A Hollywood Deal (Billionaires' Brides of Convenience #1) Read online

  Elliot taps his lower lip. “Come to think of it, maybe you should call Ms. Dubinski. See if she’s interested now that, you know….”

  “Fuck you.”

  He’s having trouble keeping a straight face. “At least she’s respectable.”

  “Were you serious about marrying a stripper?”

  “Yup. That’ll show Dad.”

  I snort a laugh. “Sure will.” If Elliot really follows through, it’ll put a huge crimp in Dad’s efforts to keep up with the Pryces. Nobody from that family ever married a stripper.

  “And the bride search will be hella fun.” Elliot grins.

  “Your birthday’s coming up,” I say. “If you haven’t found a decent one by then, I’ll send you one in a cake with a ribbon around her neck.”

  “Make sure she’s hot and either really dumb or really bright.”

  “I’ll get you the dumbest one money can buy. You deserve the best for your birthday.”

  Elliot chuckles. “Maybe I should hit Z when I’m back home. I heard Anthony’s in town, which means all the hot women are going to show.”

  My gut clenches at the mention of Anthony Blackwood. We used to be best friends, but things went south fast, partially due to me being stupid. Now Anthony hates me. He’s promised to make me suffer as much as he did.

  Elliot keeps talking as though he doesn’t notice my tension. “Come on. Let’s crank this evening up. Otherwise we’re going to get labeled as boring old farts, and I’ve got a rep to maintain. Besides, I’ll be damned if Dad’s gonna hear that we’re sitting here like losers with nothing but overpriced drinks in our hands.”

  At that, I get up. I too will be damned if I give Dad an ounce of satisfaction knowing that he’s causing me worry or that he brought a funk on.

  Because all this? It’s not me.

  Nope. It isn’t.

  * * *

  Paige

  I spend the evening in the suite next to Ryder’s. It’s actually bigger than the apartment I share with Renni. Lots of white and custard cream color decor with blue accents to brighten your spirit and lighten your day.

  It’s peaceful to order room service and just laze around in the opulent space, while reading up on what to expect now that I’m expecting, before hitting the stately four-poster bed.

  I hug a fluffy pillow and roll onto my side. The D.C. area feels different. It’s slightly cooler and wetter than L.A. More formal, too. Must be all the politicians and their people. You don’t see a lot of flamboyant congressmen on TV.

  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.

  Because this? This is dangerous. And I don’t have to be a genius to know it.

  Ryder pulls me close and buries his face in the crook of my neck. His breath fans over my skin, and warm shivers go through me.

  “I promise you won’t regret it,” he mumbles. “Make you the envy of the world.”

  “Ryder—”

  His arms tighten around me, cutting me off. He falls on the bed, dragging me down. I yelp. Somehow he manages to cushion me, then rolls until I’m lying under him.

  “Say yes, Paige. I need the painting,” he speaks against my neck.

  His hard body presses down on mine, and my skin prickles. I don’t dare say a word because I don’t trust myself to be rational. Not when my brain can’t seem to process any thought except, Oh my god, Ryder Reed is on top of me! Ohmygod, Ryder Reed is on top of me! Ohmygod, RyderReedisontopofme!

  I stare up at the white ceiling. Maybe I fell asleep after dinner. This has to be some bizarre, fat- and sugar-fueled dream because he isn’t making any sense. What does marrying me have anything to do with paintings or Julian “fucking” him and his siblings over?

  And I’m having this dream because I’m single again, and Ryder has starred in my fantasies more than once. But what woman hasn’t fantasized about him? He’s been voted The Sexiest Man Alive three times. He’s the devil put on earth to test women.

  After a beat of silence, Ryder says, “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” There’s no other answer. Besides, he’s drunk. Even when he’s sober, he calls me “babe” because he “can’t remember names.” No way am I taking this seriously.

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “Are you taking back your proposal?”

  He nods, scraping his five o’clock shadow against my neck. It goes straight to my bloodstream, desire pulsing through my nerve endings. Aching warmth spreads through me, and I rein myself in. What the hell is wrong with me? He is drunk. This doesn’t count.

  I don’t know how much time passes, but he’s starting to grow heavy. “Ryder?” I poke at him.

  He doesn’t move.

  “Ryder?” I say more loudly.

  He’s utterly inert, but warm and breathing.

  Wait… Did he fall asleep?

  I crane my neck back to peer at his face. Yup, he did.

  I’m partly relieved. Of course he passed out. He drank a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of scotch after all.

  With considerable effort, I lever myself out from under him and sit up.

  Romance novels I read often describe sleeping heroes as relaxed, approachable and sweet. Ryder is anything but. A frown pinches his eyebrows, and lines of tension bracket his tight mouth. A lock of hair falls forward. I reach over to push it back, then suddenly jump to my feet.

  What am I doing? I should know better than to get involved.

