Chapter Two

FOR a moment, when Hilary asked if she could speak to him privately, Steve thought she was going to fire him. Lord knew actors could be fickle—Steve had plenty of firsthand experience to that effect. But then she led him down the hall from the conference room to her office, closed the door, and turned around.

She was nervous, yeah. But not drawn-in-on-herself nervous. Excited nervous. She had a natural pink in her brown cheeks and kept fidgeting with her fingers like she needed an outlet for her energy. “So.”

“So?” he prompted.

“So Drew Beaumont wants you to be his costar.”

Steve stared at her. “He what?”

“He thinks you should costar. He says you’re cute and have good comedic timing.”

Steve fought the blush he could feel rising in his face—partly at the compliment but mostly because of its source. “Oh.”

“He’s probably going to throw a full-blown fit if you say no,” Hilary went on, her tone turning cajoling. “Could derail the project for weeks until we find the right replacement. Might have to scrap the whole thing.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at the blatant manipulation. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I should hope so.” Hilary dropped onto her couch. “Well?”

He should say no. He wasn’t an actor, even if he did have the talent and the training. The more publicity he got, the closer the press would get to the truth.

On the other hand, most of the guys who’d auditioned today were truly off-the-charts awful, and it was hard to say no, even by proxy, to a megastar who thought you were cute. He sighed. “You gonna represent me again?”

Hilary grinned a shark’s grin. “And I’ll only take half my usual rate this time.”

“Truly you are a benevolent goddess.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Then the grin vanished. “Seriously, though. If you really don’t want to do it, we can try pushing production back a little. We had interest from a couple non-nobodies. Austin Sparks wanted in as soon as he heard Drew’s name. I swear his agent has some kind of Google alert or something.”

Steve frowned but didn’t let himself react further, at least not outwardly. “Didn’t he and Beaumont do a movie together?”

“Yeah, they just came back from the press tour three days ago. Believe me, if Drew wanted Austin anywhere near this movie, he’d be here.”

“I did get that impression.”

“I promise he’s not actually difficult to work with. He’s a little spoiled, but he works as hard as anyone.”

As if it mattered. Hilary had already told him Beaumont asked to do this movie and not the other way around. Steve was getting a pretty big head start on writing a successful film just from that. “You honestly think I’m the right guy for the job.”

“Steve. You have chemistry.” Hilary shrugged. “Lots of people have chemistry with Drew, but never in a comedy. At least not so far. If you’re comfortable, take the money and run with it.”

It was probably stupid. But Steve had never claimed to be a genius, and he couldn’t deny the appeal of bringing his own script to life—or of acting opposite one of the most successful, most attractive actors Hollywood had to offer. Even if the consequences could be… interesting.

“What the hell,” he said. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

Hilary clapped. “That’s the spirit.”

STEVE dropped his bag on the kitchen table and his keys in the bowl on the counter, grateful for air-conditioning and the comforts of home, tiny as it was. It had been a long day, and tomorrow was likely to be more of the same. He needed to recharge.

He needed to figure out how this movie ended.

And he needed a drink.

That last one at least he could start on immediately. He pulled a hard cider out of the fridge and opened it before walking the three steps to his living room and flicking on the TV.

Entertainment Tonight was garbage TV, but it was familiar, comforting garbage. Growing up, he’d watched it with his parents, never seriously but to make up outlandish stories. And, of course, his mother liked to know what was in fashion.

He grabbed the notepad and pen from the end table as the hostess’s voice washed over him. Right now the script stalled in Vegas after Scotty and Morgan broke into Lila’s house and liberated the dog. Steve had a vague idea of where he wanted to go from there, but getting the words out and making them funny had been giving him fits. Now, though—well, it was easier to see the big picture now that he knew what to picture, now that he had a handle on how the characters would come alive on-screen.

So maybe a neighbor spotted them sneaking around in the yard. And maybe someone called the police because Scotty accidentally knocked over a potted cactus or something (“Who pots a cactus!” he’d hiss, looking over his shoulder to try to see the damage he’d inflicted on himself. “It’s a goddamn desert!” “Shut up and hold still or I’ll never get the pricks out of your ass,” Morgan would snipe back. Or, hmm, maybe Morgan needed to be the one knocking things over so Scotty could say the pricks line and then add, mystified, “I’ve never had to say that before.”). And then….

Steve looked up a few times over the next half an hour. The first was just in time to see Marla Stone walk the red carpet of her comeback movie. She looked pretty good for seventy-three, and early reviews seemed to say the movie was good too. After that Scotty and Morgan pulled him back in until, incongruously, Scotty’s voice came out of the television.

Drew cleaned up pretty nice too, his thick dark hair artfully tousled and his stubble cultivated to just the right length to make him look rakish rather than lazy. Steve lived the worst possible life to have his head turned by a man in a well-tailored tux, but he couldn’t help it. Drew had a charisma that reeled people in.

“I mean, yeah, I think it’s a good movie. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would suck.” Steve suppressed a smile. That was the kind of honest answer only actors like Drew could get away with—ones with enough success under their belts that confidence didn’t come across as arrogance, and with enough charm to make you forgive them if it did.

