Chapter Sixteen

WORK on Tuesday proved… interesting.

Steve arrived on location early to help Nina and Carol, their DP, sort out which angles would work best with the scenes they needed to shoot. The neighborhood Scotty and Morgan would “abduct” the dog from was ostensibly on the outskirts of Vegas, but Production deemed the costs too high to film on location, and one desert suburb looked much like another. This one was about two hours outside Los Angeles, if you didn’t count traffic, and looked much like Nevada: low houses with dirt-and-cactus yards, blue sky stretching forever, heat shimmer coming up off the ground.

Filming wasn’t due to start until tomorrow morning, but Carol needed to check out the light and determine what they’d need to set up in terms of equipment, so they spent most of the day at “Lila’s” house. With such a small production, it was all hands on deck. Even Steve got roped into hauling things around where they needed to go.

He didn’t have time to check his phone until he got back to the tiny hotel they’d rented. And then… well. Apparently Drew’s interview had been posted.

Hilary’s text said, In case I haven’t mentioned this before, Drew is a zillion times better for you than that asswipe Austin.

No bias there, Steve thought wryly.

His mom’s was typical Marla. Darling! Your beau sounds positively enamored. When are you going to introduce him to your dear mother?

Hopefully not during work hours. Professionalism only went so far, and his mother could turn a graveyard into a lively gathering. Soon, he replied, and hoped that would be good enough for now.

The minute he stepped into the hotel lobby, where a bunch of the crew were relaxing with tablets or phones or decks of cards, he sensed eyes on him. Suspicious eyes.

Maybe Steve should take the time to read this interview.

He gave a halfhearted wave to the crew before plunking himself in the last available armchair and pulling up the link.

He should have waited until he was in his room. As he read, he could feel his ears getting redder and redder, and it got more and more difficult to keep himself from doing something that would give him away entirely, like grinning or covering his face or—

Movement by the door caught his attention, and he looked up to find Drew in the lobby, tucking his sunglasses into the front of his shirt. He looked over at Steve and beamed, maybe a little dopily, and waved before turning his attention to the lady behind the reception desk.

Steve didn’t realize the crew members in the lobby were staring at him until, very suddenly and obviously, they weren’t.

So much for flying under the radar.

Steve tried not to look at Drew, sure that would make their situation conspicuous, but maybe it was worse that he didn’t. In any case, Drew spent a few minutes talking to the receptionist and then came to talk to Steve.

“So,” he said.

Steve tried not to glow at him but wasn’t sure he succeeded. “Hey.”

Drew perched on the arm of Steve’s chair. Their coworkers shot them discreet looks from the main sitting area. “Small problem with the room.”

Uh-oh. “How small?” Steve asked suspiciously.

“They’re out of them.” Drew leaned over and gave him a winning look. “Know anyone who might be interested in double bunking?”

In his surprise, Steve forgot all about their audience. “You’re not going to ask someone else to do it? After all, you’re the star. Surely someone needs chewing out for this.” He batted his eyelashes.

Then someone coughed, and he remembered.

“Nonsense. I can be reasonable. As long as my roommate is cute.”

“You’re gonna get sick of me,” Steve said.

“Doubtful.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll get sick of you.”

Drew paused as though considering this for the first time. “Oh. Right. I never thought—introverts, though. We can make other arrangements. I’ll rent a camper or a house or something.”

Smiling, Steve shook his head. “It’s fine. If it were longer than a few days, I’d want my own space, but I’m happy to share with you.”

“It’s gonna cause a scandal,” Drew said apologetically, gesturing with his head toward the crew. “But it’s a small production. They’re not gonna talk if they want to get good gigs. I mean, probably.”

Steve figured it was only a matter of time before the whole world knew everything. He wasn’t eager to hasten the process, but he wouldn’t lose sleep over their coworkers’ nosiness. “I don’t care if they talk.”

“You’re not worried that they’re going to think….”

Steve cocked his head. “What? That I’m using you?”

Drew flushed as if he were embarrassed to bring it up. “Sorry if that sounds conceited.”

With a shrug, he said, “I don’t care what they think either.”

They moved Drew’s stuff in from his car, enduring nothing more than a few raised eyebrows. Steve was just debating whether to suggest dinner or testing the mattress when his phone rang.

“Mama Said?” Drew asked.

“Don’t judge me.” Steve plopped down onto the bed and answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”

His mother never called before six. He should have known it was bad news.

“FIFTY thousand?” Drew repeated.

“That’s what they said, I guess.” Steve grimaced. He didn’t want to complain. He could afford to pay that. It wouldn’t even hurt all that much. But it would only prolong the inevitable. Whether he paid up or not, sooner or later someone would realize he wasn’t just Steve Sopol, newbie scriptwriter and veteran script doc, he was Steven Stone, son of Hollywood royalty Marla and David Stone.

