Gage: A Love Under the Lights Novel

by Paige, Rochelle

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Gage snapped as he put his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side protectively. “All it would take is one series of phone calls, and you’re no longer employable in this town.”

  At fifty-eight, Laney was all personality. She’d survived four marriages to mega Hollywood movers and shakers and had come out on top each time. She didn’t take any shit, and she damn sure didn’t back down to threats.

  “Save full alpha mode for someone who deserves it,” she said dryly. “I’m not insulting her—I’m making a point. It’s my job to protect her, and you two just landed yourselves dead center on the gossip dartboard.”

  Gage sighed, lifting a hand to his forehead so he could rub at the center of it.

  “I see your point,” he conceded, “but I don’t want her being called stupid.”

  Laney turned to address me. “I’m sorry for using the word stupid, sweet cheeks.”

  I leaned into Gage as I nodded.

  “Meanwhile,” she continued, “we have about ten seconds before that door opens again. My advice is to stand up straight, sashay your little ass to the microphone and say no comment to every question you get about Gage. I’ll deal with the fallout and put out a statement tomorrow after we’ve had time to talk out all the angles.”

  “Fuck the angles,” Gage said. “They saw what they saw, Lemon. Giving them no comment is only going to make it worse.”

  His voice was firm as he spoke to Laney, but when he looked down at me, his eyes softened, and he smiled. “Tell them we’re dating. We knew this was coming, beautiful. We’re public now, and I have no intention of pretending that this isn’t serious. If they get wild, don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

  My eyes widened as I stared up at him in shock. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive,” he said firmly.

  “Are you sure that’s how we want to let the news out? I could say nothi—”

  Before I could say anything else, the door was wrenched open. An official looking man was holding a clipboard and wearing a headset. He also looked officially annoyed, and that was directed at me.

  “I just got word that the best picture people are now three or four minutes out. You need to get in here before you screw up the flow any more than it already is.”

  When Gage stiffened at my side, I knew he wasn’t happy about the tone that man used with me. I ran my hand up and down his back soothingly as I smiled and nodded.

  “I’m ready,” I assured him.

  I expected Gage to remain in the hall. Instead, as I stepped forward, he let go of his hold around my waist and joined our hands. My skin broke out in goose bumps, and I thanked God for nipple tape as we took those first steps together, hundreds of flashbulbs going off to ensure the moment was captured forever. Gage helped me walk the two steps up to the elevated platform before retreating. He didn’t go far—instead choosing to stand against the wall, next to the position Laney had taken. He nodded at me encouragingly just before I turned and faced the mass of assembled press.

  A voice over the loudspeaker instructed everyone to adhere to the press conference rules. The crowd quieted down as the voice spoke again. “We’ll go to 145 and follow that with a question from 98.”

  My eyebrows went up before I schooled my expression. I’d had no idea that the press were assigned individual numbers.

  “Miss Kelly, can you clarify your relationship with Gage Ryan for us?”

  I’d known the first question was going to be about Gage, but I still felt like I’d been blindsided. “We, um, I mean, like, so the thing is, like—”

  Oh shit. I’d gone full Valley Girl and had to force myself to stop talking. I’d been two seconds away from calling the reporter—a female—dude.

  “Wow. I really should’ve had a V8,” I quipped as I tried to get myself together.

  A titter of laughter went through the crowd before someone shouted, “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “We’re dating,” Gage answered, his voice seeming to ring out through the room.

  His eyes were full of encouragement as they met mine, and I found myself relaxing for the first time.

  If I thought the room was insane before, his announcement only made it worse.

  The yelled questions were shouted without hesitation.

  “Is this for real?”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Gage! Gage! You’ve not had a steady girlfriend since 2009!”

  “It was you she was with in Georgia, wasn’t it?”

  “Is she pregnant?”

  A voice over the loudspeaker interrupted to announce that the reporters needed to settle down or the interview would end.

  I used those few seconds to get myself together. Taking a calming breath, I turned back to the microphone and made a face at the reporters.

  “That’s really rude,” I scolded. “I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not pregnant,” I noted as I gestured down at my gown. The damn thing hugged every curve.

  “Then why is he dating you? Did you cast a spell or is this voodoo?” someone called out.

  That was the moment I’d had enough. My hackles were up when I glared over toward the direction the question had come from.

  “You should be ashamed of yourself for thinking that, much less saying it out loud. Gage is dating me because he wants to. I assure you it’s not because I’m pregnant or because I used witchcraft on him. Maybe next time, think about the words coming out of your mouth.”

  There was a stunned silence in the room for a few seconds before someone started clapping. One clap was followed by another and then another. Once again, a voice over the loudspeaker interrupted and reminded the press that there were more winners coming.

  The next few minutes flew by as I was given some standard questions about the theme of the movie, working with Gloria, the experience shooting it and, of course, my cursing on live television.

  “Final question from 132,” the voice over the loudspeaker announced.

  “It’s a Gage question,” the reporter said tentatively. “If I don’t ask, I’ll be fired.”

