Mickey looked up. Moira went still. Paige turned and stared at him.
“Paige and I have a real relationship. She’s not here as my assistant and nothing happens without her complete consent.”
Dammit. He needed to talk to her. Alone. This bullshit wasn’t working for him. At all.
In the next instant, the door to the conference room flew open. He expected to see a puff of smoke that would clear and reveal an evil queen or at the very least some flying monkeys. Instead, the presence of none other than Mrs. Mikhail Klein filled the doorframe.
Holy fuckballs. Shirley was here. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.
Moving quickly, she went to her husband and put a hand on his shoulder so he’d sit back down, then turned to give a scathing up and down of the woman openly smirking at her.
“Mo,” Shirley cooed, only her tone suggested something not-so-subtly dismissive. “Who moved the rock and let you out? I thought you were … adverse … to appearing during the daylight hours.”
Edward bit back a laugh. Mickey did too judging by his quick throat clear. Paige? Not so much.
“Shirls,” Moira answered as she picked some imaginary lint from her dress. “I’m surprised you can still walk after laboring under that blob you married.”
Uh-oh. That sounded an awful lot like a burn.
Next thing he knew, both women started laughing and flew to each other for a fierce hug.
“You bitch,” Moira drawled.
“Takes one to know one,” Shirley answered pithily.
Then, some weird Ya-Ya type shit went down with both women reciting a bunch of words and making a series of gestures. His acting experiences and the different movies he’d had a role in offered a great deal of insight into how women’s relationships worked. Just because, as a guy, he didn’t understand half of what they were doing didn’t mean it wasn’t meaningful to them.
When they were finished and back to laughing, they stood arm in arm and faced the three of them.
Mickey muttered, “Sorority bullshit,” in answer to the silent questions swirling in the air.
Shirley pushed Moira into a chair and then immediately turned to Paige.
“We need to talk, sweetie.”
It was a statement, not a request. Mickey swiftly rose to his feet and gestured for Edward to get in line and follow him out of the room.
“Wait a minute,” he mumbled. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t leave Paige.
The lady herself settled his quandary with a curt nod and a fake, tremulous smile. “Go on. Let me talk to Moira and Shirley.”
“Are you sure, babe?” he asked. “I think I should stay.”
He eyed everyone with suspicion though he knew no harm would come to Paige or him by any of these people.
“Come on, my boy,” Mickey commanded as he made for the door. “It’s three against two so we might as well back away while we still have our dignity.”
What a day. In the annals of weird times, this one would go down as one of the most bizarre.
A soft drizzle of steamy water from the wide showerhead rained down on Paige. She was kind of engaged. To Gideon Shaw. Or was it Edward Banning? She wasn’t entirely sure.
After putting her foot down, she let Moira and Shirley know that an engagement, plenty of dinners out on the town, and shopping at the Grove where the paps could photograph them together was all she was willing to allow. For now.
The two women tried to change her mind, insisting that an elopement would shut the gossip stream in half without any effort, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
The blending of her personal feelings and professional activities was seriously messed up. She’d barely had time to absorb the change in her real relationship with Edward and what it could mean for the future before this other thing seriously blurred the lines.
Shit. The last thing she needed was Robin Thicke invading her mind with an earworm.
Distracted, she’d poured way too much of her favorite bodywash onto her shower pouf before she realized what she was doing.
Aargh. This whole thing sucked. Big time.
As the calming scents of vanilla with a hint of coconut filled the shower, Paige worked up a ton of foamy lather, stroking the pouf from shoulder to shoulder and around her breasts. Breasts that had been achingly tight since the moment Edward had locked eyes with her and suggested she marry him. Like for real or something.
Throughout the entire afternoon as everyone around them had plotted, arranged, organized, and once or twice even threatened, she’d felt Edward’s watchful scrutiny.
Okay, so maybe watchful was an understatement. While Moira and Shirley took over her life and Mickey worked the phone and did what he did, Edward had said next to nothing. He’d been too busy to talk. Too damn busy studying her like a bug under a microscope.
Had the attention freaked her out? Maybe a little. What was rattling her cage was the overwhelming feeling that she was his priority. Not his career and not this damnable predicament.
He’d always been her priority. Always. This was the first time she felt that focused intensity the other way around.
An involuntary, low-pitched moan—was that her making such a raw sound—shook her up when the sudsy pouf stroked near her mound.
Fuck.
She was ridiculously on edge and ready to jump out of her skin, sexual tension gripping her body.
Right then and there, the relaxing shower became a test of her will. Hurriedly finishing, she rinsed off and wrapped up in a huge towel, moving about on autopilot, as she got ready for the evening ahead.
Mickey had been truly amazing and the one to apply the brakes and slow down the speeding bullet train overtaking her life. He’d told them that like everyone else in town, the self-proclaimed Blog King, even the guy who interviewed Gideon, just really wanted a chip in the game. A seat at the big boy’s table.
Give the shitheads what they wanted, he’d argued. The best way to shut ‘em the fuck up, he’d insisted.
Despite the fact that the situation was a complete shit show, in the end, it wasn’t about Gideon Shaw. He’d been dragged into the mess as a distraction. If they played things right, their plan to shut down the chatter with a carefully orchestrated sideshow—starring her—would detour the media attention and give them time to frame the story to their advantage.
The doorbell chimed. Shit. She wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot but of goddamn course, Edward would be punctual. And then some.
Running to the door, Paige flipped the lock after peeking through the blinds, shouted, “It’s open!” then started to dash back to the bedroom.
“Whoa,” Edward chuckled after stepping through the door.
Dammit. He’d caught her in mid-flee. Aargh.
“Next time cover up with something bigger than a hand towel.”
Amusement and a hint of something else laced his drawl.
Hurrying to the safety of her room, she tossed a reply over her shoulder, “Next time text before knocking.”
His laughter filled her small house. “Hey,” he yelled after her. “Can I do anything for you, babe?”
“Yeah,” she hollered from behind her half-closed bedroom door. “Write me a goddamn bonus check.”
Edward’s low chuckle gave her goosebumps. Dressing as fast as she could, Paige heard the TV turn on and relaxed. Thank god, he found something to do.
There was no hope of fixing her hair; the steam shower made it an unruly mop, so she gathered it into a sloppy but chic upsweep and stuck a clip in to keep it in place.
Ordinarily, putting on her face took less than five minutes. Moisturizer, sunscreen, and a swipe of mascara usually did it, but tonight, she would be on display, so she needed more.
Waaaait a minute. Why in the hell am I hurrying? Pfft. Mr. Back-Me-Into-A-Corner could cool his jets. No use in me working myself to an anxiety attack for no damn reason.