A Hollywood Deal(76)

Ryder’s gaze hardens, anger still seething in their blue depth. Nothing I said has penetrated.

“And I’m not paying for her mistakes,” I say.

“What are you talking about?”

“Lauren. You’re freaking out because of her, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Still, his face pales, and I know I hit the mark.

“You keep telling yourself that,” I say. I know it’s about her because of the way Julian kept taunting Ryder and the way he behaved with Anthony.

Fatigue and sadness weigh me down. Looking at his implacable posture, I know I’m wasting my time. Talking to him is like throwing eggs at a wall.

I walk away before I say anything else or give him a chance to make me even more miserable than I already am.





Chapter Thirty-One



Paige

I sit in my Altima, which is still in Ryder’s garage. It’s the only space that’s really mine in this monstrously luxurious home.

My hands shake. I should think of a way to fix this, but my brain can’t seem to focus on anything except the fact that there is a sex tape with me as the lead…and a lot of people seem to believe that I made and released it on purpose.

I guess that’s inevitable. Women have done it for publicity before. But Ryder? He should’ve believed me. Doesn’t he know me better than that?

Tears bead around my eyes, and I blink them away. God, it hurts so bad. I don’t even know why. It’s not like he ever loved me or anything. Maybe I let myself get too wrapped up in the roles we’ve been playing, forgetting that they’re fake.

I look at my phone when it pings with a new text. It’s Bethany.

I can’t believe that asshole! Isn’t it illegal to release revenge porn?

I swallow. I have no idea.

I’m gonna kill that SOB.

I text back, He’s not worth it. Don’t stress. Not good for the baby.

Are you kidding me? Where are you?

I start to type I’m at Ryder’s, but I change my mind. I think I’ll spend the night with Renni.

You sure? Bethany responds.

Things are pretty tense at Ryder’s place, I type. It’ll be better.

It takes a moment before Bethany replies. Want me to come over?

I sniffle. Don’t. It’s late. Bethany and Oliver live too far from Gary’s place, which is where Renni is now. Besides, I don’t want my sister getting dragged into the scandal for any reason. She’s pregnant, and she should focus on her baby, her husband and her newly funded ambition.

Okay, well… If you need anything, lemme know, Bethany texts. I love you.

Love you too.

We’re gonna find a way to get that bastard. I swear it!

I know. Except I don’t. Not really.

My phone rings, and I don’t recognize the number. Probably the media or something. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, and I no longer have any reason to jump for my phone every time it rings. Ryder won’t be calling me tonight. Several social media alerts buzz, grabbing my attention. Every single one of them is vile and hateful. My stomach twists until I feel like I’m about to throw up.

I toss my phone into the purse and start driving.

When I show up at Gary’s place a little over an hour later, it’s Renni who opens the door. She hugs me and pulls me inside.

“Oh my gosh, Paige. I’m so sorry. Come on in!”

Renni’s in a night tee and a pair of cotton shorts. I’m in my old t-shirt—not the one Josephine bought me with Ryder’s money—and frayed jeans.

My best friend shuts the door. “Gary’s out. He has a late shift, although he did text me during his break to ask what the hell is going on and why you aren’t responding.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. My phone’s been going off non-stop.”

I don’t mention all the horrible social media alerts. It seems like thousands of people are saying crap about me. A few have even threatened my life, vowing to run my fat ass over—or worse—because I’m a dirty slut who deserves to die horribly. They were already spewing hatred and bile, and it’s like the sex tape has poured gas on the fire. The intensity is breathtaking. I can’t help but wonder how many of them would be able to say those horrible things to my face.

We go to the living room. A sleeping bag is bunched up over to one side, and clothes lie haphazardly on the back of an old, black couch. Neither Gary nor Renni is neat. “Want something to drink?”

“No. I’m fine.” I don’t think I can take even a sip without puking it back up. My stomach’s knotted tighter than a sailor’s half-hitch.

We sit on a spot uncluttered with stuff.

“It’s gotta be Shaun. I’m going to kill him,” Renni says.