  “As long as it’s not about what spell I used to get him,” I joked, “go ahead.”

  “Is this relationship serious?”

  I instinctively turned Gage’s way. His eyes met mine without hesitation as he inclined his head once. My stomach was full of butterflies as I smiled at him.

  I turned back to the microphone and smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  As the announcer spoke about who was up next, I walked across the stage. Gage came forward and waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, holding his hand out to me as I stepped down. No one was shouting, but I could hear flashbulbs and murmurs from the assembled crowd.

  The second he touched me, I forgot they were there.

  “You ready for me to get you onto the dance floor at some of the after-parties?” he asked.

  I grinned and squeezed his hand as we made our way out of the room.

  “I see we’re making no attempt to be subtle,” I teased.

  “I think subtle left the train station about ten minutes ago when we got caught making out in the hall,” he laughed. “I’m more than fine with everyone knowing we’re together.”

  I was, too. It had been a wild half hour, but I was happy because he was with me. In the span of an hour, I’d won an Oscar, been caught making out with Gage in front of the press, and then announced to the world that he was my boyfriend. The night was clearly one for the record books. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

  Twenty

  Gage

  It was official; hell had frozen over. The impossible had happened, and I was headed to the Governors Ball with my girlfriend on my arm. Morgan wasn’t some woman alleging to be in a relationship with me that she’d made up in her head, which had happened often enough over the years. I’d had to set the record straight each and every time. Morgan was different; she was the first woman I’d claimed publicly i
n front of the press for the entire world to see and hear about.

  It was an instinct I hadn’t been able to ignore; the urge to guarantee there wasn’t any confusion about the fact that Morgan wasn’t available. Not that I’d really tried. I was the one who’d told Lemon we were dating. I was the one who’d announced to the reporters that we were dating. And I was the one who’d nodded, giving Morgan permission to confirm that our relationship was serious.

  Walking into the Ray Dolby Ballroom on the top level of the Hollywood & Highland Center with Morgan at my side, I didn’t have a single regret over my actions. I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, after all.

  “With an expression like that on your face, you could have easily modeled for Rodin.”

  “What?” I shook my head, scattering my thoughts and shifting my attention back where it belonged—on Morgan.

  “You know.” She lifted our hands, tucking my fist under my chin. “The Thinker.”

  “You have statues on the brain,” I laughed, gesturing at her Oscar.

  She waggled it from side to side. “You’re not comparing my award to a priceless sculpture, are you?”

  “Maybe,” I laughed, bending my head low to brush a kiss over her cheek. “Are you comparing me to a priceless sculpture?”

  “Yeah, I totally was. But it seems fair to me.” She looked me up and down, her bright blue eyes filling with feminine appreciation. “Cary Grant and George Clooney have nothing on you.”

  I didn’t pay attention to the whispered exclamations from the people surrounding us as I pulled Morgan into my arms. They didn’t matter. Only she did. “Damn straight, they don’t. At least not when it comes to you.”

  “You’re sounding a little possessive there, Ryan.” She didn’t seem bothered by it, if the laughter twinkling in her blue eyes was any indication. “But I guess that’s okay, if you’re officially my boyfriend now.”

  “There’s no if about it. I am your boyfriend,” I reminded her. “And you have about”—I twisted my arm and tugged the sleeve of my bespoke tuxedo up so I could look at the Rolex wrapped around my wrist—“five minutes tops to get used to the idea before your Google alerts start going crazy as the news of our relationship spreads across the internet.”

  I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket and figured I’d underestimated how long it would take before the word spread. Since my agent and publicist had both attended the award ceremony, I ignored the incessant vibrations. They’d hunt me down soon enough, and I wasn’t quite ready for them to interrupt my time with Morgan. And anyone else, including my parents, could go fuck themselves if they tried to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

  “Miss Kelly,” a young woman dressed in a nondescript black gown called from a roped off area about five feet away from us, and I guided Morgan in her direction. “We have an inscription-processing station set up if you’d like to get your statuette personalized while you wait.”

  “Really?” Morgan breathed out, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.

  “It usually only takes a few minutes. We have champagne available”—the woman’s eyes darted toward me, widening before she visually gulped—“and you’re allowed to bring one guest in with you if you’d like.”

  “Wanna come with me while I get my Oscar inscribed?” Morgan asked.

  I lowered my head to whisper in her ear, “I like how you think there was even the slightest chance that I was going to let you do it by yourself. This is a huge moment, and I’ll be right where your boyfriend belongs. By your side.”

  “Wow,” she sighed, leaning into me. “You give really good boyfriend.”

  And wasn’t that just a fucking shock, considering how long I’d avoided the barest semblance of a relationship with anyone else? But with Morgan, I didn’t have to try. It came naturally. Go figure.

  After we followed the woman into the roped off area, Morgan handed over her statuette. Less than a minute later, we’d each been given a glass of champagne, as promised, and Morgan was gulping hers down again.

  “It’s going to be a long night,” I reminded her. “I’d hate to miss out on the chance to feel your body brushing against mine on the dance floor.”

