Chapter Nine

THE valet at the Aquarium of the Pacific opened Steve’s door, which was simultaneously annoying and a relief. On the one hand it meant Drew couldn’t, and on the other it meant he didn’t have to and wouldn’t be dealing with the fallout from the gesture in the press.

Steve whistled as Drew tossed the keys to the valet. The aquarium had rolled out a literal red carpet for the event, though it was understated enough not to need the velvet ropes. At least so far. Cars were starting to line up, though, and a handful of figures in black tie were making their way toward the main entrance. A few scattered paparazzi had perked up when Drew stepped out, and Drew gestured Steve past them, press smile firmly in place. “Sorry in advance,” he said, hoping that would be enough for Steve to brace himself. Before they could take another step, the photographers started yelling:

“Drew! Hey, Drew, who’s your date?”

“Over here, Drew, give us a smile!”

“Drew, where’s Leigh?”

Probably getting hounded in Hawaii, Drew thought. But maybe not. Maybe she’d had the sense to book a very private vacation and the budget to bribe someone to keep it that way.

“Just smile and wave and keep walking,” Drew advised, inclining his head toward Steve. “They’ll figure out who you are eventually, but stopping now is a recipe for hearing questions you don’t want to answer just so they can get a reaction.”

“I remember now why I never wanted to be recognizable,” Steve said around a plastic smile. He looked a little green. “Is that Cooper Miles? Is he performing tonight?”

Drew hoped he wasn’t going to puke. “Only official photographers inside,” he said as a uniformed woman held the door for them. “They’ll send any pictures to Hilary and my publicist for approval before releasing them. We don’t have to tell anyone anything. You can just be my friend Steve.”

“Is that what you want me to be?”

Drew didn’t have time to answer that before they came up to the security booth. He handed over his cell phone and raised his hands for a professional pat-down from a severe-looking security guard. Then he stepped through the metal detector.

“All set, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, and her stony expression transformed for a second as she smiled and returned his cell. “The cocktail reception is in the Great Hall and just outside the Ocean Science Center. Dinner will be served on the front lawn at nine. Have a nice evening.”

“Thanks.”

Steve finished with his pat-down and got his phone back from his own guard, whom Drew was doing his best not to envy. At least he was professional.

“All right,” Steve said, his color returning to normal. “I might actually eat sometime this year.”

“You’ll get your appetite back when you see the spread they put on here.” They followed the flow of people farther into the Great Hall of the Pacific. Pub tables with black satin tablecloths dotted the space, populated with glittering Hollywood elites of all ages. “I hope you had a light lunch.”

“Kind of. I was worried my pants wouldn’t fit. It’s been a while since I wore this.”

Drew wondered about that—most people didn’t just have a tuxedo in their closet. But lots of Hollywood parties had dress codes, and anyone in the biz had a legitimate reason to keep one in their wardrobe. It was probably nothing.

Anyway, it wasn’t like he was going to complain. Steve looked incredible, and if his pants were a little on the tight side, so much the better.

“But you never answered my question.”

Is that what you want me to be?

“You noticed that, huh.” They walked under the blue whale, and Drew took a breath. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want. It’s been a long time since I let myself think about it.”

Steve’s face shuttered, that open, easy quality transforming into something inscrutable.

Wrong answer, Drew thought.

“Oh.”

Shit. They hadn’t been here five minutes, and Drew was already making things awkward. He wondered what kind of Hollywood magic it would take to extract his foot from his mouth. What the hell was wrong with him? “But I’m interested in finding out. So I guess, uh, if you’re agreeable, then for tonight, you’re my costar, and the writer, and also my date. Like a date date. Which you can tell anyone who asks.” And then, in a fit of inspired bravery, he added, “And people who don’t. If you want.”

He bit his lip. He had to be right that Steve wasn’t using him, but that didn’t make believing it enough to date publicly easy.

He only got two more steps before Steve caught his hand. Drew turned his head and their eyes met.

“I’m not going to take out an ad in the paper or anything,” Steve said. They were coming up on the doors to the waterfront, and the lights made his eyes shine and highlighted the color in his cheeks. Drew had the sudden intrusive thought that he looked like he belonged here, in the spotlight, on Drew’s arm. “Let’s see how tonight goes first.”

