The Gideon Affair (33 page)

“We were thinking about driving an RV from there. Next stop Wyoming and then on to Montana when the movie is ready to shoot.”

Paige curled up next to him and put her head on his shoulder while his arm draped about her.

“Dad, listen … we’ll catch up later. For now, just chill. I have this. You and Mom aren’t to worry, okay? Paige and I have some stuff to sort out on this end and then we’re heading out. Let’s just keep that in mind and all the other stuff will blow over in time.”

After a round of I love yous and a few more jokes, the call ended. “Did you tell them?”

“Actually, no I didn’t. The story and pictures were enough for the moment. Did you tell your folks?”

“Uh … not really. Mom wasn’t listening anyway. I sorta promised we’d go for a visit. Thought we could do it then.”

He hugged her tight. “You do know it won’t take long for the news to get out. Right?”

“Could say the same to you,” she murmured into his neck. He didn’t respond so she sat up and gave him a questioning look. He said there were pictures. And a story. Maybe she’d better check it out.

“I need to get changed, and we should FaceTime Mickey before he has a stroke. So, how do you want to do this? I can call for a car, take care of business, and meet you later.”

“No.”

That shut her up. Oookay, then.

“I’ll take you home. We can contact M from there. Just let me grab my laptop and change my shirt and we can leave.”

He knew something, and he wasn’t saying anything. Well, she’d have none of that.

“Tell me. And don’t paraphrase.”

He wedged into the corner of the sofa, tilted his head on the back, and stared at the ceiling. “The FBI raided Alan Sperry’s ranch yesterday. They’ve detained him on trafficking charges. There were drugs and guns, too.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Right?”

“What does that mean?”

He sat forward and leaned his forearms on his thighs. For a good minute, he said nothing and just stared at his clasped hands. “I don’t know. That part came out of left field, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens next.”

“Okay. But you said there were pictures. And a story. Care to clue me in?”

“Shadow Gossip dot com ran their lame ass story. Their spin was that Phae, Joann, and I were in a love triangle. The usual insinuation about that fucking tape was in the story. Apparently, it's Phae and me now.” His disgusted shrug was to be expected.

“Then, this morning, as if it had all been planned, the Sperry story broke and so did pictures of us from Nobu. Right on schedule, Caro let it slip to some blabbermouth she knew at the gym that her two bosses were doing the nasty. Class performance from that one ‘cause everyone thinks we have a disgruntled employee to deal with. Didn’t take long for the goddamn dots to connect. Caro’s bosses, Gideon’s mystery dinner companion, Phae, Joann, our movie, and Alan Sperry. All tied up in one neat package.”

“Wow.”

“The press went after your folks, huh? Got mine too, the bastards.”

“Oh, jeez. Whatever. That’s minor compared to an FBI raid. Didn’t see that coming. So, what happens now?”

“I deliberately avoided M until we had a chance to talk. In one of his fifty texts, he pressed us to go public and I wasn’t sure what you’d think about that.”

“You weren’t’ sure what your fiancée would think, or you weren’t sure what your assistant would say?”

“Both. This isn’t how we thought things would go. If Perry lets Alan go down, and no one would fault him if he did, that probably means the movie is toast. I don’t care one way or the other, but Phae gets screwed big time, and Joann, well, we already don’t give a shit about her.”

“Sweetie. That’s all Gideon stuff and honestly,” she mimed, “with one hand behind my back and a dead battery. Understand?”

“You’re right. Whatever. Gideon Shaw is on his own.” He snickered. “Let’s take that sparkler you’re wearing out for a spin and get you some clothes. And some food. I’m feeling an In and Out burger for lunch.”

She started running for the door, laughing at his amused expression. “Animal fries, a chocolate milkshake, and I’m in!”

One Week Later …

A dinner roll went whizzing by his head, landing on a counter behind him. “I said I needed some peace … not asked if you wanted a piece.”

