“Yup. And I’m so convinced he’s going to come around that I’m starting wife hunting tonight.”
I know what Elliot is doing. He isn’t going to just talk to Lucas. He’s going to marry ASAP to show Lucas that these marriages aren’t something we can just think about, but have to do.
“Sure, why wait? Online dating sites are open twenty-four seven,” Blake says.
“Nah. I’m hitting some strip clubs.” Elliot’s eyes gleam. “I want to check out my future bride in person.”
“Oh, lord.” Elizabeth puts a hand to her forehead. “Just don’t release any tapes. I’m permanently scarred from your last one.”
“Ah, so you watched it. Figures,” Elliot says.
“I saw your name and clicked on it before I knew what it was! Now I need therapy.”
“Why? It was hot,” Elliot says.
I just laugh. He released a sex tape with him fooling around with two very naughty girls. Dad denied it was Elliot—the movie was a bit grainy—but I recognized the tats.
“Not just my opinion.” Elliot jerks his chin my way. “Ryder sent me a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”
“You’re always encouraging him!” Elizabeth shoots me a look full of censure.
“It was a congratulatory gift for doing something that I couldn’t. But let’s get back to business here. Where am I going to find someone I want to marry for a year?” Given my job and status, a stripper’s not going to work.
“Want some of my leftovers?” Elliot says. “They’re so dumb, they won’t know what they’re doing even as they recite the vows.”
Elizabeth’s face scrunches. “That’s really not something to be proud of.”
“Sure it is.” Elliot grins. “You know how hard it is to find a girl that stupid but hot and available?”
“Stop, children. I think I can handle it.” I get up. “Good luck, guys. You’re all gonna need it.”
I duck, laughing, when Elizabeth throws a cushion at me. What can I say? I’m a charming brother.
* * *
Paige
Ryder, the sunglasses back on his face, doesn’t speak as we leave his father’s mansion. The smirk on his lips stays, and he brushes away both the butler’s goodbye and the note he tries to give him.
Sighing, Jarvis hands me the note. It’s written on heavy folded stock paper. “For Mr. Ryder Reed,” he intones.
Nodding, I stuff it into my purse and follow Ryder out.
The moment we’re in the car, heading toward our hotel in D.C., Ryder’s expression turns stony behind the dark lenses, and the muscles in his jaw flex.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“Shitty, of course. It’s Dad.”
“I booked you a suite,” I say. The partition’s up, so the driver can’t hear us. “If you want, I can arrange for a party.”
The offer pops out of my mouth. I’ve never volunteered to do that since every time he has a party, it’s a disaster I need to clean up. But Ryder looks like he can use a distraction.
“No,” he says after a moment. “Text Elliot and see if he’s going to stay here overnight too.”
He doesn’t have to say more. I know what he wants to do.
Ryder’s exceptionally fond of Elliot, although the twin really isn’t the person he ought to be hanging out with when he’s upset. Elliot is an enabler of bad behavior, the devil that sits on your shoulder and says go on, do it. Nothing’s too scandalous for the man, and he does whatever pops into his head.
At the same time I know Ryder needs to let off some steam, and he probably can’t do that with Blake or Elizabeth—they’re both too proper. And Lucas…well, Lucas doesn’t party anymore.
Ryder looks like he’d like to murder someone, probably Julian. A few irate letters and invoices are better than him getting booked for patricide.
Elliot texts back pretty quickly. Sure, sugar lips. Tell Ryder I’m free until my flight tomorrow. Maybe dinner too?
“Want to have dinner with Elliot?” I ask. “You have a reservation at Morton’s at seven.”
“Yeah.” Ryder breathes out heavily. “You okay on your own?”
I shoot him a quick smile. “I’m an adult, Ryder. I’ll be fine.”
Going out with them means heavy drinking and partying past midnight. I can’t do either, and I don’t want to tell Ryder about my pregnancy right now. He has enough on his plate.
“Oh, by the way… Jarvis gave me this. Said it was for you.” I hand him the note.
“It’s probably some pathetic plea to get him an audition.” Ryder takes it anyway and unfolds it. His face turns pale, and an ugly tremor runs through him. A sudden flush rises from his neck, and he crumples the paper and throws it against the partition. Hard.
“Fucking bastard.” His voice shakes. “Fucking bastard.”
I reach down and pick up the paper. What could Jarvis have said to anger Ryder like this?
The note says, Make sure to avoid another Lauren.
Pretty name, but no matter how I rack my brain, I can’t think of a single woman named Lauren who’s been around Ryder in the last four years. Maybe it’s somebody in the Facebook group, but I dismiss the thought. If she is to be avoided, she did more than join the pointless group.
“Who’s Lauren?” I ask.
Ryder glares at the paper I’m holding. “No one.” His tone’s still tight with anger and something that seems suspiciously like pain. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to hear about this again. Ever.”
I nod.
“Forget it ever happened.”
“Done,” I say, but I’m thinking Not likely. It isn’t every day my debonair boss reacts this strongly. Not even a huge fire on the set of his last movie ruffled his feathers. The name definitely means something, and now I am insanely curious.
We drop our bags at the hotel, and I ask the driver to take care of Ryder and Elliot. They’re going to need a designated driver after they’re finished doing…whatever it is they’re planning to do.
“Have a great time,” I say to Ryder as the chauffeur holds the door open.
Ryder nods. His face is back to its old self, but there’s a hint of grimness to the set of his mouth. “If you change your mind about coming out, give me a call.”
The chauffeur shuts the door with care, and through the window I can see Ryder reaching for a bottle of scotch.
This is not going to end well.
Chapter Five
Ryder
We’re still in the first club. We were going to move on, but I don’t feel like leaving. Seems like too much damn effort.
It’s a sweet club. The VIP room isn’t bad either. Elliot picked it out, which means it has the nicest liquor, best music and hottest girls in the skimpiest outfits.
“You sure you don’t want to get any girls up here?” Elliot asks.
“Not really.” I don’t want their faux smiles, their grubbing hands and calculating eyes.
Lauren. A name I haven’t thought of in years. I pushed it out of my mind, and didn’t even associate with women with that name.