“How many times has it happened?”
“What about the woman in Vegas? Is it true she’s pregnant with his baby?”
I paused for a millisecond at the pregnancy bit, but forced myself not to interact with them as I bit down on the inside of my cheek while I rushed to the front door. The paparazzi were rarely ever cruel to me, but then again I didn’t normally give them anything to talk about. I stayed out of trouble, didn’t get sloppy drunk in bars, and never put myself in a position where I might be photographed getting into—or out of—a car without wearing my underwear.
They called me America’s Sweetheart for a reason, and to be honest, I liked being thought of that way. It suited me far better than something like America’s Next Addict or Super-Slut. But I’d seen on more than one occasion how cruel and unforgiving the paparazzi could be, and the thought of being the target for their gossip terrified me.
Quinn sprinted through the front door, her blond hair swaying with her haste. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a pained look as she bit down on her bottom lip.
“Don’t do that. Please don’t do that,” I begged, squeezing my sunglass-covered eyes closed briefly before reopening them.
“Do what?” Her eyebrows pinched together.
“Don’t look at me with pity like that. I’ll break down right here on your front lawn if you look at me like that again,” I warned.
She sucked in a quick breath. “Fine. I’ll just project my feelings somewhere else.” A sly grin spread across her lips before she narrowed her gaze and turned to face the firing squad of reporters. Quinn hooked her hands on her hips and her voice rose to a near shout as the shutter clicks and questions died down.
“Leave her the hell alone. Don’t you have anything better to do? Give the girl a damn minute to deal with her life before you all do your best to make it worse for her. Why can’t you focus on all the good things Paige does instead of trying to kick her while she’s down? Go harass that asshole ex-boyfriend instead. He’s the one that deserves this shit storm. Not Paige.”
I tugged at her arm as my comfort level shrank to virtually nothing. “You don’t have to do that,” I whispered before she cut me off.
“Yes, I do. Screw them. They’re vultures. They love to see any one of us in pain. Especially someone as good as you who never does anything wrong. It makes me sick and I can’t stand it.” She reached for my hand, pulling me into her house, then slammed the front door, shielding us from prying eyes.
“What would I do without you?” I breathed out.
Quinn grinned. “Be way too nice to everyone in your life, including all the assholes outside who don’t care about you and only want to make money. You know, the usual.” Then she grabbed my bag from my shoulder.
“I can carry my stuff,” I started to complain, knowing it was futile. Quinn was hardheaded and strong-minded, two things I absolutely admired about her. They were also the two qualities I believed I lacked the most, which was why we probably bonded so quickly as teenagers. We balanced each other out. She was definitely the yin to my yang, and our opposite natures only made me love her more.
“So can I. Come on.” She headed down her naturally lit hallway toward one of two guest rooms. Quinn had them professionally decorated in themes: the Jungle Room and the Goddess Quarters. I wasn’t allowed to stay in the Jungle Room, even though I loved the rich greens and dark wood that dominated it. She always said, “The Jungle Room is for boys, Paige, and you’re not a boy.”
The decor of my gender-appropriate room was gorgeous, however. Filled with rare and collectible Disneyland art, its classic symmetry and beauty was modeled after one of the suites at the theme park’s hotel. A stunning four-poster bed was the focal point of the room, its heavy silver curtains tied off on all sides, revealing crisp white bedding and oversized pillows. Silver and blue accents swirled throughout the room and into the private bath, where Italian hand-crafted marble and a fairy-tale theme combined to create a heavenly escape. Whenever I stayed here, it was like being in a dream. Everything down to the knobs on the dresser had been carefully chosen for maximum effect.
Quinn tossed my bag onto the bed and then turned to face me. “Do you want to be alone, or are you hungry or anything?”
“If I wanted to be alone, I wouldn’t be here,” I responded with mock snarkiness, and she snarled back at me.
“Don’t try to sass me. It doesn’t work on you.” Her upper lip curled as she shook her head, and I held back a grin.
“Where’s Ryson?” I asked, assuming her live-in boyfriend had to be around here somewhere.
Her eyes lit up. “He’s in the office on a conference call. The boy never stops working, I swear. He has so many things he wants to do, Paige. It’s so hot.”
Quinn always swooned as she talked about her boyfriend of the last four years. They met on the set of a movie where they each played the lead, and sparks instantly flew both on and off camera.
Ryson had a rough past, though, and Quinn had resisted dating him at first because of it. But he wore her down eventually after proving he was worthy and insisting that his reformed bad-boy ways were now all in fun. He liked to go out with the guys, get pissed drunk, and get into fights. That hadn’t changed, and as far as I knew, Quinn never cared about those types of things. As long as he wasn’t cheating on her, she not-so-secretly liked that bad-boy side of him.
“He wants to start directing, doesn’t he?” I asked.
She waved her hand to shut me up. “Among other things. He’s written a couple of movie scripts, and he has an idea for a reality show. I don’t know how he has the time to do everything he does, but he’s a maniac.” She laughed. “Anyway, let’s go grab some food and sit out back by the pool.”
I sucked in a deep breath, wishing it would help the ache in my heart. “Sounds good.”
We walked back down the hallway and into the kitchen where Quinn opened the door to her fridge. She grabbed a smorgasbord of food and slapped it all down onto a large tray.
“Okay, I grabbed us some ice cream, and I made brownies and chocolate chip cookie dough.”
“You made brownies and cookies already?” I asked in disbelief.