Twenty minutes later, Paige was in front of the mirror and wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself involved in.
“Ah, jeez,” she groaned aloud. “I’m gonna murder Shirley.”
The outfit hand delivered by a high-end personal shopper without any input from her was so not her usual style.
Preferring a conservative but feminine and funky edge to her clothing, the short, slinky little black dress was light years away from anything she’d choose. Or feel comfortable in.
Having her hair piled atop her head left Paige’s neck and shoulders exposed, and she toyed with the idea of releasing the tangled mess. “Grrrr.” Nope, no duck and cover for her tonight.
The draping neckline and long sleeves seemed modest enough, but the damn dress clung to her like a second skin, stopping several inches above her knees. From there, it was quite a haul down her long bare legs.
And then there were the shoes.
She sighed and studied her reflection. Turning this way and that, she checked out the outrageous footwear from every conceivable angle. Posing like a runway model, Paige had to give it up for the stylish sandals with the wide leather ankle straps and satin ribbons. They were bangin’ and had overkill heels that made her legs appear even longer.
She looked like … she didn’t know what. Feeling like an alien in unfamiliar circumstances, she grabbed a couple of her favorite chunky bracelets for reassurance.
“Well, no more delay.” She’d signed on for this madness, and there was nothing to do now but see it through.
Grabbing the enormous designer bag, she squared her shoulders. “Remember who you are,” she said with determination.
Showtime.
“And the survey says … bananas!” Wild applause and game show music caught Edward’s attention. Good thing too, ‘cause he’d been drifting.
Catching Paige in a sorry excuse for a towel had shot his just be cool plan straight to hell. It was her ridiculous legs. The damn things needed a warning label.
“Ahem.”
His head swiveled toward the sound. Mother of God. He was a dead man.
“I’m ready.”
Ready for what? To be thrown on the sofa and eaten alive? Calculating how fast he could get those mouth-watering limbs over his shoulders had momentarily distracted him.
She shifted from foot to foot. Was she nervous? God, he hoped so because all of a sudden he felt like a pimply teenager with braces on his teeth and a crappy strip mall haircut getting all moony over the homecoming queen.
It wasn’t at all normal for them to feel weird around each other. Worry pierced Edward’s brain. Balls. Screwing with their friendship wasn’t worth it if this crazy plan ruined what was starting to bloom.
“Shit,” Paige muttered darkly. “I look stupid, don’t I? It’s all right. You can tell me.” Her full-body shrug made a lie of the nonchalance she was projecting. “Shirley got carried away, huh?”
Edward swallowed and tried to find his voice. And his balls.
She tugged at the hem of the seductive dress and frowned. “I’ll change. Just give me five.”
Huh? “You’ll do no such thing.”
She tensed and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty.
“You look fucking amazing, babe,” he assured her while rising from his chair.
A half-smile played around her lips.
“Tell you what,” he quipped with a chuckle. “You wear those shoes more often, and I’ll double that bonus check.”
“Such a guy,” she joshed, but he saw the pleasure in her eyes before she looked away.
“What the hell with the suitcase, though,” he joked in return. “Is there a purpose for such a huge bag?”
Paige held up the enormous leather purse and laughed. “I know, right? Since I don’t want a purse-puppy to carry around, it’s okay with me if you stash a six pack of cold ones in here.”
He approached and pointed at the accessory that he figured was worth thousands of dollars. “Seriously, what do you carry in a bag that size?”
She opened it, and they both stared down into the black hole. “I have no idea,” she drawled. “Tossed my wallet in and my cell. That’s what’s rattling at the bottom. Whadayathink?” she questioned in all seriousness.
Pure Paige. Of course, she’d search for meaning in a designer handbag.
A hilarious thought occurred to him. “Hey, did you ever sneak candy and sodas into the movie theater when you were a kid?”
“Hehehe! Of course. Was a rite of passage in Dog Patch USA.”
Good comeback. She was a great conversationalist.
“Yeah, well, with this bag, you could stock up and make serious dollars cutting out the concession stand. Paige’s Purse.” He laughed.
It was good to laugh with her. Sharing their appreciation of the absurd was so Edward and Paige, and the thought warmed him. Edward and Paige. Yep, totally worked for him.
“Shall we go?” she asked. “I’m assuming the press has been tipped off?”
Oh. Right. The press. It was time for the Gideon Show with Paige as his latest arm candy. Fuck. Navigating this shit wasn’t easy. How was he supposed to explore his feelings for this intriguing woman when this dinner date felt as fake as a movie set?
“Paige,” he murmured, taking the bag they’d been mocking off her arm. “Come here a moment. We should talk.”
He led her to the sofa by her hand and sat them down without letting go. There were things to say—important things—that he’d be a fool to overlook.
She sighed heavily and flopped down like a ragdoll, all gangly legs and waving arms. Before he got a single word out, she hurriedly blurted, “Nobody’s going to believe this, you know.”
That was where she was wrong. This charade that wasn’t said more about him than any carefully crafted press release ever could. Maybe Gideon Shaw was a pussy magnet with an overactive libido, but he was a different sort of animal. Edward craved what his parents had. A loving marriage with a partner who challenged and supported. Who knew the meaning of family and the importance of commitment.
“Honey,” he assured her with a squeeze of her hand, “one look at your legs in that dress and all the bullshitters will shut the fuck up.”
She looked at him skeptically.
“And we have a secret weapon, babe. Something I bet you never thought would come in handy.”
“What’s that?”
“Caro,” he drawled. Looking at his watch, he rolled his eyes and grinned. “Mickey called her. Said he had an important assignment that only she could handle. About half an hour ago, the first leak referring to our secret romance will find a way onto every social media feed in North America. By tomorrow night, your pink ball of fluff assistant will be ‘caught’ out, probably at the Grove, when she’ll spill the beans with firsthand info.”
“Oh.” She seemed perplexed and not at all convinced. “So she knows this is all fake?”
And there it was. The real problem. Fake, my aunt Bessie’s ass.
Edward brought her hand to his mouth. Kissing her knuckles, he shook his head and made her look at him. “No, Paige. This isn’t fake. That night at my house changed everything.”
“Edward, come on,” she groused.
“Give it up, babe. Pretending our only motivation is my career just cheapens what we know is going on.”
“It feels like cheating,” she murmured.
“Look at me.” Uh, shit. He hadn’t meant to sound like an ogre. Oops.
“Oh, no you didn’t.”
She had him. He grinned.
“Babe,” he chortled, glad for his slip because her reaction gave him more than a foot in the door. At this one moment, he was going to slip right past her defenses. “How can this be cheating if we’re close enough for you to call me on my shit? Think about it, honey. We’ve known each other a long time.”
She nodded solemnly, her eyes wide with cautious agreement.