I can’t seem to sleep. I stare at the ceiling. It’s already after one. A text pops up. It’s Renni, responding to pictures of the suite that she insisted I send earlier.
Holy…!!!
Since I’m not sleeping, I reply: One day you’ll be the one getting me upgrades like this. :)
Blowing out a breath, I shove the phone under my pillow. I should get some sleep or I’m not going to be any good tomorrow, but my thoughts keep drifting to all the craziness of the day.
Ryder’s public bio doesn’t even hint at a “hard to please” mother or manipulative jerk father. It glosses over both parents by mentioning that they’re wealthy and give back to society.
Now I find myself wondering: What else is just a glittery lie in his bio?
Lauren.
I googled for anything connecting him to that name, but came up blank. Maybe she’s a girl he liked in high school and things didn’t end well. High school’s full of ill-fated relationships. And I wouldn’t put it past Julian to mention it just to piss Ryder off. He’s pure asshole, and he makes my blood pressure rise.
He’s never sent a single congratulatory text or email or gift to Ryder for the string of hit movies his son starred in over the last four years, although that man has never had any trouble forwarding a nasty review. When he couldn’t find a critic who’d panned Ryder’s latest film, Julian clipped negative remarks from Amazon reviewers and turned them into a scrapbook, then sent it to Ryder on his last birthday.
Happy birthday. Don’t want you to get too arrogant.
How any father can be that petty, I’ll never understand. It’s not like he had to struggle to provide for Ryder or anything. The man is loaded.
Even though I’ve seen first-hand proof that money isn’t everything, I can’t stop thinking about how little I have in my bank account. The Wall Street Journal article I read before bed says it costs a cool quarter million to raise a child to the age of eighteen, not including college tuition, and college tuition’s rising at over ten percent beyond inflation.
A lack of money forced my mom to do a lot of stuff she’d rather not. She lived with men who weren’t the nicest because it was either that or become homeless, and she was determined to provide at least a roof over my head. She also endured a lot of abuse from such men, who thought providing the bare necessities meant they had carte blanche to be total douchebags.
So yeah, I know firsthand that being alone can be hard on a woman with modest economic means. I have family and friends, of course, but I don’t want to rely on them too much. A little too leech-like for my taste. Besides, my stepsister Bethany and her husband have their own careers and busy lives. I can’t dump a child on them while I keep Ryder out of trouble.
There has to be a way to make this work. I just need to be serious about looking for support programs and help. It’s not like I’m the only single mother in the city.
What about Mom and Simon? I don’t know what I’m going to tell them. The only thing Mom wants for me is that I don’t make the same mistake she did—which mainly means not getting stuck with the child of a man who doesn’t want either of us enough to hang around and do the right thing. Simon wants me to be the best that I can be. Unlike so many others, he thought I was smart and amazing, that I could be anything I wanted. Without his encouragement, I don’t know what I would’ve become.
Just the idea that I could be pregnant in this situation would crush Mom and disappoint Simon. And I’d rather eat broken glass.
Suddenly the door to my suite crashes open. I jackknife in bed, a scream welling in my chest.
The light comes on, blinding me for a moment. Ryder is leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom.
He’s so drunk, his eyes are bleary and he can barely stand. He gives me a smile. “Good morning.”
“It’s after one.” I pull the sheet all the way to my chin. I’m in an oversized, comfy pink t-shirt and white shorts with yellow smiley faces. The bright glittery pink GODDESS across my chest doesn’t change the fact that I refuse to face him in bed without some kind of shield. Even drunk he still exudes power and magnetism, and my hormones aren’t entirely immune to him.
“So. Morning.” His smile turns crooked. “Good morning.”
I roll my eyes in an attempt to ignore the warmth coursing through me. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s my suite.”
“No. Yours is next door.”
“Mmm. That’s not what I heard.” He stumbles forward.
I jump out of the bed to catch him. If he hurts himself, Mira will flay me alive.
He manages to right himself, grabbing one of the posts on the bed frame, and points at my shorts. “Cute. I like ’em. The worl’ needs more happiness.”
My cheeks flame. I’ve never, ever presented myself in anything except the most put-together, professional light, and him seeing me in my old, comfy things is totally embarrassing. Which is ridiculous, of course. Everyone wears comfy things and chills after work.
“I’ll buy you a pair for your birthday,” I say, keeping my voice tart.
“Awesome.” He puts a hand on my cheek. He’s very, very hot…like he’s burning within. Probably the alcohol. “Also… Paige?”
I lick my lower lip. “Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
Chapter Six
Paige
I stare into Ryder’s eyes. I know he’s drunk. But I never knew he did drugs.
There’s no way he’s proposing to me without being high on something extremely potent.
“Did you…um…do some kind of recreational chemical experiment?” I’m going to kill Elliot. Ryder has never done drugs before, not in the four years I’ve worked for him.
“Did I what?”
I cringe at how loud he is. “Do drugs,” I hiss.
He laughs. “No. But I drank about a hunnert thousand bucks’ worth of scotch. Good shit. Shane recommended it.”
Shane is Ryder’s cousin, the youngest man on the Pryce side of the family. I’ve never met the guy personally, but from what I’ve heard, he’s sensible. Besides, as far as I know, he lives in L.A., not D.C. “I’m sure he didn’t tell you to drink a hundred thousand bucks’ worth of scotch.”
Elliot, on the other hand? Yup.
Ryder shakes his head. “No. He recommended the liquor. Good stuff.”
I’m thinking, For that kind of money, it better pilot his jet and chauffeur his Ferrari, too, when Ryder puts his hand on my shoulder and locks eyes with me. “So.”
I shrink back at the sudden intensity in his gaze, but he doesn’t let go. “Is that a no?” Another burst of laughter, this one quieter. “I can’t believe I’m even asking. No woman can say no to me.”
“Maybe one can.”
“Only for a year. Promise. I’ll give you whatever you want.” He scowls. “It’s going to be the biggest joke. A fake marriage that’s more real than the CGI people believe. But I’ll be damned if Dad fucks me over. Fucks us all over. That asshole.”
“Ryder, you are drunk. Really drunk. Maybe we can talk about it tomorrow.”
I wish he’d gone and trashed a hotel suite with Elliot. I’d rather deal with an irate letter from an unhappy manager than this.