A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2) (21 page)

I sit back. Of course. That’s what all this is about—Mira wanting to ensure that I’m one hundred percent hers. Not in a romantic sense. She’s not minded that way, plus romance requires one to have a heart. But she can ensure I’m always alone, or surrounded only by people she approves of, so that I’ll always be on a path that leads me back to her.

My voice is quiet when I tell her, “Then I’ll stop being a fucking superstar.”

She snorts. “Don’t be an idiot. You can’t do that.”

“Sure I can. I don’t have to work to get by. I’ve got more money than I know what to do with.” I bare my teeth. “Oh, and Mira? You’re fired.”

Her chest shudders, and she purses her lips so tight, countless small lines form around them. “You’re drunk. Drink that water, go sober up, and when you’re thinking right again we’re going to pretend this talk never happened.” She turns and heads toward the door.

“No, we aren’t.” I look at the only agent I’ve ever had with anger and regret. Anger wins. “If you come near me, Paige or anybody either of us cares about ever again, I’m going to slap you with a restraining order so fast it’ll take your breath away. And then I’ll have fun watching you try to spin that to protect
your
image.”

Ryder

I sober up, and for the next four days stay at Elliot’s. I can’t go home. Knowing that Mira is behind Lauren’s drug use and Paige’s stepsister almost losing her baby… Fuck. I can’t forgive myself for not seeing it sooner.

I should’ve known. Mira has always been overly hands-on, sticking her nose into every aspect of my life. I chalked it up to her being really vested in my career. And I had no reason to think badly of her; after all, she was instrumental in my success. But when she burrowed deeper into my life instead of backing off, I should’ve at least suspected there was something unhealthy in her focus on me.

My lawyers are working to terminate our contract. I can’t even bear to talk to her. She’s been trying to contact me, but by blocking her calls I’m making my position clear. The attorneys are also untangling the mess Mira’s interference has created in Bethany’s life. Given their hourly rate, they should be able to purge Mira from our lives completely. I won’t accept anything less.

I start a new text to my chief publicist Christopher.

Announce to the press that Paige and I are separating on an amicable
—

Damn it. I click the delete key until the text is all gone. I’ve been trying to make the announcement, but just haven’t been able to. I’m not exactly sure what I’m hoping for. Paige isn’t going to tell me she loves me, or that she’s perfectly fine with how my own fucking agent endangered Bethany or threatened Renni.

“You okay?” Elliot asks.

“Yes,” I say, but I don’t sound convincing…even to my own ears.

“I don’t mind if you want to move in, but you know that sooner or later Elizabeth is gonna march in here and drag you back to your mansion.”

He’s right. Elizabeth and Paige call at least five times a day. Each. Paige texts me too, but I haven’t read any of the messages. I don’t have the guts.

I go to the garage and hop into my Ferrari. I should find a hotel to stay at. Out of habit, I start to dial Paige to arrange a suite, then stop. She isn’t my assistant, and she probably doesn’t want to lift a finger on my behalf.

I’ve screwed up so bad.

So I stop at the first big hotel I see and toss my keys to the valet. I don’t give a damn where I stay, so long as they have a room for me.

Of
course
we have a room, Mr. Reed! Would you like the presidential suite? Of course, we will be happy to, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?

Normally a cocky smile would split my face, and I’d wink at the female front desk clerk until she flushed and fluttered her eyelashes at me. The phrase “Isn’t my life so fucking awesome?” would ring in my head as I took the keycard and walked away to the elevator. If she was pretty enough, I’d hint that she should come up and have a drink after her shift ended.

But now I look at the woman with about the same interest I’d show a piece of plywood. And when I take the key and walk away, the emptiness in my heart is like acid. The other guests stare at me, and it only intensifies the hollowness deep inside.

They think I have everything.

They couldn’t be more wrong.

I pick up a new cap from the hotel gift shop and walk along the street. My phone’s off, although it sits in my pocket. That and my plastic are all I have on me as I wander around, letting my feet take me wherever.

My gaze falls on a couple with their arms linked. The girl is a brunette, with a pair of square black librarian glasses. Her pale hand contrasts sharply against her man’s olive-toned skin.

