His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  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 Makeu
p.” 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?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  AFTER that inauspicious beginning to the day, Drew shouldn’t have been surprised their first scene was a mess.

  The scene would only end up being a minute long. It barely had dialogue. The blocking should have been a breeze.

  Of course, all that went to hell when the script called for you to kiss your introvert boyfriend on camera. Oh, and it doubly went to hell when you skipped forward to a scene you hadn’t had time to rehearse because you had planned to film something else today instead.

  When Nina called action, Steve was supposed to follow Drew at a dead sprint down a hotel corridor. Drew would be one corner ahead of him and turn out of sight, then reach out and grab Steve as he went by to try to make their pursuers run past them. Only Steve would stumble—right into Drew’s arms, where they’d lock eyes. Then Drew would kiss him, only for a sound down the hallway to interrupt before the kiss could deepen.

  What actually happened when Nina called action was that they ran, Drew reached out for Steve’s arm, missed, and Steve kept going down the hall.

  “Cut,” Nina said flatly over Drew and Steve’s giggles. Even Mel, who was manning the camera in the alcove with Drew, cracked a grin.

  “Your aim sucks,” Steve chirped.

  “You ran too fast!” Drew complained.

  Nina sighed so loud they could hear her plainly from fifty yards. “Reset.”

  On the second take, Drew successfully caught Steve’s arm, but they overbalanced and careened into the wall.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Drew said breathlessly—literally; Steve had him pinned so he could hardly inhale.

  “Cut!”

  Things went downhill from there.

  The third run-through, Drew thought it was going to click. Everything felt right in the lead-up: their footfalls were in sync, he caught Steve’s arm firmly, they managed to balance without wrecking the camera shot.

  Their eyes locked.

  Drew moved his hand to the back of Steve’s neck.

  All according to the script.

  But when he pulled Steve in for the kiss, Steve balked like a spooked horse and wouldn’t lean in.

  Drew tried not to take it personally, but, well. Ouch.

  He didn’t wait for Nina this time. “Cut.” He let go of the back of Steve’s neck, which had gone hot under his touch. Something told him this was only the beginning of their problems.

  Steve took a step back, avoiding Drew’s gaze. That sealed it.

  “Can we take five?” Drew asked.

  Nina put down her notes and waved him off, which meant Deal with your shit. Super.

  Drew grabbed the Perrier one of the production assistants held out for him and led the way to their trailer. Steve followed.

  So did the eyes of the crew.

  Well, if they were being watched, Drew would make sure it was a good show. He walked into the trailer, taking a few long strides to ensure Steve would have room behind him.

  When the door banged shut, Drew turned around. Steve didn’t have much of a poker face off the set, and right now he looked like a dog expecting a kick.

  Drew took two steps toward him, mentally asked Will’s forgiveness for the wardrobe infraction, fisted his hand in Steve’s shirt, and yanked him into a kiss.

  The trailer door gave a hearty clack as Steve knocked against it. Drew crowded in, gentling his mouth, waiting for Steve to respond. And then finally he did, tension bleeding from his body as he exhaled through his nose and settled his hands almost hesitantly on Drew’s waist.

  Drew kept kissing him, remembering that night at the house, how Steve had kissed him and kissed him until he was almost sore. They didn’t have time for that now, but he wanted—needed—to remind him how good that was.

  He reached up to cradle the back of Steve’s neck, then stopped himself and pulled away because he wanted to put his hand in Steve’s hair, and that would mean another trip to Makeup.

  Steve blinked at him with soft, dazed blue eyes.

  “I’m not going to kiss you like that in front of people,” Drew said, hoping he’d correctly identified the problem. “In case that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Steve flushed.

  Yeah, Drew thought so.

  “I know we’re never going to have very much privacy,” Steve said haltingly. Drew hid a wince at how true that was. “I shouldn’t have written the scene knowing I’d have to act in it.”

  “It’s not a real kiss.�
� Drew had kissed plenty of people on camera and not meant it. On-screen kisses were meant to look good. Even he didn’t generally find them sexy, and he’d been accused of exhibitionism on more than one occasion. “It’s not you and me. Okay?”

  Steve wrinkled his nose. The skin around his eyes was pinched. Not convinced, then.

  “Here.” Drew took a step back and reached for Scotty. “We haven’t had time to rehearse this scene yet. Let me put your mind at ease.”

  Steve rubbed his forearm for a second, then closed his eyes.

  It took a moment—no fluid transition between Steve and Morgan here. Not like that day in the casting room. But it had already been a trying day, and Steve was in his own head. Of course he’d have a hard time getting into Morgan’s.

  He did, though, and when he opened his eyes again, Drew saw Morgan’s years of careful repression layered over them.

  Good.

  Drew reached behind his neck, and his eyes widened, but he didn’t resist.

  Drew kissed him—except he didn’t really. Scotty wouldn’t kiss Morgan for the first time the way Drew kissed Steve, easy and passionate and casually intimate. Scotty had only just realized he wanted to kiss Morgan at all. It was all impulse, no substance, with little beneath the surface except the shock of his own discovery. A hard press of lips, and then a pause as Scotty realized what he was doing. Enough time for Morgan to telegraph to the audience he wanted more.

  The second Steve’s posture relaxed into Drew’s touch, Drew broke away.

  “Okay,” Steve said a second later. “Okay. I get it. Not romantic.”

  “Nope.” Drew took a step back and straightened Steve’s shirt. Not too bad. He might even escape without Will’s interference. “And for future reference? It gets exponentially less sexy with each take.”

  “Can’t wait,” Steve deadpanned.

  Of course, they still had to do it in front of people.

  They walked back to set shoulder to shoulder and found their marks. Nina raised an eyebrow, but Drew just shrugged her off. Time would tell if their break had made a difference.