“No use in crying foul, babe. You asked for it.”

Yes, she had to admit. That was undeniably true. They were on hyper drive with the clever wordplay, both finding it endlessly amusing to turn practically every word and phrase into something lewd and suggestive. As she was setting the table for dinner, she’d casually remarked how much she was looking forward to their road trip. The peace she referred to by getting away from it all quickly morphed into a piece. Of ass. Hers. The result had been an overcooked chicken and a pan of biscuits that could double as weapons because they were so hard.

She wasn’t complaining. At all. Why would she? It was thrilling to have a seriously hot and sexy guy trying to get inside you morning, noon, and night. In the span of one week, she’d had more sex, and in more unusual places, than should be possible. And it wasn’t all him, either.

Just the other day, she’d taken him by complete surprise while he was building her a pergola at the WeHo house. She’d been watching from the kitchen window while he got all sweaty swinging a hammer. Ate an entire Dove bar in the process. When the t-shirt came off, she was out the door in seconds.

Marching right up to him, she’d taken the hammer from his hands, dropped it on the ground, taken him by the hand, and dragged him inside. Where prying neighbors couldn’t see.

Unbuckling and removing his tool belt had been all kinds of sexy. But going to her knees to concentrate on the zipper and button of his jeans had been hotter than hell.

His hip tattoo got all her attention that time. Once she got his pants off and he was stark naked with a ferocious hard-on, she let her fingers, lips, and tongue get intimately acquainted with the sexy ink. It was in the right zone, after all.

She found out a helluva lot about the black tribal marking that time. Like how it swept over a hip, down his groin, and seemed to disappear in the hair that framed his penis. But the surprise was how low and far the ink went. Like right into the seam where thigh joined torso, curving lower until the pattern abruptly ended near his balls.

That had to have hurt, so like the wanton little fiancée she’d become, Paige set about making his poor shlong forget the trauma of a tattoo gun. And she wasn’t sure which one of them liked the occasion more. Her or him.

It came as something of a surprise to realize that with Edward, she eagerly went down on him—no excuse needed. She just liked it. A lot. After all, his shaft was a masterpiece, and it took about ten seconds to realize that when she got into it, it was all kinds of hot to suck him off to completion. Nobody came like he did—not in the movies, not in books, and not in any porn she’d seen.

Shoving the pan of useless, overbaked chicken aside, she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and sneered playfully.

He was trying not to smirk, but it was useless. Wrapping her in a big hug, he reached for her ass and squeezed. “Come on, frowny face, admit it. Dinner might be ruined, but ya gotta give it up for multiple orgasms.”

They’d weathered the storm, more or less, and managed to go quietly about their business despite the overbearing presence of the paparazzi and the gotcha techniques they used.

Perry Waterman had severed ties with his business partner the minute the FBI raid went public. Mickey said it was evident from how swiftly Waterman’s team moved after the story broke that they knew either what was coming or perhaps even had been the ones who’d tipped off the feds. Mostly, Perry seemed relieved. His associates dealt with the media scrutiny with impressive professionalism.

She’d reached out to Phaedra Bellamy. The poor girl was being dragged through some icky stuff, and she wanted to help. Mickey proved what a stellar human being he was when he volunteered to get Moira on her side. Alan Sperry’s trafficking charges exposed a scary, dark world where young girls, and guys too, were traded as commodities and forced into high-end sexual slavery in the world of mansions, private jets, and yachts in the Mediterranean.

Paige hadn’t realized that Phae was only nineteen, about to turn twenty. She handled herself so well that her age wasn’t important. But the press liked to spin and spin and spin when it came to salacious gossip, turning Phae into the presumed target of the traffickers. That wasn’t exactly true. Alan had wanted her for himself, as a toy he could share with his butt buddies, Markus and Joann. What a fucking mess.

