“Hey,” he murmured. “This is your reminder that it’s just you and me, sweetheart. Remember?”
She did. Hearing him call her sweetheart, though, completely wiped her brain of coherent thought. All the looky-loos watching them so closely might be getting an eyeful of super-sexy Gideon Shaw, but she’d just experienced a new side to Edward Banning.
Damn. She liked being his sweetheart. Nobody had ever called her that before.
Gently releasing her, he teased, “And don’t go making up lists of ground rules. That’d be like working from a script.””
She looked at him shocked. Was he reading her mind because she’d just thought that maybe they should have come up with some guidelines before jumping into the breach unprepared.
He pushed her in the direction of the ladies’ room. “You go freshen up, and I’ll have coffee and dessert at the table when you get back.”
Dessert? She could do dessert. “See if there’s ice cream. Vanilla is fine.”
His knowing smirk was all kinds of cute. Oh, my god, really? He’d even noticed her recent descent into ice-cream purgatory? Oy.
It seemed like overkill to haul the enormous bag for a trip to the ladies’ when she didn’t carry anything in it, so she left it and set off to find the bathroom. Almost the second she stepped away from their table, a waiter appeared with some helpful directions to get her moving in the right direction.
Her mind overflowing with thoughts of Edward and her, Paige ambled along in her usual loose-limbed way. When her eyes caught a couple who were balls-out pointing at her as they huddled together talking, she winced.
She was on display. She hated being on display. Instantly transforming herself, Paige slowed her walk, squared her shoulders, and rocked along on her undeniably sexy shoes. Considering what she was getting into, it occurred to her that she had better get used to the scrutiny.
With dozens of eyes on her judging and gossiping, she headed straight for the privacy of the restroom, hoping with each step that she didn’t wobble or fall flat on her face.
“Thank god,” she murmured once she was alone in the bathroom. Giving her reflection half a glance in a large mirror, Paige opted for one of the water closets in the corner and closed herself in the stall.
She really did need to pee and quickly relieved her poor bladder. They’d been drinking Sapporo nonstop since they sat down, and while Edward had slowed down because he was driving, she’d been having a high old time. There was nothing like a cold beer and some melt-in-your-mouth sushi. Complemented the wasabi and ginger flavors. Her favorite.
Maybe it was her buzz or maybe it was the interference of that pesky librarian part of her personality … she couldn’t be sure, but she was certain that she wanted this show and tell part of the evening to be over so they could go back to being who they really were.
And then she intended to jump his bones.
Whoooa. What? Jump his bones? “Oh, my god,” she groaned quietly, her head shaking in denial. She wasn’t sure if that was the alcohol or her libido talking.
The door whooshed open and shut, and right away, voices filled the room. Damn. Other people. Paige didn’t want to stumble out and put up with anyone gawking at her, so she stayed put, perched sideways on the closed toilet, and waited them out.
“I swear if he calls me his baby girl one more time, I’m going to throat punch him. Honestly.”
Hmph. “Make sure you get paid first and remember, any number followed by four zeroes is going to come along with an ass-load of stupid comments. Ignore it, blow him in the limo, fuck him in the pool, he signs the check, and you’re out … baby girl.”
Oh, my god. Was this really happening? Paige couldn’t believe what she was overhearing. From the sound of it, the two women were veterans of the pay-for-pussy squad. Just … great.
“Shut up, Vanessa. I can’t believe I have to put out for that old jerk. I get that he’s Hollywood royalty and all, but what the fuck with the obnoxious laugh. And to think, we used to love his movies. Ugh.”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. One week with Mr. Hollywood and your rent and car payments for a whole fucking year are paid. Stop your whining.”
Paige heard the sound of running water then what sounded like someone dumping an entire purse on the table. Having heard quite enough, she wished they’d hurry up and be gone before anyone gave any actual names.
“Well,” the complaining stranger cooed in a completely different tone than the harsh one she’d been using, “it’s not that I mind. Not really. I mean the guy has a barrel of boner pills and has been quite the old-school gentleman, making sure I get off, too. But …”
More running water and a few hushed giggles.
“I’d much rather have that gorgeous hunk of Gideon Shaw man meat handing me a check. Did you see him, Chloe? Holy Christ that man is hot.”
Laughter rang out.
“Yeah, I saw him. Are you kidding? The guy reeks of testosterone.”
Paige froze. Gideon Shaw man meat? Testosterone? Her heart started to beat harder. Sudden warmth rushed into her head, and she swore the walls and floor wobbled.
A heavy, cloying scent invaded her senses, and she clapped a hand loosely over her mouth and nose to block the disgusting smell. Really? Who used that much perfume? Argh. Blech.
The mumbling from the two women made Paige strain to hear what they were saying. Then they started talking louder, and goddammit, what an earful she got.
“But what the hell with that stick figure he brought out? I’d like to bitch-punt that little nobody and show Mr. Big Stuff a very good time.”
The two tittered while Paige’s teeth ground.
“Do you know who she is? Never seen that one before. I’d remember some itty-bitty tittie cardboard cutout in the mix, and she def isn’t a model. Not with that walk. Jeez,” the woman snickered, “first time in heels?”
Paige silently gasped, outraged. Itty-bitty titties? What a fucking bitch. There was nothing wrong with her boobage. Just because she hadn’t installed made-to-order lady lumps did not mean she was lacking. Some people, like her—like things natural. Real. That overused twat went too far, she fumed, ready to leap from the water closet and smack whoever was leading the insult barrage.
"Well," the other sniffed to highlight her response, “whoever she is, he’s making a damn fool of himself, right? I mean, the suit’s a nice touch, but this is Malibu, for Christ’s sake. He looks like he’s meeting with a bank’s loan officer—hardly date wear.”
“Maybe she’s his accountant.” Their snorts of mocking amusement showed what they thought of the bean counters who managed the cash flow.
“It’s a shame that grade A prime meat stick has to go slumming for ass. Miss Prissy Pants doesn’t look like she could handle what Gideon Shaw is packing.”
“Oooh, baby girl … Shaw Me the Way.”
As raucous laughter filled the space, Paige cringed in private. Feeling like a quickly deflated balloon, she slumped and fought for composure. Any other time she would have laughed off their catty comments. Wouldn’t she? What was different about tonight? Was it because she was playing the part of Gideon’s date or because she was out with her best friend. A best friend with whom she was unexpectedly involved?
Wounded, she was tempted to give the two strangers a piece of her feminist-swayed mind. The only thing stopping her was Paige’s deep disdain for public scenes. She loathed all the table-flipping, drink-throwing, foul-mouthed antics that dominated every news cycle. Anything for attention was not how she rolled.
Several long minutes later, she was finally on her way back to their table. Walking a straight line with blinders on, she was determined not to let the inquisitive stares and whispered commentary from complete strangers get into her head.
Edward rose the second she stepped into view, his happy smile immediately replaced by a questioning frown. By the time she'd stomped to her seat, his frown was a cross scowl.