“Stop, children. I think I can handle it.” I get up. “Good luck, guys. You’re all gonna need it.”
I duck, laughing, when Elizabeth throws a cushion at me. What can I say? I’m a charming brother.
* * *
Paige
Ryder, the sunglasses back on his face, doesn’t speak as we leave his father’s mansion. The smirk on his lips stays, and he brushes away both the butler’s goodbye and the note he tries to give him.
Sighing, Jarvis hands me the note. It’s written on heavy folded stock paper. “For Mr. Ryder Reed,” he intones.
Nodding, I stuff it into my purse and follow Ryder out.
The moment we’re in the car, heading toward our hotel in D.C., Ryder’s expression turns stony behind the dark lenses, and the muscles in his jaw flex.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“Shitty, of course. It’s Dad.”
“I booked you a suite,” I say. The partition’s up, so the driver can’t hear us. “If you want, I can arrange for a party.”
The offer pops out of my mouth. I’ve never volunteered to do that since every time he has a party, it’s a disaster I need to clean up. But Ryder looks like he can use a distraction.
“No,” he says after a moment. “Text Elliot and see if he’s going to stay here overnight too.”
He doesn’t have to say more. I know what he wants to do.
Ryder’s exceptionally fond of Elliot, although the twin really isn’t the person he ought to be hanging out with when he’s upset. Elliot is an enabler of bad behavior, the devil that sits on your shoulder and says go on, do it. Nothing’s too scandalous for the man, and he does whatever pops into his head.
At the same time I know Ryder needs to let off some steam, and he probably can’t do that with Blake or Elizabeth—they’re both too proper. And Lucas…well, Lucas doesn’t party anymore.
Ryder looks like he’d like to murder someone, probably Julian. A few irate letters and invoices are better than him getting booked for patricide.
Elliot texts back pretty quickly. Sure, sugar lips. Tell Ryder I’m free until my flight tomorrow. Maybe dinner too?
“Want to have dinner with Elliot?” I ask. “You have a reservation at Morton’s at seven.”
“Yeah.” Ryder breathes out heavily. “You okay on your own?”
I shoot him a quick smile. “I’m an adult, Ryder. I’ll be fine.”
Going out with them means heavy drinking and partying past midnight. I can’t do either, and I don’t want to tell Ryder about my pregnancy right now. He has enough on his plate.
“Oh, by the way… Jarvis gave me this. Said it was for you.” I hand him the note.
“It’s probably some pathetic plea to get him an audition.” Ryder takes it anyway and unfolds it. His face turns pale, and an ugly tremor runs through him. A sudden flush rises from his neck, and he crumples the paper and throws it against the partition. Hard.
“Fucking bastard.” His voice shakes. “Fucking bastard.”
I reach down and pick up the paper. What could Jarvis have said to anger Ryder like this?
The note says, Make sure to avoid another Lauren.
Pretty name, but no matter how I rack my brain, I can’t think of a single woman named Lauren who’s been around Ryder in the last four years. Maybe it’s somebody in the Facebook group, but I dismiss the thought. If she is to be avoided, she did more than join the pointless group.
“Who’s Lauren?” I ask.
Ryder glares at the paper I’m holding. “No one.” His tone’s still tight with anger and something that seems suspiciously like pain. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to hear about this again. Ever.”