But the laughter had stopped when he’d silently pointed at the bed—staying under his parents’ radar meant they hadn’t talked, using gestures and head movements instead.
Motioning for her to get on her back and spread her legs, he’d delivered a delicious payback that had ended with his hand covering her mouth to muffle her cries as he licked her to a violent orgasm.
There was no going back to sleep after that.
He’d taken the opportunity while waiting for his dad to FaceTime Mickey for an update. In every way that mattered, his clever fiancée had saved the day with her brilliance. She’d been totally right and had given them the kill switch of all time. According to M, panic over what the FBI was finding out fueled a desperate attempt to deflect attention to Gideon. It was unclear who was the mastermind, but it didn’t matter.
A lot had happened in a short time after Mickey and Edward’s lawyer paid a second visit to Perry Waterman. Almost overnight, Joann hightailed it to the Mediterranean for yacht season. Many rich men with fat checkbooks were eager to pay for whatever brand of fuckery she was dishing out. Smart, although a sadly desperate move on her part. By removing herself from the L.A. scene, she wouldn’t have to deal with Alan’s mess in public.
Markus was going down. There was no way to save him. The dumb fucker let his fingers right click and save a few too many Internet files with questionable content. Well, at least Joann had readied his butthole with her strap-on talents. It would make being some prison dog’s bitch easier to take.
At the secret meeting, Perry got put on blast and had his ass threatened with Mickey’s impressively shady Russian thugs. Basically, he got told to make the tape disappear. If even so much as a whisper of the provably false accusation that it was Gideon fucking the underage girl got out, Perry Waterman could kiss his fortune, and probably a limb, good-bye. They weren’t going to fuck around with this shit anymore.
Moira was all over Phae’s messy part of the sex tape angle. The young woman took everyone by surprise when she issued a statement claiming ownership of the tape. Yes, she’d been underage at the time, but she was with her boyfriend doing what all teenagers did. Why hadn’t she let Gideon off the hook sooner? She got the best line of all and shut down all the doubters by stating that in the Cincinnati suburbs, nobody gave a shit about the narcissistic bullshit happening in Hollywood. She wasn’t into Internet porn and though she’d heard about the infamous Gideon Shaw sex tape, she wasn’t ever going to go looking for it. The only reason she came forward now was to take responsibility and put an end to the gossip. It would be a one-week story, and then the press would move on.
He couldn’t wait to share all this with Paige. They were passed the whole Edward-Gideon divide. Having time to focus on them had helped. It wasn’t one or the other. This was their life—the one they built together. Being Gideon Shaw was his job, but he wasn’t what he did.
The only thing bothering him at the moment was a bit of anxiety about Paige’s parents because they didn’t like him. Not that anything had ever been said. He found a middle ground with her dad, man stuff mostly, but her mom, she was a problem.
It wasn’t so much that Rose disliked him personally. Oh, there was probably a little of that going on, but he’d been giving this some serious thought lately and had come to an uncomfortable conclusion. With her fancy degree, Rose probably felt her daughter should be upper management at the Four Seasons by now or running a diplomat’s embassy in some foreign country. It was likely Mrs. Turner disliked him because being some Hollywood actor’s assistant wasn’t what her mom had expected for Paige. He got it.
The revelation had gotten him thinking about a lot of things and prompted a decision he needed to share with his almost wife. Now that he saw things in a different, clearer light—he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Perry Waterman’s promise to give him a boost into the director’s club.
Fuck that. He’d either get there on his own … or not. He wasn’t about handouts and look-the-other-way incentives for getting ahead. Not only that, but the twelve-year plan was also quickly backspacing to the decade mark, and that was being generous. Yeah, he liked making movies, but at some point … nah.
The cowbells hanging on the diner’s door sent a clash of sounds into the air when a group of men came bustling in. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his dad with that familiar grin moving toward him as two other men walked behind, cackling with laughter.
They all gathered around the booth where he’d set up camp, hollered to the waitress to bring some coffee, then slapped his father on the back and eyed Edward with mocking interest.
“So, this is what a big Holl-E-Wood movie star looks like in the flesh. Seems like you could use a barber, young man,” said a barrel-chested man with a handlebar mustache who probably cracked ‘em up at the senior activity center with his patented cowpoke drawl.
His dad laughed and quirked a half-grin while nodding at the guy. “Son, this is Jerry Dowd. He likes to imagine he’s the mayor so don’t say anything too smart ‘cause you know how dumb politicians are.”
Oh, my god. Classic Dad. The guy could make a friend in any situation. Edward was very glad to see how well he got on with everyone here in Wyoming. Moving to the wonderland of America had been a great decision.
If they hadn’t crowded him in, he would have stood to shake hands. Reaching out, he took the big paw Jerry proffered and let the man crush his hand in an unforgettable handshake.
“Whoa, sir,” Edward hooted good-naturedly. “Cut me a break, okay? Might need that hand for a close-up.” He shook out his fingers and wagged his wrist for emphasis.
A much smaller gentleman, short in stature but not lacking in gravitas, pushed Jerry out of the way. “All right, you old fuck. He’s not auditioning for a stunt double, so haul your calloused butt aside and let me meet this fella.”
The way his dad’s chest puffed out with pride told him whoever this was, his opinion mattered.
Immediately, another hand was shoved in his face. “What do we call you, boy?” the short man with the booming voice asked. “Your old man says you’ll answer to a dog whistle, but I’m thinking you have a preference. Am I right?”
A dog whistle. Sheesh. He smirked at his dad who was beaming like a searchlight. With a hand on Edward’s shoulder, he made an introduction.
“This is my oldest boy. Edward. Army vet. Iraq tour.”
Edward raised a brow and looked at his dad. A flash went off in his mind. To his family, he was a son and brother first. A war vet came next. That was the shit that mattered. Being a celebrity was pretty far down on the real-world list.
“Couldn’t be prouder,” Dad added at the last.
To Edward, he said, “Son, this is Patrick Mahoney. By day, he’s an environmentalist …”
He tried not to groan. A tree hugger. No wonder Dad was all puffed up.
“But for fun he and his daughter run a fishing excursion company.”
They shook hands and Patrick quipped, “Don’t laugh. Daddy’s little girl is a shark, let me tell you. Runs the whole show without breaking a sweat. My retirement has been more lucrative than forty years watching all our natural resources get frittered away.”
Laughing and joking, they squeezed around him in the booth and teased the waitress who came over carrying a pot of black sludge and a couple of mugs that she plunked on the table.
“You boys having the special,” she drawled, “or are you just here to finish off all the pie?”
Half an hour later, an entire blueberry pie had been consumed along with a gallon of coffee as the men regaled him with wild tales of river fishing, chupacabra sightings, and an endless commentary about kids these days. It was all so down homey comfortable, although absurd, that Edward had to smile. His dad had found his tribe.
“Ah, your mom sent a text,” Dad chortled. “Perfect spelling and punctuation, of course.” The laugh they shared was genuine. His mother never LOL’d or JK’d.