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It was a gossip column, featuring a brief recounting of his evening. Something he was more than used to. He’d be shocked if they didn’t write about him.
And there was a photo. Also not surprising. People snuck snapshots of him and sold them to the press all the time. Particularly if they managed to catch him doing something racy or scandalous, which he definitely was here.
There was one thing slightly different about this photo, though. He looked up at Vicky, who was giving him a now-do-you-get-it look. Of course. He should have known.
“Nice angle. Makes it look even hotter than it was.”
“I don’t think you appreciate the position this puts me in.”
He looked back at the photo. “Oh, I appreciate it all right.”
She snatched her phone from him. “Ryder, I’m serious. This might be the norm for you, but there are implications for me. Today’s headline was supposed to be ‘Vicky Ashby Makes Grand Return to Society with Respected Entertainment Mogul,’ not ‘Vicky Ashby Slinks into Alley with Ex’s Sexpot Brother.’”
Ryder burst out laughing. “Okay, first of all, I’m pretty sure that term is meant for women—”
“You know what I mean.” She waved him away.
“And second on all”—he leaned in close—“you think I’m a sexpot?”
She glared at him. Man, she had a serious glare.
“Fo-cus,” she hissed.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for . . . what happened last night to be photographed. What’s the issue? Is Mr. Respected Entertainment Mogul upset?”
“No.” She sank down onto the sofa. “I haven’t even spoken to him yet.”
Oh?
“You came to see me first, eh?” He arched a brow.
Aaand there was that glare again. “He lives on the West Coast, remember? It’s early there.”
Ryder stepped behind the kitchen counter, which looked out onto the living room. His New York place was a luxury apartment, but it was compact. He preferred it that way. Besides, he had places around the globe and didn’t spend all that much time there. New York might be a huge city, but it was also where his family lived, and that tended to get oppressive fast.
He pulled a bag of coffee beans from the freezer and dumped some into the grinder.
“All right, well, if it’s not him, then what’s the problem?”
She turned and stared at him. “What’s the problem?”
He held the button down, momentarily punctuating the conversation with the electrical whirring sound.
“Yeah. What’s the problem? I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Look, I know you might be used to this kind of press, but I’m not. And it’s not the kind of exposure I want.”
His stomach suddenly turned sour.
“Yeah, it must be awful to be associated with the likes of me,” he muttered.
She looked up at him, startled. “That’s not what I meant.”
One look in her eyes made it obvious she was sincere. If he’d thought about it, he would have known it wasn’t what she meant. He wasn’t used to dealing with people like Vic, though. He was used to his family. She was too good for the lot of them.
“Yeah. Okay.” He looked at her again, all put together and prim. He knew what she meant. She had built a reputation for herself, respectable, impeccable. One she’d used to get where she was, co-running one of the most successful charitable foundations in the world. One she relied on to reach her goals and keep her in the game. Sexy photos with him did not help forward that cause.
He knew without bothering to look that the piece would have been picked up by hundreds of other sites by now. They were most likely trending on Twitter. It would be a mess.
