He studies my face for a long moment. “Okay.” He gets up. “Got it.”
* * *
Ryder
Paige is a terrible liar. She wouldn’t ask me for help if she were hiking through the Sahara with a thimbleful of water.
I thought the connection we shared in the morning meant something, but I see that it only meant something to me. It doesn’t to her…not the way I want it to.
I walk back to my office. The wet bar has a fresh bottle of scotch, compliments of some new distillery. Never tried their stuff before, but I won’t turn down a chance to maybe discover a new favorite.
After pouring a generous amount into a tumbler, I plop down on my usual barcalounger. I went over to see about taking her out for lunch. Yeah yeah, the media is awful, but I can get a private room at one of my cousin’s restaurants without a reservation. And a change of scenery might cheer her up.
But instead, I’m more convinced than ever that unless I figure out what Paige meant by how I trust her as my assistant but not as my fiancée, our wedding may just be called off.
Seriously though, no matter how long and hard I think about it, I feel like she’s overreacting. I don’t think I’ve treated her differently because her status has changed. As a matter of fact, I treated her with more respect and consideration as my fiancée. And I loved her body like I’ve never loved anything before. My cock hardens every time I think about the way she tastes…or that keening sound she makes in the back of her throat when she’s close to orgasm…
Shifting, I lean back and stare at the near-empty canvas that is Beautiful Emptiness. What few lines it has are fluid and beautiful. Mira thought I was insane to pay so much for the painting. Ditto for my business manager, Brian Miller.
Of course they share that opinion because they don’t appreciate art. They only see it as an asset: buy it low and sell it high.
My mind wanders, and I start to see shapes in the blank spaces between the lines.
Lace. Smiles. That shy look in her eyes as she lowers her eyelashes. Her belly grows. Masculine and feminine hands link together. Hips bump into each other, and there’s passion, but there’s also more.
A genuine emotion that I can’t identify.
For it to be called love, it’s too damn happy and stable, like it’s something that can last. In my experience, love is complicated and doesn’t last. Not to mention, it comes with more terms and conditions than a mini-series contract. Break any of them, and you’re screwed. There are no re-takes.
But I want what I see in the blankness. And a part of me is furious because I was so close to having it with Paige until the sex tape incident.
I could’ve had it all.
Now I don’t know if I’ll ever have it again, and the thought shreds my soul like a raptor’s claw.
Chapter Fourteen
Paige
Ryder doesn’t join me and Elizabeth for lunch. I wonder what’s going on; it isn’t like him to skip a meal. Elizabeth merely shrugs. “He’s probably googling his name and admiring himself. The news about him paying for the animal shelters in North Carolina got out.”
I shake my head. “Poor Ryder. He wants so much to keep it quiet, but not a lot of his philanthropic work stays secret, even when he tries to do it anonymously.”
“Well, people are interested in what he does. Besides, I think somebody’s leaking it.”
I gasp. The notion never crossed my mind. “Who would do that?”
“Whoever wants Ryder to look good? For all I know, he may be doing it himself.”
“No way.” I frown. “That isn’t like him. He doesn’t like the spotlight.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “Are we talking about the same person? Ryder Pryce-Reed?”
“I mean the, you know, positive heartwarming kind of attention. He just wants to be seen as this wild, bad playboy.”
“Never going to happen. Not when he does stuff like this.” Elizabeth finishes the last bite of her sandwich. “It’s pretty smart actually. It creates a certain quality about him.”
“Like what?”
Elizabeth considers. “Hmmm. Let’s call it…an unobtainable perfection. A man who’s just waiting for the right woman, the one who’ll make him want to commit. I bet that’s one of the biggest reasons women go nuts over him. They can’t decide if he’s a bad boy or a redeemable sweetheart with a gooey center.”
I laugh. “You make him sound like one of those jelly-filled donuts.”
She gives me a mock-serious look. “Hey now. Anything jelly-filled is redeemable.”
The rest of the afternoon is filled with more work and getting caught up. Keeping myself busy has an advantage—it’s impossible to dwell on stuff I can’t do anything about.
Ryder does join us for dinner, and we decide to eat at the smaller, more intimate table in the sunroom. It’s like an atrium that is made entirely of glass and faces the garden. The chef sets a platter of thinly sliced roast beef wrapped around veggie sticks and alfalfa sprouts, then drizzles a special dressing all over it. There’s also a basket of freshly baked bread, various cheeses, and a pitcher of fresh fruit punch.
My mouth waters at the incredible smells, and we dig in.
The meal goes well. We don’t talk about what happened earlier in my office. Of course, it’d be hard to do that with Elizabeth there, but I’m grateful anyway. I really don’t want to tell him what Mira said.
Ryder drapes a hand over the back of my chair, and I feel the heat radiating from it on my neck. The tension from the day melts, and I relax into the conversation.
He’s in a fine mood. Elizabeth eggs him on to tell her inside stuff about the movies he’s made.
“You sure?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “You’re going to be totally disillusioned.”
“Surprise me. I’ll take my chances.”
I chuckle. “While you’re at it, surprise me as well.”
Clearing his throat, he leans forward and assumes a conspiratorial air. “Okay. How about this: Most people think doing a romantic scene is pretty awesome, especially when the characters are gazing into each other’s eyes and all that.”
I blink at him. This is the last thing I expected him to talk about.
“They are really romantic,” Elizabeth says.
“Well, yeah…unless your costar keeps farting.”
I choke on my drink. Elizabeth snorts a laugh. “You’re lying!”
“I’m not kidding.” He raises a hand, palm out. “Scout’s honor.” The other one, the one that’s resting on the back of my chair, takes a section of my hair and wraps it around a finger.
My heart skitters a bit. “So what did you guys do?” I ask, doing my best to ignore the effect his hand has on me. “Edit out the farting noise?” For god’s sake, it’s just hair.
“We couldn’t because we couldn’t stop laughing. Besides, she was so embarrassed it wasn’t possible to continue.”
“What made her so…gassy?” Elizabeth asks.
“Bean burritos and yogurt off the local roach coach.”
“Oh god.”
“Yeah. So not only did we get the sound effects, but that movie was done in smellovision. We had to postpone the scene for a week. That poor woman.”