CHAPTER TWENTY
Max watched as two of his fellow actors worked out a scene on stage while the rest of the cast studied their scripts, caught up with messages, or had a cup of tea. The excitement was beginning to build as they neared opening night but the first real hurdles would be the preliminary performances to shake out any bugs in the production.
“Here’s your tea.” Gemma was right at his elbow acting like the other night hadn’t happened, which was fine with him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about her feelings. “I also picked up a paper for you.”
He accepted the tea but balked at the tabloid she was holding out. Another piece of trash not even good enough to wrap fish in. “I’ll pass on the reading material.”
She smirked, only pushing it closer to him. “I think you might find it interesting.”
Close to losing his patience, his grip tightened on the back of the metal chair. “What could possibly be interesting in that rag?”
Gemma let the folded paper drop onto the chair next to him. “I just thought you’d like see the pictures of Carrie and Tyler Gaylord. Now excuse me. I have to make some calls.”
Whirling around, his assistant was gone in a blur of her brightly colored clothing. With a growl he fell back into his chair and reached for the tabloid, hastily paging through it until he found what she’d been referring to.
Fuck.
Carrie. Tyler. Standing outside a black wrought iron gate. Tyler was leaning down whispering something intimate in Carrie’s ear and she was smiling about it. The headline was as nauseating as the photos.
Has Max’s bird flown the coop?
Was Carrie spending her days making a fool of him while he worked his ass off on this new play? The photos showed them in a cozy position, that was for damn sure.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Every break he had in rehearsal, he found himself looking at those photos over and over again as if picking at a scab. Intellectually he was pissed off because she was supposed to be in a showmance with him, letting people know he wasn’t heartbroken. But he couldn’t deny that his feelings – those pesky things – were involved here. He hated to admit it but it…hurt. Seeing Carrie and Tyler so close to each other wasn’t something he enjoyed. They both looked happy, but not in love. Whatever their relationship was it hadn’t gone that far. Yet. Max didn’t think they’d slept together either but he was no expert.
It was with great trepidation that he stomped up Carrie’s front steps that evening and pounded on the door. Things had been going so well but he was angry and they were sure to argue. They’d had no definite plans to see each other tonight but this couldn’t wait. He’d had to call his publicist to try and get the pictures pulled down from several websites that had picked them up, which had only stoked his emotions even higher. She’d better have a damn good explanation for making him look like a fool in front of millions of people. It was her job to keep that from happening.
The door flew open and Carrie stood there in her pajamas, lavender with little puppies scattered all over. Her long hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head and a pair of spectacles were balanced on her pert nose. She looked innocently adorable and some of the anger leaked out of him like the air in a balloon.
“Max, did we have plans?” She tucked a pencil behind her ear. “I don’t have anything written down.”
He brandished the paper he’d been clutching in his hand in front of her face, frantically trying to get his righteous anger back despite how cute she looked. “We don’t but we definitely need to have a discussion about this.”
For a moment she didn’t move, her eyes narrowed as she studied him. He shifted on his feet under her scrutiny but eventually she stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Then you better come in and tell me all about it. Can I get you a beer?”
He could definitely use a drink. “I’d rather a whiskey if you have it.”
“Nate has everything. Just have a seat and I’ll get it.”
He sat stiffly, feeling out of place when he was so angry and she was so calm. Like she had nothing to feel guilty about, but she’d caused a mountain of trouble with those pictures.
He accepted the glass and held out the newspaper. “You might find this of interest. I know I did.”
Sitting next to him, she gingerly opened the paper as if there might be a nasty spider hidden within its depths. She’d see the photos immediately. He’d made sure that he’d folded it just right so they would be on top.
“I’m not sure I see what’s so fascinating in here. Just pictures of me and Tyler from lunch yesterday.”
Aha. She wasn’t bothering to deny it.
“So you admit that you were with Tyler Gaylord?”
She gave him some serious side eye for a guilty woman. “Are you suggesting these were Photoshopped? Of course I admit I was with Tyler. He invited us to a party when he gets back to London, something I forgot to tell you last night.”
He took a sip of whiskey and held it on his tongue, enjoying the smooth flavor before letting it slide down his throat. “You two certainly look cozy.”
It was a statement meant to get a reaction but she didn’t look up from the photos for a long moment. When she finally did, her normally soft brown eyes had turned dark and cold.
