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.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Carrie had managed three slices of the large pizza with sausage and extra cheese. Max had finished the rest of it while bitching that he was going to have to run twenty extra miles to burn off the carbs.
“You have to be skinny for this part?”
He folded the cardboard pizza box and shoved it down in the trash can with the tabloid.
“Not really. I just have to stay the same size through the entire run of the show so they don’t have to make any alterations on the costumes. They can do it but I hate to be an issue for the backstage crew. They work hard enough as it is.”
Speaking of working hard…
“I think they’re working the actors hard too. You’ve been doing some inhuman hours the last few weeks.”
“We usually get more rehearsal time but one of the cast was working on a movie. It cut our schedule by a week.”
“More wine?” She held up the half empty wine bottle.
He shook his head. “Any more alcohol and I won’t be able to move from this couch.”
He was draped over one end of the sofa, his eyes closed again. He looked so peaceful and young, like a little boy drifting off to sleep. She had to remind herself this was no boy. Max Hayes was all man. A handsome, sexy, talented, annoying as shit man.
“You’re welcome to hunker down in the spare room if you like. Nate might even have some pajamas around here that will fit you.”
Nate was slightly taller but the friends had the same physique.
“I don’t wear pajamas.”
“Me neither.”
His eyes snapped open and he sat up, his brows pinched together. “You don’t?”
“You seem surprised. Don’t you remember my list? I don’t like wearing anything when I’m trying to sleep. It gets all bunched up and then I can’t get comfortable. Besides, I live in Florida where it’s warm most of the year.”
He stared as if he’d never seen her before. This was fun. She needed to shock him more often. “I guess I just think of you as the buttoned-up type.”
That hurt. “You and my ex-fiancé. What is it with you men? Either a female is a precious vessel never to be besmirched or she’s a freak in the sheets. There’s no in between with you guys.”
“And where are you on that spectrum?”
“A hell of a lot closer to freak than vessel.”
Those expressive brows that had been pulled together were now raised halfway up his forehead. “Interesting.”
“It’s freaking fascinating. Now can I ask you a question that will change this frankly bizarre subject?”
“Of course, although I must admit that now you have me intrigued.”
She sat down next to him on the couch and snapped her fingers a few times. Men were so single-minded. “Focus, Hamlet.”
“I am focused. Ask your question.”
“Now that we have seen those photos in the paper do you think paps are following me? Do I need to change up my routine or something?”
Rubbing his bottom lip, Max shook his head. “I don’t mean this to be mean but I have to say it’s a surprise to me that you were papped at all. Maybe they were following Tyler.”
“That makes more sense, and I have to say that I’m relieved.”
“They could be following you though.”
Contrary British bastard.
“No, they had to be following Tyler. They just got lucky seeing him with me.”
“Lucky,” Max said softly, his gaze far away and unfocused. “A lot of people around me are getting lucky these days, and not in the Biblical sense.”
He was noodling on something, she could practically see the hamster running on the wheel in his head. “What are you thinking or do I dare ask?”
Standing, he towered over her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Alana found me at the hotel that day when no one knew where I was. The paps found you having lunch with Amy. Not to mention the photos of me buying coffee this last week or when you and I were papped going to the movie. I’m rarely even bothered here in London. The photogs know that I lead a fairly boring life.”
He did, actually. Max was as much a workaholic as she was and perhaps even more.
“So what are you saying then?”
He shrugged, but she could see the frustration in his features. “I have no idea. I’m tired and all I want is a good night’s sleep. Is the offer of the spare room still open?”
Offering him a bed had been an impulse but it had been the right thing to do. He didn’t look like he could make it upstairs, let alone to his own house, even if it wasn’t far. There was something about him when he was like this that pinged all of h
er nurturing instincts. Max didn’t cut himself much slack when he was working and if he wasn’t careful he was going to burn out young.
“Absolutely. The sheets are clean too. I think there’s even a spare toothbrush.”
She’d try not to think about a naked Max just down the hall. Would he think about her?