  I pace. When I was hired, Mira said to focus on Ryder’s flaws if I couldn’t control myself around him, and he has so many, it hurts my head. The man drank a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of scotch in one day!

  But he’s rich. It’s like you blowing ten bucks on a drink.

  Oh shut up, self! Then he came into my hotel room, uninvited and drunk, and threw the most ridiculous proposal ever in my face.

  And then took it back!

  He’s drunk. Give the man a break.

  I hate it when the perverse part of me wants to argue. Why can’t it just go along with the program?

  Putting my hands on my hips, I stare at the lump of divine masculine perfection sleeping in my bed. He has flaws. Oh so many flaws. Serious flaws. Ones that make him not at all attractive to me.

  He shifts in his sleep and reaches out with a hand. I regard it for a long while, a tug-of-war raging inside me. Finally I sit on the edge of the bed, take it gently, and watch the tension ease from his face.

  Chapter Seven

  Ryder

  The first thing I notice is the light. The room is too bright to be mine—I have blackout curtains. My head is clear, of course. I never get hung over—the single positive trait I got from Dad’s side of the family.

  At the same time my eyes feel dry and sandy. Just because I don’t get hung over doesn’t mean everything works perfectly after a night of excessive indulgence.

  I rub them, then try to focus on my surroundings.

  The pale vaulted ceiling. A vase of fresh cut lilies. And a cheap piece of art that isn’t worth the canvas it’s painted on.

  I sit up and look down. I’m in a king-sized bed, its silk-like white cotton sheet tangled around me. My jacket’s gone, but I’m in the same shirt and pants I had on yesterday, only they’re now wrinkled. And smelly.

  How the hell did I end up here? I try to piece things together. After I dropped off Elliot, I came over to the hotel, the front desk gave me a key and…

  “You’re up.”

  My head swivels to the armchair where Paige is sitting and watching me. She’s in a light green tunic and conservative custard-colored skirt. The ever-present apple pendant rests right at the start of her cleavage. Her hair’s pulled back into a cute ponytail, and the makeup on her face is darker than usual.

  My memory slowly starts to come back. Me coming into the suite. Her in that outrageously hilarious t-shirt and shorts. I’ve never seen her disheveled like that before.

  I asked her to marry me.

  And then… And then… I fell onto the bed with her. And she was soft and sweet, and even though I should’ve let go, I didn’t. I just stayed exactly where I was because I just couldn’t bring myself to give her up, even though she lay there stiff as a tabletop.

  Did I…do anything? I don’t give a shit if I was drunk. It wouldn’t excuse my forcing myself on her. I look down. Since I’m still in my clothes, un-torn and basically undamaged, I probably didn’t cross that line.

  Whew. So what did I do next? I wrack my brain, then it hits me.

  I took the proposal back, while still lying on top of her.

  Oh shit.

  Then what? She…kneed me in the balls? Slapped my face?

  I don’t recall. After that, everything faded to black.

  I cover my face and put pressure on the spot between my eyebrows with my middle finger. Fuck me.
What the hell have I done?

  “How are you feeling?” Paige asks.

  “I’m fine.” Then a realization dawns on me. “You’re in my room.”

  “Ah, no, this is actually my room. Yours would be next door.”

  Shit. Fucking hotel clerks. They probably thought I wanted to rendezvous with Paige without realizing she isn’t some H&D wannabe. “Did you spend the night here?” This is getting embarrassing because I don’t remember that part either.

  “No. Once I knew you were fine, I went to your suite. Which, by the way, is nicer than mine. I’m only here to check on you.” She stands up. “Our car’s going to be here in half an hour. You might want to get up and, you know, shower. I asked the cabin crew to prepare a hot breakfast for you.”

  She turns smartly, about to walk out, and I say, “Wait,” before I can catch myself.

  She glances over a shoulder. “Yes?”

  Her voice is coolly professional, and my gaze drops. “Nothing. I’ll be down in the lobby in thirty.”

  She nods and leaves.

  Ah, great. I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. Just what the hell happened last night? I’ve never drunk that much, enough to pass out and not remember.

  “Arrrrggghhhh!”

  I shove my hands against the sides of my head and hop into the shower. It’s all Dad’s fault. I shouldn’t even call him Dad anymore. Just Julian. He deserves that.

  I’m going to sue the son of a bitch. He deserves that too. He’s going down. I should’ve opted for that last night, instead of getting shitfaced and propositioning Paige. Mira knows every nasty asshole attorney in the city. Surely she knows one who can fuck him over.

  My new purpose in life energizes me. I throw on a blue polo shirt and shorts.

  But a lot of my anger and energy deflate when I see Paige again in the lobby. Dad didn’t force the liquor down my throat. He didn’t make me act like a total jackass with her last night, and I feel like pond scum.

  She’s tapping out something on her phone, her brows knitted together. Underneath the makeup, she is paler, and her mouth is stretched thin and flat.

  The drive to the airport is awkward and silent. It’s ten times worse than our flight to Virginia.