“If you have something to say, Hamlet, spit it out. Don’t do this passive-aggressive shit with me. Lift up your balls, insert your spine, and tell me what your problem is or get out. Those are your two choices.”
He didn’t have to put up with that tone. He was the wronged party here.
“I don’t appreciate being spoken to that way. As for my problem, right now these pictures are my problem. They’re everywhere and my PR people are trying to get them pulled down. You ought to be more discreet when going out to meet your lover.”
* * *
Carrie had to almost wrestle herself to the floor to keep from smacking the ever-loving crap out of Maxwell Hayes, movie asshole extraordinaire. She took several deep breaths before she trusted herself to respond with words only and not a knuckle sandwich.
“Are you insinuating that I am sleeping with Tyler? Because you couldn’t be more wrong, Max.”
He poked at the photo with his finger. “Photos don’t lie, Carrie.”
Laughter bubbled up at his pompous, self-righteous statement. “That’s bullshit and you of all people know it. Pictures lie all the time. Do you want the truth behind these photos or are you happy that you’ve caught me doing something bad so you can have the morally superior highroad?”
Max could be a total jerk at times. This was one of them. If he’d come in here and simply asked her what was going on with these photos she would have been happy to tell him. But no. He had to be a douchebag and now they were back to square one.
“The truth,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Of course.”
She tossed the crumpled paper on the coffee table. “I had lunch with Amy yesterday.”
“I know that,” he said a trifle impatiently. “What does that have to do with the pictures?”
“That’s Amy’s house we’re standing in front of. Tyler stopped by to get the key to their Paris flat. He and I left at the same time and he walked me to the gate. He went left and I went right. That’s it. No big messy affair, I’m afraid. You must be so disappointed not to be the victim in this scenario.”
Talk about a drama king. Carrie had thought Nate was bad, but Max had him beat. These actors were a breed unto themselves.
“It looks–”
“Oh, just stop,” she broke in, not wanting to hear him justify his actions. “They probably took over a dozen photos and they picked the most damning one. All he’s doing is leaning down to talk to me.”
Already Max appeared to be shrinking before her eyes. His shoulders were slumped and his gaze was trained on his shoes. “What was he saying?”
She smiled at the memory. “He was saying that you knew how lucky you are to be dating me.”
Jerking his head up, Max’s face was red. “Was he making a pass at you?”
“He was flirting.” Carrie shrugged. “Harmlessly, I might add. I think it’s a habit with him. He doesn’t know when to stop.”
A smile flickered across Max’s. “He is an incurable flirt.”
“He sure is. Are we done now?”
Scratching his head, Max nodded, his gaze on the floor again. “Yes, I’m sorry I overreacted.”
If she’d been a better person she might have just let this go. But she wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you clearly. Can you say that again a little more loudly?”
This time Max lifted his head and sighed as if greatly put-upon. “I said I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Her evening had certainly turned out much differently than she’d planned. Never a dull moment with Max.
“Tyler flirts and you overreact. Guess which one is more fun?”
He drank down the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, making Carrie wince. That had to burn like a bitch on the way down. “Tyler, I would imagine. Everyone thinks he’s more fun.”
She picked up the paper again. She’d tortured Max enough. “I’m not sure about that. You can be a great deal of fun when you want to. Now I am sorry these pictures caused a problem though. Is there anything I need to do?”
Shaking his head, Max leaned back against the cushions, letting his eyes close. He looked exhausted. They were working those actors in the play like rented mules. So much for the glamour of show business.
“No, but thank you for offering. I’ll make sure the next time we’re out that we’re a little more affectionate than usual. The rumors will die down.”
Considering they barely did anything in public except dance and hold hands that left the possibilities almost endless. “Do you not want to go to Tyler’s party? He said something about renting out a nightclub. I guess he’d done this before and the evenings are, and I quote, legendary.”
A grin spread over Max’s too handsome face. Yep, there were stories about these parties that she needed to hear. He was thinking of one right at this moment and loving it.
“We will absolutely go. A Tyler Gaylord party is not to be missed. Plus it will give the press a chance to see us when he’s around. They’ll see that you prefer me.”
She poked him in the arm. “Warn me if you plan to get handsy.”
“A man simply cannot hear that enough.”
She picked up the paper and walked it over to her trash can, stuffing it inside where tabloids belonged. “I haven’t eaten yet. Do you want to stay and order a pizza?”
His eyes popped open. She’d said the magic word. Pizza. “You order. I’ll buy.”