Drew dumped himself into the chair at the end of the bed. “Wow. Now I feel self-absorbed. I automatically assumed I’d be the one getting extorted.”

Steve almost smiled. “That’ll teach you.” He took another cleansing breath before sitting up against the headboard so they could make eye contact. “So. I guess we need to decide what we want to do.”

“I guess we do.” Drew scrubbed his face. “What do you want to do? If you want to pay them off, I’ll write a check. Your mom shouldn’t have to shell out for that.”

That was sweet, but—“My mother can take care of herself, as she would no doubt inform you.” Steve considered for a second and added, “And me too, I guess. Never let it be said that Marla Stone is not an independent woman.”

“Right.” Besides, all things considered, she probably had more money than Drew did.

“The question is, does it make sense to do that?”

Drew shrugged. “I guess… to me it doesn’t. If not this, if not now, it’ll be something else a week down the line, or a month. And I don’t think it’s healthy to live waiting for the other shoe to drop. But then, it’s not my shoe.”

“You make a good analogy. Mom would approve of the shoe part.” And Steve agreed with him. Which meant not paying this asshole off. Which meant his privacy was about to go the way of the silent movie. He blew a raspberry. “Okay, so we’re in agreement. Now what?”

“Now lots of things.” Drew made a face and raised his phone. “I texted the details to my publicist, for starters.” Steve hated that—it made him feel like the situation was even less in his control than it was already—but he’d gotten romantically involved with a famous actor. Publicists came as part of the package. And at least Alan would have experience with this sort of thing. “Why’d they call your mom, though? Why not you?”

Huh. Steve hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know. I guess to prove that they know who I am?” He shook his head. “Or maybe they’re trying to throw us off. Like if it’s someone who has access to me.” Like someone on the crew, he didn’t say.

“You think it’s someone here?” Drew frowned. “I mean, I don’t think any of them would do it. Or I didn’t think so until now.”

“It could be someone with bad debt,” Steve said. Blackmail didn’t necessarily have to be malicious. If someone was hard up for a lot of cash and needed it now…. Well, he’d been born to wealthy parents. Not everyone got so lucky.

Sighing, Drew rubbed the bridge of his nose. “For the moment, who it is doesn’t matter. Did they give an ultimatum? When do you have to decide?”

“A week today. Which seems super weird.” A week was a long time. That gave him the opportunity to think about what he wanted to do instead of just reacting. And anyone else could snap up the story in the meantime and beat him to the punch.

Drew pulled his hand away from his face. “What, seriously?”

“I know!”

He laughed a little. “Don’t get me wrong, being blackmailed is terrible. But at least this person is bad at it.”

Steve laughed too. “True. But really. What’s our plan here?”

Drew leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I—” His phone rang, and he grimaced. “It’s Alan calling me back.”

With a grimace of his own, Steve conceded to the inevitable. “You’d better take it.”

DREW turned out to be a diva even in his sleep, mumbling lines and occasionally making demands for Perrier or insisting the pillow get his good side. It wouldn’t have bothered Steve if he’d fallen asleep quickly, as he usually did, but the prospect of living openly as the son of an Oscar winner and a Laurel Award recipient kept him awake, as did speculation as to who might be behind the blackmail plot. Hilary was above suspicion. But it could be someone on the crew. One of the kids still paying off their student debt. An extra, perhaps? Or maybe Austin, but Austin stood to gain nothing if the truth went public. He wouldn’t have anything to hold over Steve’s head anymore.

Unless he was just jealous Steve had landed Drew for himself. Then maybe petty revenge was more important than whatever he’d gain from exploiting Steve’s industry contacts.

The action plan Drew’s publicist came up with was sort of mercenary, but Steve liked it, even if he hated the necessity of it. It put the power back in their hands and would let them use their relationship to their advantage. But how would people react? It was, essentially, a publicity stunt. He told himself he didn’t care what people thought, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt when someone inevitably insulted their relationship.

And the idea of what Alan suggested—and what Drew and, begrudgingly, Steve, agreed was the best course of action—scared the crap out of him.

Steve tossed and turned, mulling it all over, for almost two hours before Drew—still fast asleep—threw an arm over his waist and aggressively cuddled him into stillness. “Shhh,” he murmured. “Beauty rest.”

That broke the what-if cycle Steve’s brain had been spinning on, and he snickered. He closed his eyes, intending to humor Drew even if Drew didn’t know it, but somehow Drew’s even breath in his ear lulled him, and he finally fell asleep.

