A Hollywood Deal (Ryder & Paige 1)

It changed everything for me.

“Good morning.”

The cheery greeting pulls me away from my gloomy thoughts. In front of me stands Ryder.

He’s in a deep blue shirt that brings out his eyes, framed by long lashes that look like he’s put on a coat of mascara—except he hasn’t—and a pair of denim shorts that hugs the narrow hips and tight, round ass that has women drooling all over the world.

At the moment he’s grinning at me, a dimple popping on his cheek. It is one of numerous features that women swoon over. Some have even posted YouTube videos of them licking it—not the real dimple but off magazine covers.

I run my index finger along the slightly convex surface of my pendant as honeyed warmth travels over my skin.

“What you looking at, babe?”

“The evidence of your latest H&D’s intellect,” I say.

He leans closer to the picture I’m holding. “She send something?”

“No. The hotel did.” I push it toward him, making sure we don’t touch. “You should’ve been pickier.”

And he should be. He can get any woman he wants! Why settle for dumb and dumber?

He glances at the photo, then starts laughing. “I’ve never met anyone who couldn’t spell asshole.”

“Actually, you have.” My voice is dryer than a box of sandpaper. “In fact, you slept with someone who can’t spell asshole.”

He tosses the stiff sheet on my desk and takes a seat in the plushy armchair across from me. One ankle rests on the opposite knee. “So what? It was just sex, not a spelling bee. I don’t even remember most of it.”

The date on the invoice catches my attention. It has to be a mistake because it is the day of his cousin’s rehearsal dinner. A typo. Or…

“You did go to the rehearsal dinner, right?”

“You saw the pictures of me at the wedding.”

An evasive answer. So easy to recognize, especially after four years. “Dinner. The dinner. There were no paparazzi at the dinner. Tell me you went.”

“Yeah, sure. But I might have been a little late.” He shrugs.

Riiiiiiiight. “How late?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t wearing my watch.”

“Did you eat even one course there?”

“Well, I would’ve…if it hadn’t ended early.”

I sigh, resisting the urge to bury my face in my hands. Ryder is a generous boss. He pays well and often gives big bonuses to his staff.

But he is also impossible.

I usually need to accompany him to places since he doesn’t always keep his appointments unless they’re work-related, and he doesn’t pick up his phone. He also does everything in his power to avoid his family, especially his parents. He often “humps and dumps” women, who leave incredible messes behind. Trashing hotel suites is the least of what they do. They also join the Facebook support group—yes, there’s actually a Facebook freakin’ support group—to complain and commiserate and post YouTube videos describing what they did with Ryder in graphic detail.

One of them even uploaded a sex tape, which thankfully turned out to be of someone other than Ryder. But the incident required tons of extra work by not just me, but Mira and a team of publicists. Unlike me, she was mainly interested in capitalizing on the moment and twisting it into an opportunity to raise Ryder’s “hot factor”.

“When a woman has sex, she’s a slut. When a man has sex, he’s a stud.” Mira didn’t even look perturbed when she told me that. “It’s unfair, but that’s life. I’m not going to let this shit mess up all the good we’ve done for Ryder.”

It was so sexist, it still makes my teeth hurt.

And Ryder always comes out of everything smelling like roses.