“Everyone has a story.”
“And you want to be the one to do that.”
“Of course. I want an exclusive.”
“You should go through Christopher.”
“I tried, but he won’t even return my calls. Apparently he won’t return anybody’s calls about you.” Derek sighs. “Which is why I’m contacting you directly.”
I consider. I don’t mind being next to Ryder while he’s in the spotlight, but I can’t imagine having all that public scrutiny and interest shift over to me. I’m just not someone who’s comfortable with that. And an exclusive? Good lord.
“Come on, Paige. You owe me. Remember all that help I gave you when you called me three years ago?”
I can’t help but snort at his cajoling tone. “And you got an exclusive with Ryder out of it.”
“Kinda had to, in order to help him. Look, think of it as a way to tell your story your way, so all the assholes out there can’t just write whatever the hell they want.”
I sigh. He has a point. The news has barely broken and already I’m the target of speculative ridicule and hate by people I don’t even know because of who I’m marrying. And the marriage isn’t even real anyway. “Fine. I’ll do it sometime after this week.”
“Great! The sooner the better. I’ll send you a few possible dates.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryder
I can’t sleep. The clock by my bedside reads one thirty a.m.
I stare at the ceiling…then over at the door connecting my suite to Paige’s. The business meeting took longer than expected, and the traffic seriously sucked. Maybe I should just start flying everywhere in a helicopter. Then I wouldn’t have missed Paige. I had plans for us.
Damn it.
Irritated, I throw on a robe and go downstairs to the kitchen. When all else fails, there’s the old stand-by: make something to eat and watch a movie until I feel sleepy again.
It doesn’t take me that long to put together chicken and mushrooms sautéed in dry white wine and truffles. The chef and housekeeper keep the fridge stocked with stuff they know I like to munch on at night. There’s even a premade pizza crust, which is good because I don’t feel like putting one together from scratch.
While the pizza bakes, I go to the movie room. It has no windows, just a giant screen and the state of the art surround system. The soft leather seats look more like beds than true theater chairs. The one in the center already has a blanket over it, perfect to snuggle under. The portable table has napkins. The housekeeper always keeps the room like this because she knows I come here when I can’t sleep.
I scroll through what I have. Mira sent some kind of artsy European film a few days ago, which sounds like just the thing. It’s bound to put me to sleep.
After I set everything up, I go back to the kitchen for the food, which should be ready any min—
Paige is there, standing on the tiles in nothing but a long gray Tweety Bird t-shirt. Her nipples poke at the cotton, and my dick twitches in response. I haven’t seen much of her since the meeting at Samantha’s office, and she is hot. I can’t exactly say why—she isn’t in lacy lingerie, trying to seduce me like the usual chick. She’s just herself, no artifice. And it feels fresh and natural. I can’t think of the last time somebody tried to just be themselves around me.
She flushes and gestures in the general direction of the oven. “I was hungry and came down…” She shifts her weight.
“I made enough to share.” I give her a smile, trying to put her at ease. This is her home too, now, and I want her to feel comfortable in it.
I put on a pair of mitts and pull out the pizza. After I let it rest for a few minutes, I place it on a platter. “Junior wants some?”
“Yes. I’m starving,” she says. “I didn’t eat that much for dinner.”
“You should’ve. Oh, and sorry I missed you earlier. I had a meeting.”
“No problem.” She makes her way to the fridge as I cut the pizza. “What do you want to drink?”
“Coke.”
She grabs a can of Coca-Cola Classic and a glass of ginger ale.