The Gideon Affair

He was furious that his mishpocheh was being dragged through the mud. It had taken almost a year for Paige to figure out what the expression meant, and she still wasn’t sure of the origin or correct spelling, but the intent was clear enough.

Family. It fit in some bizarro-world way. They were a family, an unusual trio for sure, but Edward, Mickey, and she had been a tight unit from the start. And over the years, they had developed an extraordinary friendship.

Mishpocheh, indeed.

Paige shoved back into the cushiony loveseat and put her feet up on the coffee table. Her brain was frying from the overload. Popping a mint into her mouth, she absently sucked, moving the small circle around her mouth as she concentrated.

Edward sharked into the room and made a circuit, pretending to dump an armload of dog-eared scripts in a basket near his favorite recliner. Didn’t he realize how obvious he was being?

He looked around for a second without ever making eye contact then swam away. Wouldn’t take long for him to reappear.

Maybe I should make him sit the heck down, she thought. All this back and forth was making her mental and really did feel like he was circling in the water—either waiting to strike or better yet, eat her up.

Ooooh. That didn’t sound so bad. The eat me part.

Before the lewd thought burst into full bloom in her mind, Mickey said something that cut through her distracted reverie like a hot knife through butter. Wiggling frantically, she sat up and slammed her feet on the floor.

“… and-seriously-who-the-hell-is-that-old-tart-trying-to-fool? I-can’t-believe-Harvey’s-team-or-that-busted-weave-blogger-didn’t-balls-to-the-wall-that-bitch-and-point-out-that-in-no-world-that-didn’t-involve-a-megafuckton-of-Photoshopping-could-the-derrière-riding-the-carousel-pony-be-mistaken-for-a-sixty-year-old-ass. I-mean-come-the-fuck-on-you’ve-seen-that-ass-and-it-all-but-was-branded-Grade-A-Prime-aged-for-twenty-something-years-not-a-half-a-goddamn-century …”

Paige snickered at the thought of the blustering agent quite literally sucking all the oxygen out of a room when his mouth got going. He was exhausting.

But he’d also just made a brilliant point—one she hadn’t considered. It was one thing to question the identity of the partially obscured man. But it was impossible not to see an up close and personal view of some woman’s ass and not have a sense of how old she might be. Ballparking it, of course, but on this point Mickey was right. There was no way that a surgically enhanced butt-ass naked body, a menopausal one at that, could pass for a woman barely in her twenties.

“Listen-dollface-our-takeout-Thai-just-got-delivered-and-you-know-how-the-wife-is. Sheesh-all-this-mishegas-about-my-health-and-slowing-down. You-know-me-though-I-only-have-one-gear-turbo-and-if-that-makes-this-old-ass-of-mine-a-Type-A-that-just-means-I’m-the-bomb …”

His good-natured chuckle brought a smile to Paige’s lips. The little man might operate at Mach 1 on a bad day, but he was in tiptop shape due in no small part to the firm hand of his wife. Shirley Klein was a foul-mouthed, hilariously fu

She cut him off because, really, there was no other way to squeeze a word in with him … especially on the phone.

“Love her face and you should be thanking your lucky stars that she puts up with you! Go and eat your di

The gleefully loud, “Bah!” that echoed through the phone broke their serious mood. “Did-you-just-tell-me-to-fuck-off-young-lady? Imma-have-to-wash-your-mouth-out-with …”

“Bye, Mickey.”

Disco

Swallowing the thickness forming in her throat, Paige didn’t try to hide her appreciation for the sight he made.

Gideon Shaw was one hot piece of ass. Edward Ba

A thrill slithered through her. Nobody but she and, occasionally, Mickey ever saw him like this. It was hard to explain what the difference was because, after all, Gideon and Edward were the same man. But there was a distinction—no matter how subtle. In some ways, it was about being in his natural habitat rather than the manufactured and artificial magnifying glass of his professional persona.

The jeans molded to his perfect physique didn’t hold her attention, though. What held her attention was the perfectly fitted white t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and impressively muscled chest that he’d halfway tucked into his waistband. Dammit, if the simple cotton tee didn’t accentuate the masculine V of his shape… but the impossible wingspan fingertip to fingertip, the tapered torso, lean hips, and sturdy legs also tickled her hormones.

Oh, and his feet were bare.

She swallowed hard, again.

Pushing the refrigerator door shut with a shove of his hip, Edward juggled an armload of items he’d pulled from the cooler and prayed he didn’t drop half before making it to the island counter.

Next, he grabbed the impressive walnut cutting board that he’d picked up from an artisan in Canada a few years back. A small perk of location shoots was the opportunity to explore many different environments, cultures, and out-of-the-way gems he wouldn’t normally visit.

Spreading everything out across the black marble, he surveyed and made a mental list of what else he needed.

Like something to boil the water in. Yanking a cookware organizer out from a bottom cabinet, he took a tall pot and twirled it by the handles with a flourish worthy of the Top Chefs then plunked it onto the massive professional cooktop.

After he’d set the water to boil, he washed his hands then tucked a large kitchen towel into his waistband for an apron and got started.

It was mindless busywork—cooking. Stalking Paige while she did what she did made him feel a bit pathetic, so he’d made a snap decision, changed into something comfortable, and headed for the kitchen.

In no way a foodie or anything that came close to being like Gordon Ramsey, he was just an American boy raised on his mom’s home cooking, and that fact alone went a long way.

His mom was one of those ‘here is why we do things’ types who transformed practically every moment of every day into a learning opportunity. He and Marsh could cook, sew on a button if necessary, do laundry in a way that wasn’t a complete disaster, and scrapbook like a motherfucker.

Yep. Scrapbook. Don’t be hatin’

Tonight’s mindless culinary offering was a basic chopped salad … organic vegetables only, thank you very much, and a throw together pasta pot that he hoped Paige would enjoy.

She was staying for di

And he wasn’t referring to the Gideon kerfuffle.

Two opposing viewpoints around his relationship with Paige had crashed head-on and, between one moment and the next, they’d crossed that invisible line—the one that tore the lid off everything. Where once there had been nothing but iron-willed control, there was now a million unlimited possibilities.