That was why Joann being a cunt to Phae mattered. While she dished it out, Paige had stepped into the woman’s bull’s-eye and no fucking way was that okay with him.
Dropping like a stone onto a plush sofa, he stretched out. He crossed his ankles in the cumbersome boots and eased his head back onto the couch, closing his eyes.
He liked silence. Not all the time but for him, when the peripheral noise got too loud, he retreated to that place where calm lived inside him. Most didn’t realize it because of the firm grip he kept on his composure, but the real him, Edward—not the Hollywood invention—was actually an emotional guy. One who’d had his fill of aggression and conflict.
The sounds of people moving around outside with yelled directions and hollered answers cut through the soothing atmosphere.
Opening one eye, he rolled his head to one side and swept the surrounding area with his gaze.
The control pad. Where in the hell was the trailer’s systems controller?
Reaching for the hi-tech device, Edward closed the electronic window coverings, adjusted the lighting, and turned on the sound system. He liked his rock to be loud when it rolled—preferably with a thundering beat—and had more classic, metal, grunge, and hair band shit in his music library than he’d ever have time to listen to.
As a catchy melody filled the open space, some of the tension from the set started to dissipate. He just wanted this shoot to end. And soon. Staying focused and being a professional was the best way he knew to get this fucker wrapped up.
Edward shook his head. No use in pretending he didn’t have ulterior motives for getting this shit done so he could move on to the next thing. Not anymore. That ship sailed about two years ago when he’d been thunderstruck by the realization that he had more than a passing case of the hots for his assistant.
Spending time around Paige was the best fucking part of being Gideon. And even better was when they traveled together for a location shoot. That was his favorite. Being out of town, keeping each other company, and screwing around as he and his brother used to when they were kids.
He loved that about her. Paige had this amusing tomboy quality that she tried hard to hide. But once he knew what lurked inside his assistant, Edward used every trick and ploy in the book to bring out that part of her personality. Her exuberance for anything physical completely turned him on. He bet she’d be a champ at camping. Paige was the type of lifelong adventurer who’d jump at practically any challenge. She’d throw herself into the experience, not sit on the sidelines and sulk because her makeup was mussed and her shoes dirty.
The idea of spending eight glorious weeks with her at a remote location was better than getting everything he wanted on his Christmas list.
After Joann and Paige’s little dust-up a few days earlier, something he’d set in motion by refusing to kiss his co-star’s butt, he’d followed through on his threat to fuck with the actress for stepping over the line. The woman wasn’t stupid and knew damn well that most of what she’d filmed those two days would be edited down to nothing.
Delivering a performance that sucked all the oxygen out of her role had been easy. The simple truth—she was a shitty actress by today's standards. It hadn’t stretched him even a little bit to give Markus one hundred and fifty percent although it rubbed his nalgas raw that the director hadn’t really cared.
Maybe he should be concerned that so much had gone so wrong with this project. But he was financially secure for life, and if the movie tanked, it wasn’t going to set him back. Not at all.
Of course, it helped a shit-ton that his father was a retired money manager. Figuring at the beginning of this wild and crazy ride that he had a dozen-year shelf life at most, he’d been brutal when it came to money. Edward wasn’t cheap, but that didn’t mean he blew wads of cash on stupid shit either.
He drove an electric car because, well … because this was California, and that was what you did. Sure, it was a top of the line Tesla, but still. Being electric counted for something.
He’d leased his house—as well as all of the furniture. Almost all of his travel was work-related; subsequently, so too were the expenses. In short, Gideon Shaw was working his motherfucking ass off so Edward Banning—and the rest of the Banning family—could carve out a sense of security that was more than worth the price of admission to the three-ring circus of celebrity.
Inevitably, the path of this musing circled back to one strange truth that sat at the core of his world.
Gideon Shaw was a myth. A shadow figure. Quite literally, the result of a brain fart that a girl he’d met maybe an hour earlier had deftly managed.
And that girl? Paige Turner.
With the exception of his agent, Mickey—Paige was the only other person in Gideon Shaw’s life who knew the man behind the mask.
That was why he couldn’t wait for the Montana location shoot. The trip might be for work but getting away from the constant attention and being the real him? That shit was gold.
Hmm. Gold. Kind of like the sun-kissed highlights in her hair. He liked that natural glow she had. It was such a change from the heavily styled appearance that was the Hollywood norm.
Edward let out an agitated groan. All roads led back to Paige. Dammit. There it was again. Those visions from his dream … the one that was starting to haunt his nights.
Paige. Naked. As in buck-ass naked. Her hair in that messy top knot she favored when she was busy. She’d be barefoot, walking toward him with a lithe grace on toned legs that went on for miles.
He imagined a triangle of soft curls covering the temptation of her womanhood and growled, squeezing his eyes shut with a fierce frown.
The heat flooding his groin triggered a sudden hard-on that made it virtually impossible to cut off the rest of his fantasy image of the woman who shared both sides of his life.
Though naturally beautiful, Paige would never win a wet t-shirt contest. At least, that was how she explained her modest set of knockers in a town that had practically invented hydraulic tits.
This point of view mystified him. Her breasts were perfect as far as he was concerned. No, they weren’t huge—he’d seen her in a bathing suit enough times to make that a statement of fact—but they were what the universe had intended for her frame. And he thought they were pretty fucking awesome. The perfect handful.
In his fantasy, as she slowly stalked toward him, her hips would do that little shimmy thing he liked so much, and then, his gaze would land on her tits, and then, shit … it was go time after that.
Her nipples would be pink-tipped and begging for his touch. Having never actually seen Paige naked, he was working off what his imagination created. He wondered for the thousandth time if she’d like him to suck each pert, plump mound. Because, fuck to the yeah, the idea of feasting on her tits was interfering with the vow he’d made years ago—not to cross that line with her.
She was his friend more than his assistant. He trusted Paige completely. Keeping his growing desire for her on the far back burner was getting more and more involved but he had to, right? There wasn’t any other choice, but that didn’t mean his feelings weren’t complicated where she was concerned.
Did he want to sleep with her? Of fucking course, he did. He had a goddamn pulse, after all. But sex wasn’t all he wanted from Paige, and that was what kept his pants in their zippered and closed position.
She was inside him, and there wasn’t any other way to put it. She never judged or questioned his integrity. They were a damn good team. Fiercely loyal, smart-as-fuck, intuitive, and cleverly funny, Paige was his anchor. She had this uncanny knack for knowing what to do.
And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. The thickening shaft in his loose-fitting pants was lobbying nonstop for a different approach to his calm, cool, collected, and sexy-as-fuck assistant.