Drew had a good feeling about it now.

He squeezed Steve’s hand once, then gave it a tug, leading him out the glass doors to the patio.

The waterfront was dressed up with all the glitz and glamor only Hollywood could furnish. White-clad waitstaff with gleaming trays circulated the crowd, delivering hors d’oeuvres and champagne. Even the boats in the marina seemed to have been scrubbed until they shone.

“Wow.”

Drew smiled. “Never been here for a private event before?”

Shaking his head, Steve looked around, taking everything in. “No. Been to a couple fancy Hollywood shindigs in my time, but never here. Nice ambiance.”

“Champagne, sirs?” The waitress offering the tray barely came up to Drew’s elbow.

“I will, yeah. Steve?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Drew took two glasses, and the waitress wove off through the crowd. Soon enough people would be clamoring for his attention, but for now—“Cheers,” he said. “To our jobs, our movie, and our date.”

Steve touched his glass to Drew’s.

And then, slowly, the crowd swallowed them.

“You can relax a little,” Drew said. “No one’s going to get mad at you if you accidentally bump into them. We’re all here to have a good time.”

Steve looked up, and Drew could see him try to loosen the set of his shoulders in an effort to take up the correct amount of space. “That obvious, huh?”

Drew tapped the side of his nose. “Acting. I am a student of body language.”

If he’d gone with Leigh, they’d have drifted apart and back together a few times over the course of the night—but that wouldn’t have really been a date. With Steve he stayed close, and people noticed.

He was trying to steer them in the direction of more hors d’oeuvres when he literally bumped elbows with someone he recognized, and he stalled Steve with a quick tug and smiled widely. “Well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Drew Beaumont, as I live and breathe. And who’s this?” asked Lorna Prout with a devious twinkle in her eye, no less a gossip queen at seventy-three than she was at twenty, or so Drew had been led to believe. “I’m not sure we’ve met.”

This time Drew didn’t even need to take a fortifying breath. Of its own accord, his hand found the small of Steve’s back and pulled him closer. “Lorna, this is Steve Sopol. My date.”

For his part, Steve never seemed to get starstruck. He shook hands gamely or exchanged nods with a few notorious germophobes, or, as he did now, pulled off a suave knuckle kiss as though he had old Hollywood running through his blood. But it never felt fake or condescending. Steve was a better actor than Drew had given him credit for. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Prout.”

“The pleasure is mine, Steven. And call me Lorna, please.”

Or maybe he really was just that good with people. Lorna certainly seemed charmed, more so when Steve procured another glass of champagne for her. She and Drew exchanged anecdotes about dogs, Steve chiming in with his own story about Jarmo, his neighbor’s Akita, who loved his “grandma” so much he dragged his master thirty-seven blocks for a visit.

“And then her mom wasn’t even home,” Steve said, “but the dog wouldn’t leave until she showed up.”

Lorna laughed. “Maybe I should get my son a dog, is that what you’re saying? Then he’ll visit more.”

“Couldn’t hurt!” Steve smiled, then finished his champagne and set the glass on the table. “Excuse me—I’ve got to go powder my nose.”

Drew watched him leave, shaking his head.

“Where did you find him?” Lorna asked, leaning in. “He is charming.”

“My agent’s office, indirectly.” Ironic, considering Drew had fired his publicist for arranging his dates for him, once upon a time. “A happy accident, I think.”

She raised her eyebrows in polite censure. “You think? Young man, if you aren’t sure, I can think of several parties who would be interested. Those shoulders….”

Yes, Drew knew about the shoulders. And the butt. “It’s only our first date,” he protested.

“Ha! Oh, darling. You set the bar high, didn’t you?” She took a sip of her champagne. “What are you going to do for the next one? Fly him to Fiji?”

Drew could think of worse ideas, though that was getting ahead of himself. “We haven’t decided there’s going to be a next one yet. I don’t….” He sighed. I don’t trust my judgment anymore was a lot to lay on someone at a party. “You know how it is.”

“I do know,” Lorna said sympathetically. “But be nice to him. Something tells me he’s a keeper.”

Drew was starting to suspect the same thing.

And it scared the crap out of him.