The morning was chaos. Steve, usually such a morning person that he didn’t need to set an alarm, even for early calls, woke groggy after his restless night and realized he and Drew had both slept in. He called room service for coffee and bullied Drew into the shower, which was really too small to share, even if they had been awake enough to enjoy trying (they weren’t).

Drew’s coffee was still attached to his face when Steve led them into the makeup trailer—most of the rest of the cast and crew watching with knowing looks—technically only five minutes late. Though given the dark circles under his eyes, he’d be more than ten minutes late by the time he got out again.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said for both of them. Drew cradled his cup under hooded eyes as he took the chair farthest from the door. “We overslept.”

Chantelle raised impeccably groomed eyebrows. “Uh-huh,” she said, her tone knowing.

Steve’s ears went hot. Drew didn’t react at all, too busy trying to crawl into his caffeine. “Anyway,” Steve offered weakly. “We won’t do it again?”

Chantelle snorted.

This time Steve’s whole face went crimson.

Fortunately he was saved from sticking his foot further in his mouth when Drew’s phone rang. Drew pulled it out of his sweatshirt pocket, looked at his coffee, looked at the phone. “No,” he told it.

Yeah, he was in no shape to have to speak to another human being on the phone. He was still at least one coffee under par. Steve held out his hand. “Give.”

Drew made pathetically grateful half-open eyes at him and handed the phone over.

“Drew Beaumont’s phone, this is Steve.”

“Steve?” The person on the other end paused. “Did he hire another PA?”

As far as Steve knew, Drew’s PA was just that—personal—and rarely accompanied him on shoots. There were a handful assigned to the production in general, but Drew didn’t have his own unless he’d lent them out to do Nina’s bidding. “I’m his costar. Drew’s in Makeup.” Though technically the only thing being applied to him right now was caffeine. “Can I let him know who’s calling?”

“It’s Grace. Mr. Beaumont’s PA?” What? Drew’s PA was named Jorj. “Four Paws Talent just called. The dog we booked for the shoot was in a car accident last night. She’s going to be okay, but she’ll be in a cast for weeks, and they don’t have any other available huskies.”

Oh shit, Steve thought, though part of his brain was still trying to work out why this was Drew’s problem. And why he had a PA Steve hadn’t heard of. “I’ll tell him,” he said automatically. And then his brain kicked back into gear and he thought to add, “Did they have any similar breed dogs that might work? Changing the breed isn’t a major rewrite.”

“Golden retriever or a Chihuahua,” Grace said. “I can call them back if one of those will work.”

Steve wasn’t getting paid enough to make that kind of decision, though he’d be the one doing any last-minute rewrites to make it work. “Uh, Drew will call you back later. Okay?”

“Okay. But the earliest they can get to the shoot now will be this afternoon, so don’t take too long.”

This whole movie was turning into a comedy of errors. “We’ll be quick,” Steve promised, and then he hung up and stared at the phone for a moment.

Drew had made it through his cup of coffee and started on Steve’s. “Thanks,” he said. His eyes were at three-quarters awake now. “That sounded like bad news.”

“Well, we don’t have a dog for the shoot today, if that counts as bad.” Steve handed the phone back and wondered if the trailer fridge had anything in it. He could use something to wet his whistle, but he wasn’t about to take his coffee back from Drew. He valued his life—and his limbs. “Why are they calling you about that?”

Drew looked at him, coffee cup pressed to his lips, eyes suddenly all the way open. Then he looked at Chantelle. Then back at Steve.

Slowly he put the cup down. “Uh,” he said. “Because I’m the producer?”

Steve’s mouth dropped open.

“Should I step outside?” Chantelle said, breaking the silence.

After a moment Steve found his voice. “No, it’s fine, I…. Were you going to tell me?”

“I’m just going to go get something for breakfast,” Chantelle said. The trailer door clicked closed behind her.

Drew scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah? I mean….” He sighed. “Okay, you know how you don’t want people to know you’re your parents’ kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at first I didn’t want to be the money. But I didn’t really have a choice. Uh.” He lifted a shoulder. His cheeks were pink. “Well, you already know I love the script. Did even before I met you and even when only half of it was finished. And I knew right away I wanted to be a part of it. The best way to make that happen was to finance it myself.”

Jesus. No wonder they were on a tight budget.

“But I already sort of have a reputation for being… you know.”

“A diva?” Steve supplied, still in shock. Well, he’d thought it himself the night before.

“Yeah. And this was a lot of trouble to go to for something I just had to be in. And I didn’t want people to see me as the money any more than you wanted people to see you as the scion.”

Okay. Steve could understand that, though he wasn’t done processing how he felt about it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What are we going to do about the dog?”