“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.