The Gideon Affair (21 page)

Holy fuckballs. Shirley was here. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

Moving quickly, she went to her husband and put a hand on his shoulder so he’d sit back down, then turned to give a scathing up and down of the woman openly smirking at her.

“Mo,” Shirley cooed, only her tone suggested something not-so-subtly dismissive. “Who moved the rock and let you out? I thought you were … adverse … to appearing during the daylight hours.”

Edward bit back a laugh. Mickey did too judging by his quick throat clear. Paige? Not so much.

“Shirls,” Moira answered as she picked some imaginary lint from her dress. “I’m surprised you can still walk after laboring under that blob you married.”

Uh-oh. That sounded an awful lot like a burn.

Next thing he knew, both women started laughing and flew to each other for a fierce hug.

“You bitch,” Moira drawled.

“Takes one to know one,” Shirley answered pithily.

Then, some weird Ya-Ya type shit went down with both women reciting a bunch of words and making a series of gestures. His acting experiences and the different movies he’d had a role in offered a great deal of insight into how women’s relationships worked. Just because, as a guy, he didn’t understand half of what they were doing didn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful to them.

When they were finished and back to laughing, they stood arm in arm and faced the three of them.

Mickey muttered, “Sorority bullshit,” in answer to the silent questions swirling in the air.

Shirley pushed Moira into a chair and then immediately turned to Paige.

“We need to talk, sweetie.”

It was a statement, not a request. Mickey swiftly rose to his feet and gestured for Edward to get in line and follow him out of the room.

“Wait a minute,” he mumbled. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t leave Paige.

The lady herself settled his quandary with a curt nod and a fake, tremulous smile. “Go on. Let me talk to Moira and Shirley.”

“Are you sure, babe?” he asked. “I think I should stay.”

He eyed everyone with suspicion though he knew no harm would come to Paige or him by any of these people.

“Come on, my boy,” Mickey commanded as he made for the door. “It’s three against two so we might as well back away while we still have our dignity.”

What a day. In the annals of weird times, this one would go down as one of the most bizarre.

A soft drizzle of steamy water from the wide showerhead rained down on Paige. She was kind of engaged. To Gideon Shaw. Or was it Edward Banning? She wasn’t entirely sure.

After putting her foot down, she let Moira and Shirley know that an engagement, plenty of dinners out on the town, and shopping at the Grove where the paps could photograph them together was all she was willing to allow. For now.

The two women tried to change her mind, insisting that an elopement would shut the gossip stream in half without any effort, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

The blending of her personal feelings and professional activities was seriously messed up. She’d barely had time to absorb the change in her real relationship with Edward and what it could mean for the future before this other thing seriously blurred the lines.

Shit. The last thing she needed was Robin Thicke invading her mind with an earworm.

Distracted, she’d poured way too much of her favorite bodywash onto her shower pouf before she realized what she was doing.

Aargh. This whole thing sucked. Big time.

As the calming scents of vanilla with a hint of coconut filled the shower, Paige worked up a ton of foamy lather, stroking the pouf from shoulder to shoulder and around her breasts. Breasts that had been achingly tight since the moment Edward had locked eyes with her and suggested she marry him. Like for real or something.

Throughout the entire afternoon as everyone around them had plotted, arranged, organized, and once or twice even threatened, she’d felt Edward’s watchful scrutiny.

Okay, so maybe watchful was an understatement. While Moira and Shirley took over her life and Mickey worked the phone and did what he did, Edward had said next to nothing. He’d been too busy to talk. Too damn busy studying her like a bug under a microscope.

Had the attention freaked her out? Maybe a little. What was rattling her cage was the overwhelming feeling that she was his priority. Not his career and not this damnable predicament.

He’d always been her priority. Always. This was the first time she felt that focused intensity the other way around.

An involuntary, low-pitched moan—was that her making such a raw sound—shook her up when the sudsy pouf stroked near her mound.

Fuck.

She was ridiculously on edge and ready to jump out of her skin, sexual tension gripping her body.

Right then and there, the relaxing shower became a test of her will. Hurriedly finishing, she rinsed off and wrapped up in a huge towel, moving about on autopilot, as she got ready for the evening ahead.

Mickey had been truly amazing and the one to apply the brakes and slow down the speeding bullet train overtaking her life. He’d told them that like everyone else in town, the self-proclaimed Blog King, even the guy who interviewed Gideon, just really wanted a chip in the game. A seat at the big boy’s table.

Give the shitheads what they wanted, he’d argued. The best way to shut ‘em the fuck up, he’d insisted.

Despite the fact that the situation was a complete shit show, in the end, it wasn’t about Gideon Shaw. He’d been dragged into the mess as a distraction. If they played things right, their plan to shut down the chatter with a carefully orchestrated sideshow—starring her—would detour the media attention and give them time to frame the story to their advantage.

The doorbell chimed. Shit. She wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot but of goddamn course, Edward would be punctual. And then some.

Running to the door, Paige flipped the lock after peeking through the blinds, shouted, “It’s open!” then started to dash back to the bedroom.

“Whoa,” Edward chuckled after stepping through the door.

Dammit. He’d caught her in mid-flee. Aargh.

“Next time cover up with something bigger than a hand towel.”

Amusement and a hint of something else laced his drawl.

Hurrying to the safety of her room, she tossed a reply over her shoulder, “Next time text before knocking.”