They aren’t anybody famous. They aren’t anybody rich. I’d bet my Ferrari they’ve never lived in a house with twice the number of bedrooms as people. They’re just regular, everyday people, smiling and leaning into each other as they step along and share a joke.

They’re happy and content.

And I’d give all I have to switch places with them.

I walk for a while and somehow end up in front of a jewelry store owned by Kiyoko Hamada, the woman who designed Paige’s engagement ring. There are more exquisite items on display in the window. White pearls, diamond earrings and necklace sets sparkle under the lights. The pearls are so big and lustrous, they seem to glow from within.

When I commissioned the engagement ring, I had simple hopes for my life. A loving wife. Maybe a child or two. Most people find those attainable, but not me. To me, they’re big dreams, and seem harder than flying to the moon.

Suddenly the door to the shop opens, and the last person I ever thought I’d see at a jeweler walks out. My cousin, Dane Pryce, in all his glory.

His dark hair is neatly cropped, and he’s in a navy blue bespoke suit. Grimness pours off him, although it’s not as bad as usual. Maybe he’s mellowing in his old age.

“Dane?” I say, hardly believing it. “What are you doing here?”

The icy blue eyes narrow. “I could ask the same. Trying to stock up on peace offerings for the times you’re going to screw up?”

My mood snaps from shock to pissed off.
Why do I even talk to this guy?
“You’re such a fucking asshole.”

“At least I don’t go to strip clubs while I’m engaged. Nor am I stupid enough to get caught.”

I grind my teeth. “Are you shopping for a ring?” I say, not wanting to get into my failing personal life. He has no other reason to come here. He isn’t the type to give women lots of expensive jewelry just because.

Nothing changes on his face, except for the subtle color on his cheeks.

“Son of a bitch.” I chuckle. “You are!”

His stare grows colder. “And you? Are you going to go in, or stand out here all day running your lips?”

“Nah. I was just out for a stroll.”

“Well, exercise time is over. I’ll take you to your car.”

Normally I would refuse. But since my Ferrari’s several miles away—much farther than he’s expecting—I say, “Sure. Why not?”

Once we’re both in his Bentley, I tell him where my car is. He narrows his eyes. “That’s at least fifteen blocks away.”

I give him my most angelic smile. “You did offer…”

He starts driving. He stays just below the speed limit, which reminds me of an octogenarian with oversized knuckles white around the steering wheel.

“What happened to your Lamborghini?” I ask.

“I got bored with it.”

I raise my eyebrows. He loves that car more than anything else in the world. If he could, he would’ve married the thing.

“So, you and Paige are going to split,” Dane says, his eyes on the road. “True, or gossip rag bullshit?”

“Jeez. Have you been stalking me?”

“Hardly. I can’t get away from you.” His mouth curls in distaste. “It’s all over the news, for one.”

I say nothing. Paige’s and my situation is just too painful and raw to talk about…especially to someone like Dane, who has the emotional range of a can opener.

“So it’s true.” He sighs at an idiot who cuts him off. But then he shouldn’t be driving like an old woman if he doesn’t want to be dissed on the road. “Was it your decision?”

“Does it matter?”

“I see. Not your decision. Well, if you want her, take her.”

I choke. “I’m not a rapist.”

“Then convince her,” he says, like I’m the biggest idiot in the world.

“Easier said than done.”

“My advice,” Dane says, “is to get out of L.A. Both of you are under a microscope here. Go to the family vacation home in the Maldives. Or the one in Thailand. Or Tahiti. If the idiot media follow you in a helicopter, shoot it down. That’s what guards are for. Then, once you’re alone with her, convince Paige that you’re not a total loss.” He drives on, inscrutable behind his sunglasses. “Or, second option: sit by and watch her marry some other sap, go live in a home with a white-picket fence, have two point three children and drive a gently used minivan.”

I stare at him, feeling like I’m in a
Twilight Zone
episode. Getting relationship advice from Dane is like getting lessons on how to be a moral, upstanding citizen from Ted Bundy.

“They might even get a dog,” Dane adds, scowling now as though that’s the most offensive possibility out of all the ones he’s listed.