  I trailed my fingers down her spine until my palm rested at the small of her back and finally reached the material of her dress. She gave a delicate shiver, and I felt goose bumps break out across her skin.

  “Fuck, sweetheart,” I groaned, keeping a tight rein on the urge to toss her over my shoulder and carry her out of the party to somewhere more private. “If this wasn’t your first Oscar, I’d be trying to convince you to skip the whole thing and come home with me.”

  “I don’t think it would take a whole lot of persuasion on your part for me to say yes to that offer. It only took that one night in Georgia for me to become addicted to waking up in your arms.”

  My cock flexed at the thought of getting her under me again. I felt the drip of moisture from the tip and groaned. “It’ll be three fittings and ten thousand dollars down the drain when you make me leak so much pre-come I ruin this tux.”

  “It’s only fair,” she whispered back, her cheeks filling with heat. “Since my panties are wet enough already that I’m worried about my gown, and it took a heck of a lot more than three sessions with the seamstress, along with a ridiculous amount of tape, to make sure my boobs don’t pop out of this plunging neckline.”

  My restraint almost snapped at her admission, but then Gloria Garrison walked into the roped off area, carrying an Oscar in each hand. Her son, Dane, was right behind her. Hollywood was a small world, and I knew both of them.

  “So this is where you wandered off to.” Gloria lifted one of the statues. “You missed it! We beat out the competition and managed to snag this beauty after you left.”

  “Best picture?” Morgan gasped.

  “Yes,” Dane confirmed. “Which is why you should have done the Winner’s Walk and come back to the theater; to be on stage with us when we accepted the award. That was the plan. Remember?”

  I knew that he was her agent, but that didn’t mean I was going to stand by and watch while he scolded my girlfriend. One of the advantages to declaring myself publicly was that I had the right to step in, and that’s exactly what I did by moving in front of Morgan. Dane’s eyes jumped to my face, filling with shock as though he’d just realized I was there.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he barked at me.

  “Escorting my girlfriend while she gets her first Oscar engraved.”

  The same woman who’d assisted us walked up, handed Morgan her statuette, and took both of the ones Gloria held. Dane’s gaze moved from me, to the Oscar in Morgan’s hand, and jerked back up to my face.

  Morgan wasn’t paying any attention to the byplay between Dane and me as she gaped at Gloria. “I somehow managed to earn an Oscar. You made history as the second woman to earn one for best director. And we got best picture, too? That’s three of the big five awards!”

  “Definitely a night for making history since no other film has gotten three of the big five since 2004.” Gloria grinned and gestured toward me. “And then there’s you, getting Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor to utter a word that’s never publicly left his lips unless it was in a script he was reading.”

  “What the fuck?” Dane hissed. “My Morgan is your girlfriend? Since when?”

  Hearing him call Morgan his had my blood boiling. I closed the distance between us, my chest almost bumping against his until I felt Morgan’s soft hand wrap around my elbow as she tried to tug me backward. She was successful, but only because I allowed it.

  “Really, Dane,” Gloria sighed. “You need to work on your habit of picking the worst wording possible at times. You’re one of the best agents in the business for goodness' sake. You’re supposed to be good at talking to people. You’re not supposed to piss them off unintentionally.”

  “What?” His head jerked in his mother’s direction, and he groaned. “Shit. I didn’t mean mine as in mine. I meant
as in my client. If she’s dating anyone, then I should know about it. Especially”—he waved one hand in my direction—“if she’s dating the man who stepped in at the last second to present the award she was up for tonight.”

  “Back off, Dane. She didn’t tell you because she had no idea I was going to be here tonight, let alone announcing her category.”

  Morgan tugged on my sleeve and looked up at me. “How many times do you think we’re going to have to go through this conversation? First Lemon. Now Dane.”

  I spotted my agent and publicist headed our way, cutting a swath through the crowd as they moved quickly. “At least Mario already knew about you being in my life, so the conversation with my people should be a little easier.”

  “Your people?” she snorted.

  “Yeah, sweetheart,” I chuckled. “My people.” I sent a glare in Dane’s direction. “And if your people aren’t more careful about how they talk to and about you, mine will be yours, too.”

  Twenty-One

  Morgan

  Gage’s agent, Mario Elias, and his publicist, the legendary Howard Burns, watched both of us approach like we were some kind of live performance art. I wondered if it was because Gage had never publicly acknowledged a girlfriend or because they thought I wasn’t a good match for him. My nerves were soothed a bit when we reached them and introductions were made because both were warm when they greeted me and congratulated me on my win.

  Of the two, his publicist was clearly the more dominant personality. I leaned into Gage as Howard gestured between the two of us once the introductions and small talk were over.

  “I see you’ve met your match,” he laughed. “I’d say next time, some warning would be good, but—”

  Gage tensed before cutting Howard off. “There won’t be a next time,” he growled.

  “If you’d just let me finish my sentence,” Howard said sternly, “you’d know that what I was going to say was that next time you decide to make worldwide news, I’d love a heads-up.”