* * *
The smell of freshly brewed coffee lured Max out of bed the next morning. He was feeling refreshed after a good night’s sleep and he had Carrie to thank for that. If he had gone home he would have read scripts and answered emails until the wee hours of the morning. Despite fantasizing about Carrie naked just a few doors down he’d managed several hours of quality rest.
Dreaming of Carrie in his bed. Nude and saying his name over and over.
An image he needed to erase from his memory bank immediately. He was never going to see her unclothed and in a state of ecstasy. Never.
Quickly brushing his teeth, he pulled on his clothes from last night and bounded anxiously down the stairs. More delicious aromas had been added to the air and he couldn’t wait to see what Carrie was up to in the kitchen. Other than his mum, no one ever made him breakfast unless he was paying them to do it. Alana had never even made him a cup of tea. It had been his job to cater to her.
Standing in front of the stove, Carrie was dressed in faded blue jeans and a teal t-shirt that dipped low on one shoulder exposing creamy flesh that begged to be kissed and caressed. Her hair was in a long ponytail and his fingers itched to reach out and give the band holding it back a tug so the silky curtain of hair would fall loose and wild.
Tortured with visions from last night’s dreams, he might have made an audible whimpering sound because she whirled around, revealing a face completely devoid of makeup, just her fresh, glowing skin on display.
She was so amazingly beautiful.
No need for artifice; she was a natural beauty. He was so used to women caked in makeup, designer clothes, and jewels that when he saw Carrie like this it was like a punch to the solar plexus. She took his breath away.
“Good morning.” She smiled and waved the spatula in the air in greeting. “There’s a pot of coffee so help yourself. I’m making waffles with Paige’s new waffle maker. I think it was a wedding gift. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am,” he replied, his throat tight. He had to drag his gaze away from her delicious curves. He’d much rather have her for breakfast but she wasn’t on the menu.
Business. It was only business. Unfortunately for him, the more time he spent with her the harder it was to remember that fact. Damn if she wasn’t flying right under his usually impressive defenses.
He filled a cup and sat down at the table, resisting the urge to stand behind her and slip his arms around her waist while kissing that exposed shoulder. Like they were a real couple having breakfast together and she did girlfriend things like this for him all the time.
His imagination was going to get him in trouble. She wasn’t his to fantasize about but when he’d seen those photos of her and Tyler yesterday…something inside of him had shifted.
Which reminded him, he needed to have a chat with his assistant today.
“What do you have planned?” he asked after inhaling the melt-in-his-mouth waffles. “Would you like to meet for lunch?”
“Will the slave drivers give you a break?”
She picked up their plates and placed them in the sink and then refilled their coffee.
He smiled at her characterization of the director who was actually quite relaxed, considering the schedule he’d been given.
“Every day. Come by at noon. There’s a little cafe just round the corner.”
“Sounds good. I like getting outside at lunchtime. It’s breaks up the work day a little bit.”
“Then it’s a date. I need to get to my place to shower and change clothes.”
He was ridiculously excited about seeing her in a few hours. It was pathetic, really. A grown man and he was sweating like a teenager on his first date.
Giggling behind her coffee cup, she had to slap a hand over her mouth.
He was afraid to ask but he had to know what had made her laugh. It was a delightful sound. “What is so funny?”
She was laughing so hard she had to set down her coffee cup. Her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink and her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. What had given the little minx a case of the giggles? Did she know how excited he was and planned to tease him about it?
“Max is doing the walk of shame this morning. Kind of.”
If only they had done something to feel guilty for.
“Enjoy your laugh at my expense, wench. Revenge will be mine. I will bring dark days upon your household.”
He’d used his Shakespeare voice to deliver that line and it appeared to be a hit. If anything, she was laughing all the harder.
“I like that,” she said. “Hamlet and wench. I think that pretty much sums up our relationship.”
Slipping his phone into his pocket, he headed toward the front door before he gave in to the urge to kiss her goodbye. That would have been the perfect ending to their domestic morning. A wife sending her beloved husband off to work with a cuddle and a promise of something even better when he came home. Like that imaginary spouse, she followed him to say goodbye. Chastely, of course.
