A Hollywood Deal(8)

“Oh, I’m sure Julian’s busy with his new wife. It would be just the four of us.” Her, Ryder and his brother and sister—Blake and Elizabeth.

“I’ll see what I can do, Ms. Pryce.”

“Thank you, Paige.”

“My pleasure.”

I count to two and disconnect. The last time I hit the red button without waiting, she made a thinly veiled comment about how rude it was to hang up in hurry, as though one couldn’t wait to be free of the other person’s presence.

See? This is another reason Ryder is a hard boss to work for. It isn’t just him I have to please, but a mother whose blood is bluer than the Pacific in winter. Probably just as cold too.

“Thank you.” Ryder is practically mooing with gratitude.

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t told you about your father’s email.”

He rolls his eyes. “Delete it. Not interested.”

“You sure? He mentioned something about paintings.”

That gets him to sit up straight. “What paintings? What did he say exactly?”

“Lemme see… Okay, here it is. Quote. You worthless sons of bitches better come to my new home in Virginia tomorrow at two p.m. or I’ll personally piss on your grandfather’s paintings. Unquote.”

“What the hell?” Red blotches appear on Ryder’s high cheeks, and his eyes go darker than normal.

The reaction fascinates me. I’ve seen him act angry in movies, sure, but I’ve never seen him respond like this in real life. Every inconvenience and annoyance is delegated and forgotten. He has a platoon of people dedicated to making his life as easy as possible.

But this… This doesn’t sound like something he can delegate and forget.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

Ryder doesn’t answer for a moment. “No choice, I guess. I’ll have to go and confront him myself.” He presses his lips until they are thin and bloodless. “Get my pilot ready. I’m leaving tonight.”

I’ve really never seen him like this. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

He starts to get up. “You don’t have to come. Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

Like that’s ever stopped me from having to work. I give him a bland smile. “Yes, I do. I’m not letting you deviate from the agenda again.”





Chapter Three



Ryder

There’s no reason for Paige to come. She thinks me fucking a chick who can’t spell “asshole” is bad, but she hasn’t seen anything until she gets to witness Dad in one of his moods.

And honestly, I like her too much to subject her to this fuckfest, but she won’t relent. Maybe I should’ve gone to the rehearsal dinner…although I understand from Elizabeth that it ultra-sucked.

Damn family drama.

“You really don’t have to babysit me,” I say one last time as my private jet makes the final approach to northern Virginia. “Seriously. Check into the hotel and just chill for the rest of the day.”

“No.” Paige’s mouth sets into a stubborn line.

I give up. She probably thinks I left her behind so I could pick up a chick or two to amuse myself with. Truth is, I had to leave her behind. It would have been a complete dick move to ask her to tag along to my cousin’s wedding—even if she didn’t attend the ceremony—when she’d just broken up with her boyfriend.

And the weird thing is I’m actually sort of glad she broke up with that guy—they’d been together for, like, two years—because for some reason he just annoyed the crap out of me. But then I’ve never liked any of Paige’s boyfriends. Don’t really know why.

Even though she’s probably better off without the dude, I know the breakup is bugging the hell out of her. It’s in the way she dresses. Today she’s got on a navy blue dress that clings to her generous curves and a pair of matching pumps. Her golden hair is pulled back from her pretty face, and her makeup is darker than usual. She always goes into Dark Paige mode every time something bugs her.

This time it’s more serious. Even her attitude is darker. Right now she’s much more… Hmm. Not argumentative, but something close to pushy. Getting sassy with me when I tell her to stay behind and being physically brittle around me.

Like here in the jet.

The line of her shoulders is rigid, and her back is straight. She’s stayed that way for the entire five frickin’ hours. She won’t even accept a drink from me, even though I told her that she could have one.

And that makes me want to punch her ex in the face. She’s usually a lot more fun. You know, relaxed. And hilariously blunt. Every time she’s around, something nasty lifts from my chest, and I can breathe again.