But they were leaving in a few days for Denver and from there, their schedule was wide open. A weather snafu in Montana had moved the start of filming to the beginning of September, so Edward and she decided to go full monty with the RV rental. Just like when they researched Wyoming properties, they’d spent hours together doing research online for the right vehicle.

Nothing too big or flashy—after all, part of the fun was doing the whole RV camping thing. They didn’t want their ride to scream CELEBRITY, so they eventually settled on a motorcoach that wasn’t big and ostentatious but also wasn’t tiny and cramped. And best of all? It was a Thor motorhome, which started a thousand jokes, one-liners about Thor’s mighty hammer, and Asgard with loads of emphasis on the ‘ass.’ She could not wait.

B
ooking a private jet to take them from Los Angeles to Denver was probably overkill—it wasn’t that long a trip—but the expense had been worth the experience. Especially with his cool-as-a-Popsicle assistant and fiancée pretending to be his personal flight attendant. After takeoff, when they were able to move around, she’d served him lunch complete with a linen napkin meticulously placed on his groin, adjusting it several times, in fact, until it was just right. She even flashed him—wearing white lace boy-short panties—and calmly inquired if he’d be requiring access to the cockpit during their flight.

He’d very nearly choked on his sandwich.

A huge weight lifted once they left L.A. behind. He was sick of the constant paparazzi presence wherever they went. Paige was handling it better than he was, having acquired this Zen-like attitude and an empty smile that the gossip sites found boring after a while. She never reacted to any of the trash talk the photogs used to force a camera-worthy reaction out of them.

Only once, when that shithead blogger who tried to one-up him had gone digging in her past, had she reacted at all. Getting her contact info had been easy. The studio gave it out all too freely, and from there, Dave what’s-his-name had a field day. Since there wasn’t anything lurking in Paige’s personal story that smelled like a scandal, he wrote a callow piece that disregarded her Cornell degree and focused instead on her high school cheerleading career. Publishing her yearbook picture and another one of her in full seventeen-year-old cheerleading glory had set her off. Big time.

He had done the sensitive guy thing and let her vent, then roasted her nonstop with every cheerleader joke and meme he could find. He smiled remembering how he’d teased her endlessly until she gave up, threw in the towel, and went through a private and very memorable performance of a dozen different cheers. He had no idea she’d been a rah-rah girl.

Though the chartered Gulfstream was comfortable, there wasn’t a guarantee of privacy or enough room for them to make love in the air. So they settled on the sofa with Paige quite boldly straddling his lap while they played Kill, Fuck, Marry and laughed their asses off.

“Have fun with this one. Thor, Captain America, and Tony Stark.”

“Seriously?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Patsy and I did this one a couple of times, so the answer is easy.”

“That’s what they all say.” He pinched her butt and grinned when she yelped. “Start choosing or I’ll call for default.”

“Okay, smartass. Here goes. Tony Stark gets killed ‘cause if anyone could figure out how to come back from the dead, it’s him. Then Thor, of course, gets the fucking. A chance to try out the hammer of the gods?
Pfft
. Where’s the choice, hmm? Which leaves Captain America suited up at the altar because, of the three, he’s the best husband material.”

Not bad. Not bad at all. “Bravo, Miss Turner. Well done. Now me. Give it your best shot.”

She peered at him and chuckled. “Princess Leia, Hermione Granger, and … Black Widow.”

“You’re a cruel, heartless bitch.” He had a thing for all three. Served him right for telling her that.

She rocked and rolled on his lap with a wicked giggle, reaching between them to stroke his cock through his pants. “So you’ve said. Now quit stalling and kill someone.”

“Damn. All right. Um, Black Widow has to die, I’m afraid. She’d kick my ass without breaking a sweat and my ego can’t have that.”

Paige laughed with real glee. “Continue.”

“I think I’d have to fuck Leia because she’d have some otherworldly shit going on and could probably teach me a few Tatooine sex moves.”

“I like the way you think, Mr. Banning. Always eager to learn new things.”