Before the interviewer could ask another question, Austin Sparks stuck his head over Drew’s shoulder. “Don’t let him sell it short—it’s fantastic, he’s incredible,” he said before melting back into the background, signing autographs along the red carpet.

“I actually hate him,” Drew said in that sly, cheerful way that let you know he was really very fond.

Steve snorted without true amusement and went back to his notepad.

By the time Entertainment Tonight segued into whatever even less substantial slush aired after it, Steve had made several pages’ worth of progress. He was debating the humor of Elvis impersonators when the phone rang, interrupting his groove.

He always answered for the Shirelles, or his mom would think he’d forgotten about her. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby.”

Steve put the notepad down and flicked the TV off. “You’re home awfully early, aren’t you?” She never made phone calls in public.

“You’re not trying to keep tabs on your mother, are you?” she teased. “I’m my own woman, you know.”

Steve laughed. Now there was an understatement. “I wouldn’t dare. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Unlike you, I am allowed to call to check up. Mother’s prerogative,” she said loftily. “Besides, Hilary texted me. Something you want to tell me, Steven?”

“Hilary’s a snitch.” He kicked his feet up on the couch and leaned his back against the armrest. “I was going to tell you this weekend. Wanted to do it in person.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her before the project really kicked into motion. So often scripts got optioned and never went anywhere. He didn’t want her to get excited over nothing.

“Congratulations, baby. I know you work hard. Is this the comedy script you’ve been writing? I thought it wasn’t finished.”

“It isn’t,” he admitted. “Hilary must be a little bit magic.”

His mother clucked in admonishment. “Hilary works hard too.” Then she paused. “Though I have to say she does seem to be having a solid run of luck. Did I read right that Drew Beaumont signed on to play the lead? That’s quite a coup for your first script, and an independent film at that! He must be taking quite a pay cut.”

Steve was suddenly glad he didn’t have to tell her in person because it meant she couldn’t see him blush. “Apparently he insisted.”

“He has good taste.” She sniffed. “Did you know he’s bisexual? Handsome too, wouldn’t you say?”

Oh God. “Mom. Please tell me you’re not suggesting I hook up with an actor.”

“Hook up!” she echoed, delighted. “Well, why not! Honestly, Steven, you need to have a little fun sometimes.”

The suggestion would have mortified him under regular circumstances. These circumstances were far from regular, and he reacted accordingly. “I’m not going to sleep with a costar!” he protested.

His mother’s silence told him Hilary hadn’t spilled all the beans.

Oops.

“Costar?” she said carefully, giving away nothing.

Oh boy. Here it goes. “We’re working on a compressed schedule in order to work with Drew’s availability.” As soon as he said it, he cringed; his mom didn’t need to know he and Drew were on a first-name basis. She’d already gotten enough ideas. “And we held auditions today and yesterday, and, well, let’s just say it wasn’t a good crop. So Hilary asked me to show them how it was done, and….”

“And then she offered you the part?”

Steve was a decent actor, but he’d never mastered lying to his mother. “Apparently Drew was very insistent.”

“And what about you? Is this what you want? You’ve always wanted to write, not act.”

He shook his head. “I don’t mind acting. I actually think it’ll be kind of fun, with Drew. And I’m still writing the script. I just don’t want to be gawked at wherever I go. Most people don’t know what screenwriters look like.”

“As long as you’re happy, baby, I’m happy for you. But if you don’t want to do it, you call Hilary back and tell her so.”

“It’s just one movie. And besides, it’s an indie production company even I’ve never heard of. No one’s going to see it. My privacy is safe.”

His mother laughed. “For now. Maybe I’ll show up on set one day and surprise you. Think Drew Beaumont will give me an autograph?”

Oh God. Steve laughed too, in spite of himself, at the idea of his mother acting like a starstruck fangirl. “I think he’d get a kick out of it.” At least judging by their interactions so far.

“I’ll put it in my calendar,” she said wickedly. “Every mother should have the chance to embarrass her children at work.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” he said dryly, knowing she’d never show.

They chatted a few more minutes about the men she was seeing—his father had passed away three years ago, and though she’d loved him dearly, now she was enjoying “playing the field.”

“Mom,” he protested when she used that phrase.

“Don’t be jealous, baby. Are you coming up to visit this weekend?”

He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’ll depend on the schedule, I think, and how much work I get done before then.” They were supposed to start filming Monday, which seemed incredibly fast. “Tell Rita I love her if I don’t make it up.”

“I’ll tell her.”

By the time they hung up, Steve’s cider was gone, and so was his ambition to write. He plugged his phone in, set his alarm, and nudged the coffee table back so he could pull out the bed.

He brushed his teeth at the pedestal sink in his tiny bathroom, then washed his face. Without meaning to, he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who should star opposite Drew Beaumont in anything. But maybe that would work to his advantage. He was just an average guy with average looks, distinguishable mostly because he’d broken his nose skiing in college and it had set crooked. Drew was the character audiences were supposed to fall in love with.

That was okay, though. It fit the genre. They were supposed to fall in love with Scotty, but Scotty was too ridiculous and maybe too beautiful to identify with. It was Steve’s job to provide the human connection, in large part by falling in love with Scotty for the audience.

Steve wasn’t the best actor on the planet, but he was pretty sure he could pull it off.