I don’t know how to respond. He’s actually trying to help out. “Why are you bothering to give me advice? You don’t even like me.”

“Beside the point,” he says.

“No, seriously. Why?”

He glances my way for a fraction of a second. “Grandma Shirley wanted me to.”

“Are you kidding? Grandma Shirley hated me.”

“No. She
worried
about you because you aren’t particularly bright or cool-headed. Being emotional is a terrible handicap.”

“Right. Because having ice water for blood is so much better.” Shaking my head, I lean back in my seat. “I really want to know who you bought the ring for. I want to meet the woman who’d say yes to a man who’d be hot in an igloo.”

The muscles in his jaw flex. “Worry about yourself.” He stops the car in front of my hotel. “Get out.”

I do. The second I slam the door shut, he drives off. I watch the Bentley slowly disappear around the block.

As much as I hate Dane, he’s right about one thing. Paige is going to be snapped up by someone. And that man is going to share her bed, give her children…

My hands curl into fists. The idea of her with another man makes me want to vomit. So I need to do something here. And Dane’s suggestion is a good one…plus, I was thinking about it already. Leave the country. Lie low. Have a heart-to-heart talk.

My lawyers are doing what they can to ensure that Mira isn’t going to screw with Paige’s stepsister or Renni. But ultimately, Paige has to know that Mira was involved in Bethany’s accident, even if her influence was indirect. I don’t want to have any ugly secrets between us that can come back later to bite me in the ass.

Then I should just calmly explain why she should forget what I told her about my loving her—I said that all wrong anyway—and she should give us a chance without any preconceived notions about how we should end it all.

A good plan. In fact, it’s perfect.

I switch on my phone. Time to execute.

* * *

Paige

I no longer know what to make of Ryder’s absence. I don’t think anything’s happened to him; if it had, I would’ve seen it on the news.

One possible clue: Elliot isn’t answering his phone either. Elizabeth hasn’t been able to get a hold of either of her brothers, and she’s convinced Elliot and Ryder are up to no good.

“One plus one isn’t two when they’re together. It’s more like ten.”

We have barely a week left before our wedding. Mom’s called twice, but I told her I didn’t know what was going on and asked her to not make any travel plans.

The list I made to convince Ryder that I love him too sits forlornly on my desk. At the rate things are going, I may never get a chance to use it.

Julian wanted me to ditch Ryder at the altar. It looks like it’s going to be the opposite, with me left behind.
Now isn’t that ironic?

Renni texts me to see when the rehearsal is. I text back,
I don’t know
.

I’m going to kill him when I see him
,
you know that
,
right?

A reluctant smile tugs at me.
Yes
,
but you should at least wait until you have an airtight alibi
.

You can be my alibi
.
This shit isn’t cool
,
Paige
.
Don’t let him get away with it
.
He’s gotta respect you
.

My eyes sting. I press my lips together until they hurt. Renni means well, but she doesn’t know everything that’s going on between me and Ryder…or the fact that he said he loved me. I haven’t told anybody about our last big fight. If I did, I’d have to talk about how I’m in love with him, too. I’m not saying that out loud to anyone until I get a chance to tell him first. He deserves at least that much.

Bethany calls me on the sixth day Ryder has been missing. Presumably she feels like it’s the kind of topic you should actually talk about, rather than just texting back and forth.

It’s after dinner time, and my stomach is feeling less than happy. “Hey,” I say, my voice listless. I plop on the bed in my room and stare at the ceiling.

“Hi. Um…are you sick?”

“No. Just…too full from dinner. No appetite, but I ate anyway for the baby’s sake.”

“Oh.” A bit of awkward silence. “They always make you eat a lot.” She clears her throat. “Are you guys okay? Mom’s kind of worried.”

“I don’t know.” I sigh. The light from the bedside lamp hits the ring on my finger, and the bright sparkles cut my heart. “I can’t get a hold of Ryder.”

There is a long pause. “Just so you know, I’ve been in touch with his lawyers.”

“About what?”

“The funding for my website. He’s going to do it, rather than that trust.”

“Oh. Well…that’s great.”

“You didn’t know?” She turns it into a question, but she already knows the answer.