Gesturing, he waved her to him and knew a moment of intense pleasure when she didn’t so much as hesitate.
As she approached, he held out his hand for her to take, which she did, and he pulled her to the end of the table where he positioned a chair for her.
“Let’s all sit down and then we can start at the beginning and go from there.”
Twenty minutes later…
“So, you see, my dear. In the end, it had nothing to do with our boy and everything to do with Phae Bellamy. Poor kid. In my country, we’d take care of all those involved in such a way that …”
Edward cut Mickey off. No need for him to finish that inelegant thought. It was bad enough that he was talking to Paige as if words challenged her instead of his usual motor mouth. The last thing this situation called for was a hypothetical trip to the mother country for a bit of justice, Russian style.
“Anyway,” he drawled with a censorious look directed at Mickey. “Phae was the target, but the girl has some real grit, and according to Perry, she didn’t shy away from making the lot of them big time sorry for messing with her.”
Paige shook her head and winced. Yeah. He knew the feeling. Once it was all out there, the bullshit was so thick it was damn hard to cut through all of it and find any sense. He’d heard whispers about this kind of shit, but this was the first time he’d looked into the abyss and been given a front row seat. Hollywood was one fucked-up town.
She leaned heavily, elbows on the table and her chin resting on her clasped hands. A pensive sigh accompanied another head shake, and then she sat back with a grunt, tapping her fingers on the table.
Mickey was watching her with uncharacteristic tension on his face. He looked at him, a question in his eyes. How the hell should he know how she was going to react, he wanted to say. But didn’t.
Until she spoke or responded in a significant way, he couldn’t get a fix on what she was thinking. She'd not said a single word as Mickey and he tag-teamed their way through the entire saga.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs several times. Stopped tapping and then started again. Mickey shifted in his seat, the swivel chair making a faint sound in the room’s silence. Edward was pretty sure everyone could hear his heart beating—that was how quiet it was in the room.
Paige leaned to the side and slid a hand into a well-concealed pocket in her skirt, withdrawing a fresh roll of mints. Brain food. She insisted the mints helped her focus.
He watched her intently as she picked open the foil at the end and peeled the paper back on several mints. After popping one into her mouth, she sat there and fiddled with the wrapper a minute, then took a second mint and popped that one into her mouth as well.
Wow. A two-minter. Some heavy shit had to be running around in her head.
“Um, so …” she muttered sharply. “Who are the bad guys in this story?”
Mickey and he exchanged another quick look. The tone she was using gave him the willies. The girl was scary when crossed, and it was probably not the best time to chuckle, but that was what he did when the willies turned to attraction in a big way.
She scowled at him. In a frosty tone that would make Santa cringe, she snapped, “Really, Edward?”
He surrendered with a shrug and nodded for Mickey to continue. Let the other guy be in her line of fire; that was okay with him. He was having a good time watching from the sidelines. Unless he was mistaken, Miss Paige Turner was gearing up to clean some poor shmuck’s clock.
The super-agent, a performer in his own right, dominated the proceedings with a great deal of flair. Moving into quick action, he wheeled a whiteboard close, picked up a marker, and began sketching out the cast of characters.
“Welcome to a Hollywood shuffle,” he opined as the names were revealed. “Everything always starts in the mud, eh? Our two mud rats are Joann Jones and Markus Gladford. We’ll leave Miss Jones out for now and just focus on the no good director.”
“Timeframe,” Paige snapped.
Oooh. She was good. Edward had to give it up. She was no fool.
Drawing a big, ugly dark ring around Joann’s name, Mickey snarled his answer. “When the circle rounds, I think it’s pretty clear whatever sick hole she’s got herself in will be at the root of everything.” Grunting a dramatic, “Pfft,” he radiated disgust.
Edward knew exactly what Paige really wanted to know. She’d had a heavy hand in negotiating his contract. If he’d been cast for nefarious reasons, she was going to be pissed.
“We don’t know how deep this thing reaches, babe.” She was biting at her lip; eyebrows bumped together … listening intently. “And to be honest,” Edward added with a lazy shoulder roll, “we’re better off not knowing.”
Mickey agreed as he grabbed a water bottle then used it as a prop, swinging it wildly and using it to make his point.
“It’s-always-there. The-depraved-underbelly-of-fame-and-celebrity. Sex-drugs-power-intrigue. Old-Hollywood-meets-new-Hollywood-only-now-there’s-eyes-everywhere-and-cell-phone-cameras-and-YouTube-and-the-papparazzi-behind-every-trashcan. It’s-not-enough-to-have-talent. All-you-have-to-do-is-ask-Phae-about-that. Or-you-Edward. You-have-actual-talent-and-despite-a-few-rookie-missteps-have-managed-not-to-sell-out-for-fame.”
Paige’s hand smacked the wood conference table, startling Mickey from his rant.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it, M. Edward’s a god, blah, blah, blah. Back on point, please. When did this start?”
He took over at that point. Mickey was managing to make things worse.
“Phae was the target, Paige. When she didn’t play with Markus and Joann, that sick as fuck producer calling the shots, Alan Sperry, wasn’t happy. That’s what M’s referring to. We want to steer clear of whatever sick, twisted sex-for-play thing they have going on. And don’t even get me started on the drug angle. Jesus but people are stupid. Anyway, because Phae rocked the boat and threatened to expose those two, they hatched this crazy sideshow starring me to take the heat off what was really going on.”
Mickey laughed in a way that sounded more evil than friendly as he added a bunch of names to the board. “Perry Waterman is in full damage control mode. Alan has been a wingnut for years and fuck knows why Perry continues to clean up the guy’s messes. But he’s offered an olive branch to Gideon in exchange for … well, I suppose you could say it’s in exchange for not blowing this whole thing up.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Paige drawled.
Shit. She had no idea.
“No!” She bolted out of her chair so fast it toppled over. “Absolutely not. Are you two out of your minds?”
Here we go, he thought.
“Who came up with this brilliant idea?” She was yelling. “Do you know what you’re suggesting?” The yelling had turned to accusation and finally, “Why me? No, for real, Edward. Why me?”
He took a big, deep breath and put his hands on Paige’s shoulders. The string of disjointed questions she was barking indicated a healthy dose of shock. She was freaking out for good reason. “Sit down, babe.”
Mickey had left them alone to talk, but so far, all she’d done was go off on him.
“Oh, back off, bud,” she snarled. Wheeling away from him, she put the conference table between them and kept yelling. “I’m serious, Mr. Banning. Whose crazy idea was this?”
If it weren’t for the fact that her face was on fire and her breathing choppy, he might have feared for his well-being. Instead, his libido read the signals she was putting off and was taking careful notes.
Flushed face. Mouth slightly swelled from all the lip biting. Heaving chest. Eyes flared with more than heat.