A Hollywood Bride (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience Book 2) (8 page)

A dark remote on the coffee table catches my attention. I start to flip through the channels, then stop when a show mentions me and Ryder.

The well-dressed hosts with perfect makeup and perfect hair and perfectly bleached teeth talk about us like we’re some kind of gossip topic. I guess we are, except I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.

They speculate about why Ryder is marrying me—probably the baby, and they talk about why I should be careful because things like that surely can’t last even if the man in question
is
known for donating huge sums of money to help underprivileged women and children.

“I mean, there’s a big difference between donating once in a while and dealing with it yourself every day for the next eighteen years,” says a blue-eyed blonde who looks positively gleeful.

“At least it solves the mystery of why he’s marrying her,” a brunette says. “It was on a lot of people’s minds.”

Bitch
.

Fat cow
.

Beached whale
.

And so many other hateful things said about me online flood my mind. My hands start shaking, and I turn the TV off. I don’t need the stress.

The doorbell rings. Grateful for something to do, I get up. It’s probably a delivery man, but I check through the peephole anyway.

Standing outside is Elliot Reed. I open the door.

He’s in a white t-shirt and denim shorts, his feet stuck in black flip-flops. A pair of sunglasses dangles from one hand.

Despite the fact that he’s Ryder’s half-brother, they look nothing alike. I heard that he takes after his mother, who was Wife Number Two. His hair is dark, but compared to Ryder’s it’s a shade or two lighter. He also didn’t get the classic Pryce profile with those perfect, aristocratic lines. But he’s still a striking man, with even features and a charming smile.

Unfortunately for him, I’m immune.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He gives me the smile. “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Right. Because you routinely hang out in middle class neighborhoods that don’t have high-end bars or strip clubs.”

“Ouch,” he says with a wince. “Guess I deserved that.”

I give him a look.

“Can I come in?”

“If Ryder sent you—”

“He didn’t.”

I gaze at him, wondering. “All right,” I say finally. “You can come in.”

He walks in, looking around the humble living room. It’s smaller than Ryder’s bedroom, and it is decorated with inexpensive furniture and second-hand items. Shelves have tons of framed pictures of Oliver and Bethany—an unbroken photographic record from the time they became an item to the present.

“Nice,” he murmurs.

“I bet you’ve never set foot in a house that’s worth less than three million.”

Something flashes in his gaze, then disappears just as quickly as it appeared. “Now who’s being a snob?” He sits in the couch. “Elizabeth called me.”

I frown. “About?”

“You.”

Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall across from him. “If there’s anything she wants to talk to me about, she knows my number.”

“Yeah, well. I thought I should do this face-to-face.”

I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to go on.

“Nothing happened at the strip club,” he says.

My lips curve. “Riiiiiight.”

“Look, Ryder wanted to talk, I was already there, and I didn’t want to leave. So he came by.”

“Regular bars not good enough for you guys?” I say, uncrossing my arms.

“You know about the deal with our father, don’t you?”

I nod. No point in being coy with him.

“I thought so.” He taps his lips like I’ve just confirmed something important for him. “Then you know I need to marry too.”

“And how does that relate to the strip club?”

He frowns and smiles at the same time, like you do when someone doesn’t get an obvious joke. “I’m looking for a wife.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His announcement has short-circuited my brain.

Now he actually laughs. “You haven’t heard?”

“No.” I blink. “But why? You could have anybody you want.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why I want a stripper. Besides, it’ll be more fun this way. You watch.” He winks.

Then it hits me. Why he’s doing this—it’s to show to his father that he can’t be controlled. I snort a laugh. “You are
terrible
.”

“Thank you. I try very hard.” He grows serious. “Paige, why are you making this more complicated than it needs to be?”

I sigh, then shake my head. “Ryder doesn’t trust me.”

“And? So what? It’s only for a year. I’m certain my brother offered more than enough to make up for a year of your life, and he’ll take care of the baby as well.”

Elliot’s right. I know that. But I need Ryder’s trust if I’m going to do it. It’s the least I want from him, and I don’t even know how to articulate that so I don’t end up sounding like a whiner.

