The Gideon Affair (20 page)

She sensed his confusion when both women threw back and laughed.

The secretary sent to get a coffee stumbled into their midst with a utilitarian looking mug filled with something dark and nervously plunked it onto the table. Paige’s eye roll was reflex.

At Cornell, she had an instructor who liked to ask students, “Would you serve the Queen of England a meal in a paper bag?” His point being that the paper bag wasn’t the problem if that was what she asked for. That did not mean though that the bag should be used, crumpled, ripped, or in any way less than what a person of the Queen’s stature would expect.

The way their guest eyed the crappy dollar store mug was nothing less than what Paige expected. Eek. She was going to have a little chat with Mickey about his agency’s hospitality resources.

Ignoring the coffee delivery along with the person who made it, the woman commanding everyone’s attention kept her focus on Paige like a hawk eyeing its prey. Not even the reassuring grasp of Edward’s hand around hers kept the nerves in her stomach from exploding.

No special effects could adequately depict what enduring a Moira Kennedy ocular screening felt like. She was so thorough, so direct in her assessing gaze that Paige was pretty sure she knew not only what size she wore, but also her actual measurements as well. She could learn a lot from someone like her.

Edward, ever the gentleman, intervened and formally introduced her in a way that left both women with no doubt about Paige’s status.

“Mrs. Kennedy, this is Paige Turner.”

Completely surprising Paige, he kissed her hand before releasing it and added silkily, “She’s my muse goddess.”

Both women’s eyebrows shot upward.

“Plus, she not only knows where the graveyard is, but she also helped bury quite a few, if you catch my drift.”

That last came out dripping with Banning charm wrapped in some wink-wink mockery.

“Ah-ha ha, I love it!” Grabbing each of their hands, the woman gave them a quick squeeze. “Please, call me Moira. Both of you. We’re going to get to know each other really well, after all.”

Abruptly turning away, she kept talking with her back to them as she swiftly erased the scribbling on the whiteboard. “Dimitri calling me in tells me that you’re family. He trusts me to take good care of you two.”

She whirled around and fiddled with an earring, pursed her carefully drawn lips, and faced them straight on.

Paige shifted from foot to foot, her hand sliding into the pocket of her skirt. She needed a mint but didn’t want to appear rude. There was so much unspoken subtext flying through the air she figured a safety net was probably a good idea.

“Dimitri? Do you mean Mickey?” At Moira’s brief nod, Paige asked, “Um, where exactly is he?”

The woman let loose a tremendous belly laugh that echoed off walls. “Puking in his private washroom, I would imagine.”

Edward chuckled as he plucked at a shirt cuff and adjusted his tie. “Have anything to do with some cherry pie?”

“So, he told you that, did he?” Moira drawled. “He owes me one. A big one … so any time he has to ask for my help, he knows that the price of my getting involved begins with him eating an entire slice of cherry pie in front of me. He hates the stuff, you know! Makes him gag every time.”

Paige snorted with laughter. Priceless.

Moira skimmed her hands down the sides of her dress and gave a little butt shimmy. “It’s wise to keep the upper hand. Wouldn’t you agree, Paige?”

Her laughing snort became a mock growl. “Indeed.”

Moira laughed. “He detests cherries of all kinds. Always has and …”

“You know this, how?” Paige interjected. She was more than a little curious because only a fool wouldn’t recognize that the fascinating woman and the colorful agent had a history.

“Oh, my dear!” Moira purred. “Didn’t you know? I dated Dimitri, that crazy Russian, a long time ago.”

Oh. My. God. You could seriously hear a pin drop.

Mickey appeared at that exact moment in the doorway looking like a man suffering from morning sickness.

“Until …” she chortled, “I made the mistake of introducing him to my college roommate and the rest, as it’s said, is history.”

Mickey growled playfully then barked, “Ah jeez, Moira, give it a rest, would you?”

Edward looked at Paige. She turned wide eyes on him. Their expressions mirrored. What the fuck?

Blowing a kiss at M as he closed the door and stalked toward them, Moira gleefully added, “Hence the owing me big time and why I get to torture him with something he hates. Oh, and please note that while in my presence, his conversational cadence is human appropriate and not the exhausting babble he’s made his signature.”

“Don’t know why I put up with you, lady.” The words might be harsh, but Paige heard affection in Mickey’s voice.

“Oh hush up, you fat old fart.”

Mickey marched right up to her and folded the woman in a fierce bear hug. “I am husky, not fat. Well-seasoned, not old. And as for the farting, my wife has trained me well.”

They briefly embraced while Edward and she stood comically slack-jawed and watched the fascinating interplay.

There was a one Mississippi, two Mississippi couple of moments and just when the embrace started to veer into questionable territory, she heard Mickey drawl, “You can let go now, Mo.”

Moira snickered and said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

A long-suffering sigh delivered, Mickey style, sounded, and then to Paige’s utter astonishment, the man’s hand, held completely flat and with no grab at all, patted Moira’s bottom three times in quick succession.

“Happy?” he grumbled.

She pushed him away with a trill of laughter, smirked, “How dare you,” and smoothed down her dress as though he’d pulled it up and taken liberties with her lady parts.

In a deadpanned voice, Mickey turned toward Edward and her and said, “Take notes, you two. She holds an ancient victory over my head and insists on this tired, old charade, which she will tell her husband was a full ass grab. He’ll call me up and threaten to rip my nuts off and then he’ll bestow some ridiculously expensive jewelry on that old tart,” he spat out with a barely concealed smile.

Moira laughed gaily and waggled her fingers in Mickey’s face.