“See you at noon,” he said but anything else he’d planned flew right out of his head when he opened the door. A crowd of paparazzi had at some point crowded around the front gate and they’d clearly spotted the happy couple because the flashbulbs went off like a dozen strobe lights. Covering his eyes, Max immediately stepped in front of Carrie to shield her from the cameras. He might think she looked sexy this morning, but being a woman she’d want to be more prepared for a gaggle of photographers that wanted to put her picture in the paper and on the internet.
“What the hell?” she hissed as she ducked down behind him. “How did they even know you were here? I think they are watching me. All I need is some black helicopters and my paranoia is complete.”
“I’ll handle this. Go on inside and keep the door closed. If they don’t disperse after I leave, text me and we can reschedule lunch, but I think they’ll go once they get their pictures of me.”
The money shot would have been to catch Max kissing Carrie goodbye on her front doorstep but all these vultures were going to get was the walk of shame she’d referred to earlier. Although he hardly considered it big news that a man in his late thirties had spent the night with his extremely attractive girlfriend. It would be news if he hadn’t.
The door closed behind him and he put his head down, plowing through the throngs of photographers all shouting questions at him, some of them in rather poor taste. The rabid pack followed him all the way home, snapping picture after picture although Max wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of looking up or saying a word. The bloodsuckers had already ruined his morning by upsetting Carrie.
What had they been doing in front of Carrie’s house? They hadn’t been following him last night. He was sure of that. Had they been tipped off? And by whom?
He had a good idea who it was. But why?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At the theatre, Gemma handed Max his coffee and a lemon poppy-seed muffin before reeling off a few business items he needed to take care of. Call his agent about that new script, remember the interview he was doing tomorrow afternoon, and call his mother.
“I’ll give her a call today.” Max leaned against a table in the backstage area where they kept the snacks. He was thinking of trading in that muffin for a chocolate chip one. “By the way, Gemma, is there anything you want to tell me?”
With a nonchalant air, his assistant shook her head. She was wearing another of her brightly colored outfits today, the pants yellow and the shirt purple. The color combination made his eyes hurt.
“I don’t think so. Will there be anything else?”
He’d given her a chance to come clean. “Actually, yes. Funny thing ha
ppened this morning. There was a gaggle of photographers outside Carrie’s home. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”
The change in her was almost imperceptible but to a stage-trained actor who studied human behavior it was as bright as day. Her shoulders tensed slightly and her hand had fluttered up to cover her throat, the most vulnerable part of the human body. It was a primitive reaction but it never lied.
Unlike Gemma.
“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I don’t.”
Ah, she’d repeated her answer twice as if to emphasize her truthfulness. Another tell.
“What is Alana paying you?”
Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Nothing. She’s not paying me anything.”
He found that hard to believe. “So you’re doing this for free? How foolish of you. She would have paid for the information you’ve been passing her.”
Gemma wasn’t the crying type so it wasn’t a surprise when she went into offense-mode.
“This is all your fault,” she spat, her normally placid expression turned venomous. “You never noticed me but Alana did.”
“I told you when I hired you that I do not get romantically involved with my employees.”
Rolling her eyes, she gave a snort of disdain. “I don’t want you. You’re way too old for me. I want to be a star. Why do you think I took this job? Because I love fetching you coffee? Get real.”
A star. He should have known. Everybody had their own hidden agenda. But there was literally no path from picking up his dry cleaning to winning an Academy Award. What had Gemma been thinking?
“You want to be an actress? Then be one. You want to be a celebrity assistant? Do that. But the two don’t have anything to do with one another.”
Gemma tossed her tablet computer on the table hard enough to make him wince. Shit, his entire life was in that thing and if it malfunctioned he had no idea if she kept his schedule and contacts backed up somewhere.
Swinging On A Star (The Hollywood Showmance Chronicles Book 2) Page 13