“If you have…feelings for him, you should tell him,” Elliot says, his eyes gentle and understanding. “He doesn’t do well with games.”

“Like that woman.” The bitter words tumble out of me before I can stop myself.

“Yeah. Like Lauren. But that was a long time ago. Even if she left scars, that doesn’t mean he’s unsalvageable.”

We talk for a while longer, but don’t make much progress. Elliot finally gets up. “I’ll show myself out. Just think about what I said…but if you really aren’t going to go through with the wedding, tell him now. He’s going to need to come up with a contingency bride.”

* * *

Ryder

If I had things my way, I would’ve been up and out early this morning. Started drinking early, too, because alcohol is great for making me feel less bad about the crap in my life.

But Elliot isn’t answering my calls. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he’s avoiding me.
But why? He never does that
. It’s got to be Elizabeth getting in the middle of things. She can be pretty meddlesome when she puts her mind to it.

I’m already feeling like shit.
Guilty
shit. I shouldn’t have told Paige that walking away meant it was over. She might’ve spent the night with Renni or Bethany and come back after cooling off a little. But I made it clear she couldn’t come back…not unless she wanted to grovel.

Sighing, I rub my forehead.
Fucking Anthony
. The history between us—and knowing that he’s plotting something—brings out the worst in me. It’s like I can hardly think or speak rationally. For some reason, Paige refuses to believe Anthony is dangerous. But he’s made it clear to me that he’s going to pay me back for Lauren. It doesn’t matter that she played both of us, did drugs…or that the Mexican authorities ruled her death an accident. He holds me responsible.

And I can’t fault him for that. I just wish he’d come after
me
, not the people around me.

Elizabeth’s already at the table by the time I go downstairs for a late lunch. She’s in a bright red sundress that makes her look like a cardinal. The chef has made a salad, some garlic bread and cheese lasagna, and the housekeeper placed it all on a raised platform like an offering to the gods. My staff isn’t stupid. They know what’s happening, which is why we’re having my favorite for lunch.

The second I take my seat, Elizabeth says, “You made a big mistake.”

“You say that about everything I do.”

“This time is especially bad. You know Paige didn’t release that sex tape.”

“It’s not about the damn tape.” I lean back in my seat. The lasagna suddenly looks about as appetizing as a brick on my plate.

She puts her fork down. “Then what is it?”

“She’s in a snit over those flowers. The ones from Anthony.”

She narrows her eyes, pursing her mouth. It’s her
I know you
look. “You threw them out, didn’t you?”

“The vase broke. What was I supposed to do?”

“
Reeeeaaaaally?
” She drags the vowel out. “How did
that
happen?”

I get up and get myself some scotch. If I can’t eat, I’m going to drink. “The housekeeper knocked it off the table,” I mutter.

“Ryder, what are you doing? Channeling Grandma Shirley?”

The name raises my hackles. You aren’t supposed to speak ill of the dead, but she’s an exception. The woman was positively evil. “I’m nothing like her.”

“Let’s see.” Elizabeth raises a hand and starts counting on her fingers. “Proud. Autocratic. Determined to get your way no matter what. Don’t care that much about what others think or feel. Opinionated.” She switches to her other hand. “Highly unlikely to change your mind about anything. Think you know better than the people around you… Shall I go on?”

My face warms at the list. She’s not entirely wrong. I can be pretty autocratic, and I rarely take no for an answer. But anybody who’s successful wouldn’t, for god’s sake.

“Instead of turning your relationship with Paige into a media circus, just call the wedding off. That’s the best you can do for everyone.”

“You don’t know jack shit,” I say.

“I know there’s less than three weeks left before the ceremony.” She sips her white wine. “And I know Paige is under a lot of pressure that has nothing to do with that tape.”

“What pressure?” Maybe Paige told her something earlier.

“Don’t you check social media?”