“What the hell is that, Mo? An elf’s testicle? Jesus, woman, ostentation is thy new name.”

“Stuff a sock in it, Dimitri. You broke my heart and…”

“No! I most certainly did not.”

A
s much as Edward was enjoying the curious give-and-take from the two other people in the room, the real focus of his attention was on Paige. After their long years together, he’d come to expect the calm, focused, self-confident way she had about her. It was her thing. Sometimes, she was so quietly dynamic that he’d stop and marvel at her poise in the midst of a tense situation. Those qualities were what made her a top-notch assistant.

But right this very moment, even with her cool self-control on display, he sensed the storm at work inside her. She was just putting on a good show. For Mickey and Moira—but not for him. Nope. For him, she made no attempt to hide her bewilderment, and like him, in the last surreal few hours, she’d been all over the map emotionally.

Good god. He’d asked her to marry him. And fuck … he’d meant it, the asking. When the moment came, nothing had ever seemed so right. But he’d fucked up by letting the Gideon situation force his hand.

Shit.

He saw her repeatedly search the folds of her skirt; only she never produced the roll of mints he knew she reached for. Paige didn’t have a lot of nervous tells—those little habits that give a person’s inner life away. But the mints? Sometimes they were all that stood between her and a major freak-out.

Ignoring the bizarre performance his agent and Moira were putting on, he moved closer to Paige and put his arm around her waist. He’d meant the gesture to convey comfort but the minute he got close enough to inhale her scent, he was fucked.

“Edward,” she whispered, not showing any resistance to his proprietary hold. “Are we in some alternate universe? When did M become so … normal?”

His answering smile felt good on his face. “I know, right?”

They both watched silently for another minute, and then Paige turned in his hold and met his gaze. Her face appeared passive, but her eyes told a much different story.

“Is this really what you want?”

Ah, god. How could he explain?

Yeah, marrying her was exactly what he wanted. Go figure, but once clarity had entered the picture, he became too emotional to let the idea go. But he also knew that doing it this way was not fair to Paige. Instead of having some romantic lovey-dovey bride moment, she was being fast-marched to the altar in what was essentially a business move.

Edward wanted a chance to explain himself, but things were moving way too fast and they weren’t alone. Plus, though they were whispering, the two Ms across the room were staring at them intently as though they’d heard her question and had read his thoughts.

“You know what?” Moira interjected. “Why don’t we all have a seat? There are things to discuss, and now that the introductions are out of the way, I believe we should get down to business. While we trade quips, the Internet is blowing up with malicious gossip that needs to be put down. Immediately.”

Steering Paige to a chair, he held it out and waited till she was comfortably seated before pulling a chair for himself that he placed right next to hers. He noticed that her hand was trembling when she sat and tucked in the ends of her skirt.

Mickey commandeered the entire end of the rectangular table, draping his suit jacket over a nearby chair, and immediately working his phone the minute everyone was seated. Edward wondered who he was texting while they sat around and discussed not only his future, but also Paige’s part in the way they’d decided to go forward. The guy took multitasking to new heights.

As Moira launched into her spiel, he had a moment of sheer panic and feared Paige wouldn’t want any part of this insanity. He worried she might even bolt from the meeting.

“This is a small town,” the venerable woman began. “When people fuck up, the insider community closes ranks. Managing and containing the inevitable shit and blowback is essential to keep the shine on Tinseltown. No tarnish allowed.”

Mickey grunted his agreement but kept up with the speedy texting.

“I think people overlooked Joann’s … activities … because she’s generally regarded as batshit crazy and vindictive as fuck.”

“Don’t gloss over what she’s trying to pull, Mo.”

Edward took note of the anger in Mickey’s voice.

Moira turned all of her attention on Paige, who squirmed in her seat.

After giving Mickey a side-glance that screamed
zip it
, she softened her tone. “My dear, I know this is a lot to take on, but you’re a sensible girl. We could try to put this fire out, but believe me,” Moira snipped, “it’ll just keep coming back unless we throw a tsunami at it. And to do that, we need something that will make a fool of Joann and give the upper hand to Team Shaw.”

She paused like a stage actress who was building a scene’s momentum with just dialogue.

“Short of some unimpeachable dick pics,” she snickered, “the next best thing is a romance.”

Paige sat back and stared at the woman. Edward held his breath, wondering what she’d say.

“A marriage is out of the question,” his no-nonsense assistant bit out. “I am not chattel.”

“Oh, my dear!” Moira chortled gleefully. “How wonderful that you know the word and how to use it in a sentence.” Looking directly at him, she added, “Is Mensa mentioned on her résumé?”

Mickey thought this was hilariously funny because he stopped what he was doing and barked with laughter. “My
solnyshko moya
is no idiot.”

“You’re much more valuable than mere chattel, my dear,” Moira drawled, sounding impressed.

“Yes, well,” Paige sniffed with a stern frown, “I’m also not stupid about how this town works. I get the whole ‘deflect their attention with a romance thing’ but why does that have to include marriage?”

“Paige,” Edward started, “let’s just …”

“No, Edward. There’s no just.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Resistance? My goodness. Don’t suppose you have another, more willing assistant—do you, Gideon?”

Shit. Calling him by his professional name was Moira’s way of getting him to pay attention. Another assistant? He thought of Caro and imagined her wrapped around him like an adoring clinging vine should he ask this same scenario of her. He snorted at the notion of the inevitable
Saturday Night Live
sketch.

A thick haze of tension gathered and began to spread through the room. Whatever happened next was all on him.

“Let me make something clear to both of you,” he drawled.

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.