is having none of it. He comes over and slips an arm around my waist like a besotted fiancé. He feels amazing next to me, and it’s horrible—like torturing myself with a chocolate covered strawberry I can’t eat.

A short brunette in her late thirties rises from the receptionist seat, her cheeks flushed. “Mr. Reed?”

“You can call me Ryder,” he says with a wink. “Is Samantha ready?”

“Of course.” Her gaze is glued to him, and I’m tempted to offer to wipe the drool on her chin. “This way.”

Samantha Jones is a killer attorney who handles divorces for a lot of high-powered, high net-worth individuals. The conference room is large; an oak table dominates in the center, surrounded by comfy-looking wheeled chairs with armrests. Sets of law books fill the built-in shelves, and a few objets d’art liven up the recessed nooks.

Samantha comes in, her manicured hand clutching an accordion folder. She’s almost six feet tall in her black heels. You wouldn’t know that she’s in her late forties unless you read her bio. Her dirty blond shoulder-length hair is artfully tossed into a trendy “just rolled out of the bed” look. She’s monochromatic in a white top and a black skinny skirt. Lean muscles in her tanned legs flex as she walks toward us to shake hands.

Her wide-set brown eyes betray nothing as she smiles at us. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Ryder says with an easy grin.

I give her a platitude through a dry throat.

“Anything to drink?” she says.

“I’m good with mineral water.” Ryder glances at me.

“Fine.”

“Great!” She pours water into our glasses and sits down, then pushes two copies of the prenup our way. “It’s pretty standard, nothing out of the ordinary. Each of you keep what you bring to the marriage when you separate, so we’ll have to make sure to disclose all our assets. Anything you acquire jointly after the marriage will be split fifty-fifty provided that the marriage lasts at least twelve full months. Any questions?” she asks, looking at me.

I shake my head. It sounds about right.

“In the case of children…” She stops. “You said you’d think on this point. So. What do you plan to do?”

“Paige can keep them,” Ryder says. “Full custody. I’ll provide child support as needed, plus a trust of twenty-five million dollars for the kid.”