Phooey. Her skin prickling in all the wrong spots warned Paige that she was on thin ice. Despite the fun of lurk-stalking the quickly disrobing man, she knew it was time to act before hormones ruined their carefully thought out plan.
Nudging her sidekick, Paige held up three fingers, then two, then one. She motioned with her head that it was time to move and forcefully opened the closet door with a mighty kick. Rushing headlong into the tiny room, the clamor of their abrupt appearance would have startled the Buddha himself.
“Surprise!” the young woman fast on her heels squealed as they rushed toward the astonished, half-naked Adonis gaping at them. “Happy Birthday, Gideon,” she shouted excitedly.
Paige liked the plump girl with crazy hair and the organizational skills of the Queen’s private secretary. Carolyn was a worker bee with a green tea obsession that took having an excess of energy to an eleven. Sometimes, like now, her caffeine-fueled exuberance made Paige cringe. That and the girl’s ardent fangirling over every breath their boss took were exhausting.
“What the shit?” Gideon whooped huskily, a sly smile tugging the corners of his strikingly kissable lips.
Wait a minute! She knew that look. They hadn’t surprised him at all. He was just playing nice for Carolyn’s benefit.
“It was Paige’s idea,” her assistant trilled excitedly. Shoving an ice-cream cake in his face with one hand, she struggled to maintain her grip on a bundle of helium balloons that had shockingly survived the closet-bursting stunt.
Closet-bursting stunt. Ha! She’d have to add that to her extensive résumé of worthless piffle. Accomplishments: burst out of the closet. In this insane town, that alone was likely to get her an interview. It was a shame that none of the stupid bullshit that cluttered her work experience was of any value. A Hollywood work history had the tendency to run along the lines of absurd. Something that, after nearly six years as Gideon Shaw’s personal assistant, she knew all too well.
The warm smile he gave Carolyn was like a punch to Paige’s stomach, threading through her nervous system and heading straight to her privates. That damn knowing smirk of his always made her wet. And exactly what the hell did that say about her?
“Was it now? Hmm.” The droll tone he delivered with such ease earned a stern eye from her. “Leave it to Paige.” He laughed at his joke and then quipped, “Actually, sounds like a great pitch idea for a reality show.”
Punctuating the comment with a flirty wink at her adoring assistant was overkill.
What. A. Shithead.
“Don’t make me regret this, Shaw,” she muttered in a cool, overly polite voice. Straightening her shoulders, Paige pushed a pair of glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. Yes, that finger.
Carolyn’s fangirl-gasm, though annoying and getting old, could not have been timed more perfectly. The dull ache in her back and a sharp twinge every so often real low in her belly reminded Paige this was her time of the month to say less and listen more. Letting him work her into a snit until holy-hormonal hell broke loose and she chopped him into tiny manageable pieces before scattering them to the wind was only going to give him a laugh attack.
“Oh, you two!” Carolyn comically bawled. “Cut it out and let’s have cake!”
The pink-haired ball of energy hurried to the kitchenette, dropping the solid ice-cream cake onto the counter with a loud thud. “It’s chocolate,” the girl swooned. “Your favorite, Gideon!”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Rolling her eyes at the object of Carolyn’s drooling display, she snapped at their boss. “Cover up before she self-combusts.”
Snickering, he reached for the t-shirt thrown on the floor while Paige tried not to stare, something at which she failed miserably.
Standing nearly six-foot-three, Gideon Shaw was a card-carrying member of the panty-melting hot guy club. Broad shouldered and lean, he was muscled in all the right places but not in a crazy steroid way. The natural symmetry to his physique suggested a physically active man more than a pumped up bodybuilder.
She gave him a quick once-over before the t-shirt slid on, covering the unusual tribal ink at his waist that she knew extended down his hip. Having seen him countless times in nothing but briefs, she was aware of the marking. Even more so after one memorable occasion when he’d been wearing what the industry refers to as a cock sock for his privates—an absolute requirement in his contract. There would be no full frontal for Mister Gideon Shaw.
She’d been hard pressed not to fall to her knees and sing out “Hallelujah” when she got a firsthand look at the magnificent body he'd been blessed with. The only thing she’d never seen happened to quite literally be just the ol’ cock and balls.
But the rest of that remarkably sexy ink? It flowed across his hip, edging close to the seam where thigh met torso before ending perilously close to what the annoying cock sock covered. She’d never know if it went further.
With that randy memory thoroughly rattling her composure, Paige tidied a tendril of hair that had escaped her hairband and put some real effort into appearing unmoved by his display.
“Who’s got a lighter?” Carolyn chirped excitedly.
The helium-filled bouquet with the obnoxiously large Over-the-Hill at 30 center balloon mocked the occasion. It was his thirty-second, but in Hollywood, the longer you believably stayed in the younger demographic, the harder your agent’s dick was. Paige wouldn’t know, but Gideon certainly did. It was his quote, after all.
Snatching a promo lighter from a pile of swag the studio had sent over, he tossed it across the room barking, “Catch,” with a teasing chuckle.
Carolyn snagged it with one hand and absolutely no effort. According to her résumé, she’d been co-captain of the girls’ softball team in high school. It showed.
Applauding, their birthday boss heartily declared, “You‘re trying out for the studio team, Caro. And no whining! We need to beat those special effects guys this year.”
With a grumpy smirk in Paige’s knowing direction, he drawled, “Sick of having to salute every time one of ‘em walks by.”
She snorted loudly, unable to stop the rude noise because, after all, that part of winning the championship was amusing. The team that came out on top after a winner-takes-all three-game series walked away with sports glory, a hideous trophy, and the opportunity to bestow a penalty on the losing team. Nothing too outrageous, usually just a small dig that scoffed at the second-place status. The salute was minor compared to the stunts from previous winners.
Waving a red flag opportunity at her hopelessly starstruck assistant to hang out with their boss after work hours was a recipe for disaster, but Paige bit her tongue rather than pop the girl’s happiness balloon.
“Dibs on center field!” Carolyn hooted. “Suh-wing, right up the middle, straight for my magic glove.”
Paige sighed, her brows snapping together. Shoot. Was the girl ridiculously infatuated? Hmm. She had to stay on top of this situation—make sure it didn’t get ugly. Carolyn was a key member of Team Shaw. Paige could only realistically do so many things in a day. Without a competent assistant she could trust, her work life would be hell.
There was only one small complication with her reasoning, and that was Gideon himself. Paige’s primary function as his personal assistant was to support the phenomenon that was Gideon Shaw.
After a meteoric rise through a brutal industry and having starred in several blockbusters, he was the latest mega-action star and designated sexiest man. His two most recent roles, both highly successful romantic comedies, effectively silenced a chorus of naysayers and critics. Overnight, he became a romantic lead with huge dollar signs above his head.