“Of course not. Why would I?” I have accounts, of course, but they’re managed by pros. I only share a few photos if I ever feel like it, and I prefer to stay away from people as much as possible. Give them a taste, and they want to devour you. I’m not doing that, and I don’t need to hustle to cultivate a fan base or be authentic or whatever the hell the so-called gurus recommend. I’m already a star.

“You should. It’s ugly for Paige, and unlike you, I bet she doesn’t have people taking care of that for her.”

I curse under my breath. None of this would’ve been an issue if Paige had let my team handle her publicity, including taking over her social media. The thing is, I’m pretty certain she didn’t release the tape either. But it’s impossible to talk to her rationally when she gives me ultimatums or sits there cooing over Anthony’s flowers. And she knows how those actions will push my buttons. She’s been with me too long not to.

I have another scotch.

“You should eat,” Elizabeth says, eyeing my untouched food. “I know you skipped dinner last night.”

“Keeping track of me, Mother?”

Two beats of silence. “Ass.”

The single word, muttered under her breath, stops me. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Her voice is tart.

“You said ‘ass.’”

“So?”

“You cursing is like, is like…” I can’t even think of a good comparison. “Like Mother Theresa making porn,” I say at last.

“Well, what’s a girl to do when her brother’s being a bone-head?”

“Fine. I’ll eat.”

I manage to shovel a few forkfuls down my throat and begin to feel slightly better. Eventually I finish every bite. I have to admit, it makes a difference.

But as soon as I finish I get up and leave, not bothering to wait for dessert. I don’t want to sit there and bear the waves of disapproval pouring out of Elizabeth.

Once I’m in my office, I lie down on the barcalounger and call my agent. She bitched about the surprise engagement, so she can hear about how things are going. Besides, she’s a good problem solver, and unlike Elizabeth, she doesn’t talk about how I’m like Shirley…possibly because she never met Grandma.

“You didn’t tell me Paige was pregnant,” Mira says.

“We wanted to announce it after the wedding.”

“Hmmm… Well, too late now.” She waits a beat. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Or so Paige said.

“I heard you had an altercation at the hospital.”

I make a face, remembering the crazy nurse. “Yeah. Some psycho fan. At least she didn’t come after me with a Jeep.”

“Hospitals have lots of sharp objects. I should have our attorney contact them. It’s unacceptable.”

“Handle it without making a big deal about it.”

“Will do.”

“And Mira?”

“Yes?”

“Paige moved out. Thought you should know now rather than find out because some idiot posted something about it somewhere.”

“
What?
”

“We’re taking a break. That’s how we should spin it. Or maybe she wants to spend some time with her friends or something.”

“Why did she move out?”

“It’s complicated.” I’m not telling Mira about the whole ugly mess. It’s private, and none of her business.

“She can’t do this. I don’t care how complicated it is.”

“You won’t interfere,” I growl. “I’m going to handle it.”

“How?” Mira growls louder, like we’re in some ursine competition. “If I’d known she was going to be this unreliable, I would’ve never suggested that you marry her, even for a year. God. How could I have misjudged her?”

For some reason, her irate tone and words annoy me. “You didn’t misjudge Paige. The spotlight was probably too much for her.”

“Ha! Do fish complain about too much water?”

My jaw flexes. Mira isn’t saying anything I haven’t thought, but it still pisses me off to hear the words out loud. I didn’t call her to listen to her go off on Paige. I need to get her back because the wedding is going to happen no matter what. She told me to find somebody more to my liking, but she doesn’t understand why I have to marry ASAP.

Technically, Dad gave all of us six months to find somebody and get hitched. I’m not worried about most of my siblings, but Lucas may be a problem. He made it clear he wasn’t interested, and unless all of us fulfill the conditions, none of us will get the portraits.

He needs to see that it’s no big deal to marry. It’s only for a year anyway. And I need to set the example since I’m the one least likely to settle down. Everyone knows my reputation and all the women I’ve “humped and dumped.”

“If she isn’t going to marry you, you should cut her off completely. No monthly allowance and no medical. That would serve her right,” Mira says. “And speaking of cutting, we need to do something about that idiot temp assistant you have. Every time I talk to him, I feel like I’m losing IQ points.”