His laughter filled her small house. “Hey,” he yelled after her. “Can I do anything for you, babe?”

“Yeah,” she hollered from behind her half-closed bedroom door. “Write me a goddamn bonus check.”

Edward’s low chuckle gave her goosebumps. Dressing as fast as she could, Paige heard the TV turn on and relaxed. Thank god, he found something to do.

There was no hope of fixing her hair; the steam shower made it an unruly mop, so she gathered it into a sloppy but chic upsweep and stuck a clip in to keep it in place.

Ordinarily, putting on her face took less than five minutes. Moisturizer, sunscreen, and a swipe of mascara usually did it, but tonight, she would be on display, so she needed more.

Waaaait a minute. Why in the hell am I hurrying?
Pfft
. Mr. Back-Me-Into-A-Corner could cool his jets. No use in me working myself to an anxiety attack for no damn reason.

Twenty minutes later, Paige was in front of the mirror and wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself involved in.

“Ah, jeez,” she groaned aloud. “I’m gonna murder Shirley.”

The outfit hand delivered by a high-end personal shopper without any input from her was so not her usual style.

Preferring a conservative but feminine and funky edge to her clothing, the short, slinky little black dress was light years away from anything she’d choose. Or feel comfortable in.

Having her hair piled atop her head left Paige’s neck and shoulders exposed, and she toyed with the idea of releasing the tangled mess. “Grrrr.” Nope, no duck and cover for her tonight.

The draping neckline and long sleeves seemed modest enough, but the damn dress clung to her like a second skin, stopping several inches above her knees. From there, it was quite a haul down her long bare legs.

And then there were the shoes.

She sighed and studied her reflection. Turning this way and that, she checked out the outrageous footwear from every conceivable angle. Posing like a runway model, Paige had to give it up for the stylish sandals with the wide leather ankle straps and satin ribbons. They were bangin’ and had overkill heels that made her legs appear even longer.

She looked like … she didn’t know what. Feeling like an alien in unfamiliar circumstances, she grabbed a couple of her favorite chunky bracelets for reassurance.

“Well, no more delay.” She’d signed on for this madness, and there was nothing to do now but see it through.

Grabbing the enormous designer bag, she squared her shoulders. “Remember who you are,” she said with determination.

Showtime.

“A
nd the survey says … bananas!” Wild applause and game show music caught Edward’s attention. Good thing too, ‘cause he’d been drifting.

Catching Paige in a sorry excuse for a towel had shot his just be cool plan straight to hell. It was her ridiculous legs. The damn things needed a warning label.

“Ahem.”

His head swiveled toward the sound. Mother of God. He was a dead man.

“I’m ready.”

Ready for what? To be thrown on the sofa and eaten alive? Calculating how fast he could get those mouth-watering limbs over his shoulders had momentarily distracted him.

She shifted from foot to foot. Was she nervous? God, he hoped so because all of a sudden he felt like a pimply teenager with braces on his teeth and a crappy strip mall haircut getting all moony over the homecoming queen.

It wasn’t at all normal for them to feel weird around each other. Worry pierced Edward’s brain. Balls. Screwing with their friendship wasn’t worth it if this crazy plan ruined what was starting to bloom.

“Shit,” Paige muttered darkly. “I look stupid, don’t I? It’s all right. You can tell me.” Her full-body shrug made a lie of the nonchalance she was projecting. “Shirley got carried away, huh?”

Edward swallowed and tried to find his voice. And his balls.

She tugged at the hem of the seductive dress and frowned. “I’ll change. Just give me five.”

Huh? “You’ll do no such thing.”

She tensed and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

“You look fucking amazing, babe,” he assured her while rising from his chair.

A half-smile played around her lips.

“Tell you what,” he quipped with a chuckle. “You wear those shoes more often, and I’ll double that bonus check.”

“Such a guy,” she joshed, but he saw the pleasure in her eyes before she looked away.

“What the hell with the suitcase, though,” he joked in return. “Is there a purpose for such a huge bag?”

Paige held up the enormous leather purse and laughed. “I know, right? Since I don’t want a purse-puppy to carry around, it’s okay with me if you stash a six pack of cold ones in here.”

He approached and pointed at the accessory that he figured was worth thousands of dollars. “Seriously, what do you carry in a bag that size?”

She opened it, and they both stared down into the black hole. “I have no idea,” she drawled. “Tossed my wallet in and my cell. That’s what’s rattling at the bottom. Whadayathink?” she questioned in all seriousness.

Pure Paige. Of course, she’d search for meaning in a designer handbag.

A hilarious thought occurred to him. “Hey, did you ever sneak candy and sodas into the movie theater when you were a kid?”

“Hehehe! Of course. Was a rite of passage in Dog Patch USA.”

Good comeback. She was a great conversationalist.

“Yeah, well, with this bag, you could stock up and make serious dollars cutting out the concession stand. Paige’s Purse.” He laughed.

It was good to laugh with her. Sharing their appreciation of the absurd was so Edward and Paige, and the thought warmed him. Edward and Paige. Yep, totally worked for him.

“Shall we go?” she asked. “I’m assuming the press has been tipped off?”

Oh. Right. The press. It was time for the Gideon Show with Paige as his latest arm candy. Fuck. Navigating this shit wasn’t easy. How was he supposed to explore his feelings for this intriguing woman when this dinner date felt as fake as a movie set?