“Well, there it is. Get him blacklisted, make sure that no one will return his calls or let him read for a part. Make him toxic. Avenge Paige,” Elizabeth says, with more than a little heat.
I stare at her. “What happened to my sweet sister?”
“She’s too outraged to be sweet right now. I just feel sick to my stomach thinking about what Paige must be going through.”
“You really think she has nothing to do with the tape?”
Elliot and Elizabeth both stare at me. A very long moment passes, and I start to feel uncomfortable under their gaze. “You think she does?” Elliot asks finally.
“Well…yeah. The thought crossed my mind, especially when I heard she scheduled an interview.”
“But that’s crazy. If she wants fame, this is the worst way to do it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because she’s already famous for marrying you! And it’s a helluva lot more respectable than a sex tape.” Elliot knocks back his drink. “I released mine because I wanted to embarrass the shit out of Dad. Plus, I basically didn’t give a fuck. But Paige is different.”
“Exactly.” Now it’s Elizabeth who decides to drive in how wrong I am. “People crave fame because it can get them something—mainly an ego boost and money. What does this give Paige? No respectability, certainly not love. And she has to know that this might make you call off the wedding.”
“In which case, she’s not getting whatever you promised in return for marrying you.” Elliot reaches for the bottle and pours himself some more. “Besides, if she wanted money, she would’ve failed your test years ago.”
That makes me hesitate. I always probe a new hires’ suitability by having my private investigators pretend to be “journalists” trying to buy information about me. They always offer decent amounts of money with the promise of more to come. The total sum adds up to mid-five figures a year.
My men tried four times—the last one offering a low six-figure deal for just two stories—and Paige turned them all down flat. No exceptions, no hesitation whatsoever. That’s why I began to trust her soon after I hired her. And the trust turned into something else, something more precious as time went on.
But that was before Paige saw what fame could do in Hollywood. She could’ve changed…just like Lauren.
“Paige had no idea she would end up marrying you,” Elizabeth says. “I don’t think the idea ever crossed her mind. And tell me. Who proposed first? Did you ask Paige to help you or did she offer first?”
“I did. She thought I was crazy when I asked her.”
“See?”
“If you have to jump to a conclusion about the guilty party, I’d look at Dad.”
My head swivels in Elliot’s direction. “Dad?”
“He’s the most likely person to pull this shit. Okay, let’s say that her boyfriend leaked it. What does he get? Ten minutes of fame. But unless he’s a complete idiot, he’ll end up alienating you and every one of your friends. If I’m a guy trying to break into the movie business, the last thing I’m going to want to do is piss off one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, plus his agent, plus all the people he knows. It’d be career suicide. But Dad?” Elliot gives me a meaningful look. “I can see him doing it. He’d get to humiliate you. He knows what you’re doing. And we all know he has no desire to hand over the portraits.”
Neither Elliot nor Elizabeth knows about another possibility: Anthony.
Still…
This isn’t his style. Or at least it wasn’t when I knew him. But he used Paige to get invited to the party. And for all I know, he may no longer think that women are off limits. After all, he promised to pay me back by hurting me the way I hurt him. And that means he’s going to have to hurt a woman who is close to me.
“Ryder.” Elizabeth reaches over and pats my hand. “Being suspicious and hurting the people who care about you and who you used to trust isn’t how Grandpa wanted us to be. He always saw the best in us. We should try to live up to that.”
I swallow the rest of my drink. My sister has a point of course. But Grandpa also wouldn’t have wanted me to be careless and get blindsided.
We drink some more, the silence heavy. Sometime during the night, the security team texts me that Paige has returned. I don’t get up. I still don’t know what to do about her.
Finally we finish—a bottle of scotch and half a bottle of Riesling killed between us—say goodbye, and I go upstairs to my suite. After changing for the night, I hesitate at the connecting door. I shouldn’t even want to go inside, not until I sort out my thoughts about the situation.
But I find myself slowly opening the door.
The night-light is on, and I see Paige’s body under the sheets. She’s curled up in a fetal position. The tip of her nose is red, and her face is tear-streaked. Her eyebrows are pinched as if she’s in pain, and I lean down to kiss her forehead even as I feel like the biggest piece of shit and don’t even know why. I’m still pissed off about the tape, and Mira’s words won’t leave my mind. But a part of me still wants to comfort Paige.
A knot twists in my chest. I crawl into bed and pull her closer. It’s only for a moment because my head is too messed up and despite everything I want to hold her. Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me?