Quickly stashing the ice cream in the freezer and loading up an entire drawer in the fridge with yogurt, she folded the brown paper bag—an odd habit learned in childhood—and shoved it into another bag. Sometimes she wondered about her quirks because, after all, who the hell else had she ever known to alphabetize their spice cabinet?
Paige shrugged the thought away. She’d rather be an organization freak than a messy slob.
Groceries handled, she still had a stack of mail that demanded attention, but she was one huge ball of stress. The best thing she could do right then was to relax. That was what a day off was supposed to be about. Right? But she had a tough time putting her needs first. Figuring she needed a backbone, she headed into the living room and toward the large sectional sofa. Grabbing a soft throw off the arm, she kicked off her shoes, pulled the band out of her ponytail, and flopped onto the couch.
There. Time to relax.
A couple of minutes ticked by in silence.
Dammit. Why couldn’t she get comfortable?
Shoving the throw blanket aside, she uncurled, sat straighter, and repositioned, settling into the plush cushioning with her legs crossed as she attempted a casual lean against the overstuffed arm.
That was good for about a minute. And then her foot started to waggle. Soon the movement became a full-on nervous shake.
I wonder what Edward’s doing …
Paige’s head fell onto the back of the sofa as she released a weary groan. Why the hell couldn’t she keep him out of her thoughts?
Her inner voice wasn’t a goddess doing acrobatic moves or a fallen angel with questionable tastes. Nope—she had a rather stern librarian type in her head that tsked at bullshit and pushed back when Paige got wishy-washy. About anything.
The truth was, despite the über-efficient and terribly, terribly straightforward way she conducted herself, Paige was a dreamer. Always searching for deeper meaning in just about everything, she yearned for the extraordinary. Her mom said she was like that expression still waters run deep … calm and controlled on the outside but possessing a passionate nature that surprised those lucky enough to access her inner world. That was why she couldn’t keep him from her thoughts.
“So, Mr. Shaw … this has been quite the year for you.”
Edward was in yawn mode as he faced off with the nonstop parade of the press. The studio had asked the cast to sit down and make nice with some questionable interviewers. Probably because the producers had realized the movie was going to be a shit show, so they orchestrated a little damage control well in advance of the release.
Plus, he hated press sit-downs in general. Especially when Paige didn’t have complete control.
“Well, Dave, it’s certainly been busy … I’ll give you that.”
The look his response garnered suggested that the pale, stick-thin reporter who showed up wearing a t-shirt with a rudely offensive message and jeans that looked like they’d been plucked out of the laundry pile didn’t like him very much. Or at all. Take your pick.
“Must be nice. All the attention and awards.”
Oh, fuck. Another spank monkey with a shit attitude who wanted to prove his manhood by acting all kinds of snarky.
Fabulous.
Figuring it was best to head this bullshit off and push the interview into safer territory, he gave a perfunctory non-response response and waited to see where the fucker went next.
“I’m just grateful for the work and the opportunity to give the fans something worth the money they shell out. Awards are nice, but I’ve always focused on the bigger picture.”
These interviews had a certain rhythm. Knowing they filmed his every expression made him ever alert to subtext and nuance because the person asking the questions was who edited the final piece. During the filming, it was unnecessary to focus on the interviewer since they would add his reaction shots later.
When the asswipe studied his page of notes and didn’t so much as acknowledge Edward’s answer, the skin on the back of his neck prickled. Something wasn’t quite right. That sixth sense he’d developed in the war—the one that got him ramped up to alert status in a nanosecond—was broadcasting on high.
“Your box office numbers are quite impressive …”
He wanted to laugh in this little prick’s face when the guy paused for effect. What a fucking joke. He did realize that he was interviewing an actor, right?
Putz.
“… but e-qually as impressive …”
Had that fucker just tried to imitate Snape when he said that? Nobody pronounced equally quite the way Alan Rickman did.
“… are the numbers your sex tape has generated. Best I can figure, that particular starring role of yours has been a cash bonanza for Fierce Videos.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. No way was this going anywhere good.
“Care to comment on that?”
Care to comment. Jesus. What an unbelievable dick.
Two things flashed simultaneously in Edward’s mind. First … why the hell wasn’t Paige here? She’d have this nutsack on his knees in ten seconds. And second was the idea of answering the question by shoving his dick down the guy’s throat.
Helluva comment that’d be.
Instead, years of iron-willed self-control kept him motionless in his seat. No way was he giving this turd anything useable.
Without missing a beat, Edward’s eyes bored into the interviewer. For a couple of seconds, the idiot actually tried to stare him down.
Good luck with that.
Didn’t take long for the smarmy shit to lower his eyes and clear his throat.
Uh-huh. Spineless pussy.
An incredibly long, tense silence followed. Edward never moved a muscle nor did he look away from the guy’s face.
Dave, for his part, caved in immediately, after which he put off a classic conquered vibe.
This guy was a lowercase s.
More regret that Paige wasn’t around followed the caustic observation. She would have gotten the reference and laughed like hell. It was something that had become a regular joke because she insisted they had a twisted D/s relationship where each of them played both parts. Only in a business sense.
He believed the point she was trying to make involved the term switches, but it wasn’t like he knew what the fuck any of that was about. If he hadn’t previously portrayed a character dabbling in the kink lifestyle, chances were he wouldn’t have much of a working knowledge of that whole scene.
Eventually, the camera guy coughed and the moment passed as Dave realized Edward, or rather Gideon, was deliberately giving him nothing. That didn’t mean, however, that this guy was finished. No way.
Picking up as if none of that had just happened, Dave gathered his wagons in a circle and went in for the money shot.
“Earlier, Ms. Jones let, uh … slip …”
Okay. Mentioning Joann’s name almost got a reaction. If she was stirring the pot, he was going to make her very, very sorry for messing with him.
“… that she knows a bit more about your video romp than anyone suspected.”
Ice water fed into his veins. He hated gossip. All the flame throwing, insult hurling, body shaming, and holier-than-thou judgment that the Internet fueled was anathema to a guy like him. He pretty much figured that if ya had time for shit like that, it spoke of an empty life. A life driven more by what others might or might not do as opposed to one’s own behavior.
In a voice meant to sound menacing, he bit out, “Is there a question in that Dave or are you just spitballing for a reaction shot?”
The interviewer smirked.
Here it comes, he thought and waited for whatever grenade this asshole thought he had.
Quickly holding up a picture taken a couple of nights earlier of he and his co-star out on a very public dinner, Dave started laying down what the guy apparently imagined was a kill shot.