Elliot takes another scotch. “You want to change the duration? You know you can’t end it soon—”
“No! I don’t want to end it! Period.”
Elliot chokes on his drink. Some of it comes back up, and he covers his nose. “Shit! Ah, that’s nasty.” He grimaces at the wet spots on his shirt, then pulls it off completely. It ends up in a heap on the floor. “Does this mean what I think it means?” He takes in my expression and leans back, his mouth parted in wonder. “Son of a bitch. You’re in love with her.”
“What about it?” My voice is belligerent.
He shakes his head slowly. “Oh. My. God. Who would’ve thought? You were complaining about how marrying her is the cliché of all clichés. What was it you said? ‘Not even Hollywood would make a movie that terrible’?”
I grind my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
“I just think it’s funny. You know, in a holy shit kind of way. Of all people, you are the last one I thought would fall in love. Your mom’s side of the family isn’t exactly known for warm, touchy-feely stuff.”
They aren’t, although things seem to be changing there. Even my sociopath cousin Dane is hooking up with somebody. So who knows? Maybe it’s my turn.
But I’m sure if Fate is real, the bitch is laughing at my expense.
Elliot sniffs. “Look, I know the love business bothers you. But if you don’t want her to leave you, why don’t you just tell her you’re in love with her? I’m sure she’ll cry with joy and promise to be with you till death do you part. All that good st—”
“I already told her.” A painful sense of loss and humiliation burns through me. “She was horrified.”
Elliot’s eyes bug out. “Seriously? You sure you didn’t misread her emotions? I mean, you must’ve been nervous. Probably just didn’t catch the, I don’t know, subtle nuance of her expression or something.”
“I was not nervous, you jackass. I’m never nervous around women. And I know how to read Paige. Trust me. She was absolutely, utterly horrified.”
“Wow.” Elliot raises his eyebrows and gazes pensively down into his whiskey. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, “Sorry, man. That’s just…awful.”
It’s worse than awful. I can’t decide what hurts most. That she doesn’t love me back, or that she never considered me someone she could depend on. Why can’t she see that I want to provide and care for her?
“You still want to go ahead and marry her?”
“Yes. And in any case, I can’t call it off now without humiliating her.” I laugh bitterly. The media would bring up the fact that she starred in a sex tape, and the vultures would come out again. “But what’s the point? I can’t have her for a year and then lose her to someone else out there she wants more.” I don’t know how I ever thought I could let her go after one year. Was it because I didn’t know I was in love with her?
I wish I could go back in time and somehow make sure I never realized what’s in my heart. Then it would hurt less. Ignorance was indeed bliss.
“I’m sorry.” Elliot brings out a third bottle of scotch. “Two won’t be enough.”
I nod and knock back another mouthful of fiery drink. But no matter how much alcohol I consume, I can’t push Paige’s horrified expression out of my mind.
This is probably why men never say, “I love you” to women first. Rejection and humiliation I can deal with. I suffered through plenty of both when I was young and starting out in Hollywood. But the idea that she will never be mine…that someday she’ll leave me and find somebody else…cuts me wide open.
If it didn’t affect Paige, I would rather call off the wedding than have her for a year only to lose her. If I get used to life with her—as my wife—there’s no way I’m going to survive the divorce…and life without her.
* * *
Paige
Ryder doesn’t come home. I try calling, but he’s not answering. Elizabeth tries as well, but she only gets his voicemail.
“This isn’t like him. Wonder where he is.” She puts down her phone.
“No idea. He didn’t tell me anything.” I already checked his calendar. He doesn’t have any appointments this afternoon. A moment later, my phone buzzes and I jump for it. Maybe it’s Ryder calling me back.
I need to tell him I love him too, and that I never told him because I was afraid. I need to tell him that I was stunned by his declaration and that he is definitely wrong about where I was coming from and that I want him back home.
Mira’s name flashes on the screen, and I deflate faster than a spiked tire. “This is Paige.”
“Is Ryder there? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for over an hour.”
I hesitate, debating if I should confront her about her role in funding Bethany’s company. A part of me wants to hash it out right now, but rationality prevails. It isn’t the kind of topic I can talk about over the phone, especially when I’m emotional and unprepared. Mira is too sneaky and slick. “No. He left this morning and hasn’t been back.”
“He said he wanted me to swing by. Apparently he has something important to discuss.”
“When did he contact you?” Ryder was so angry earlier. Maybe he wants to talk to her about the threats she’s posing against my best friend and stepsister.
“A few days ago. I was out of town, but I’m now back.”
Okay. So whatever he wanted to talk to her about can’t be the blackmail stuff. “Well, I don’t know what it’s about. But I’ll let him know you called when I see him.”
“Great. Thanks.” She hangs up.
“More people looking for him?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah.”
“Where could he have gone?”
It’s a rhetorical question. “Excuse me. I have to get some work done.”
I go upstairs to my office. I need to make two lists. One is everything I want to tell Ryder regarding his declaration. The second is all the things I’m going to tell Mira to get her to leave me and my friends and family alone.
I’m going to fix this.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ryder
Something buzzes, the sound like a large and particularly obnoxious bee.
It continues. Probably something important.
I look over at Elliot. “Visitor,” he mumbles.
We’ve killed two bottles of scotch. The third one is about a quarter empty. Alcohol smolders pleasantly in my veins, and I don’t ever want to leave Elliot’s couch.
“You tell anybody you were coming over?”
“No.” I glance at him. “Probably someone delivering another inflatable doll.”
Elliot gives me the finger. “It’s not a delivery guy. They just dump the packages at the concierge desk and run.” He groans and levers himself up. “All right, all right.” He mutters a few choice words, then buzzes the person in.
“Who is it?”
“Your agent.”
A mix of ugly emotions rears its head. I glare at the door as Mira walks in. She’s in her usual black dress and shiny black patent shoes, and she looks as slick as spilled oil. Her red lipsticked mouth purses. “Good god. What the hell is this?”