“It’s so quiet up at this end of the hangar,” Kate whispered. “There’s people talking, stuff happening all the time, at my end. Then there’s the media, every time I step out of the building.”
“They’re not nearly as civilized as the financial press,” Garrett observed. “How’s Roman handling it?”
It had been eight days, now. The furor over Kate’s double-dating didn’t seem to be dying down, especially as she hadn’t confirmed or denied if she was simply seeing two men at a time, or if it was a ménage. The press kept trotting out pictures of Garrett and Roman together. Talking, on the set, doing things … Garrett hadn’t been aware of just how many times the two of them had interacted in the short time they had been in the desert, but the media had noticed and were using every second they had captured as proof of a relationship that they were spinning up out of whole cloth to the delight of an ever expanding global readership.
After Garrett had first warned Roman of the three ring circus to come, Roman had cut off all communication with him. He had been pissed. Now he was sulking.
“Roman is trying to laugh about it,” Kate told him. “I mean, if you don’t laugh, you cry, right? You’ve been here before, Micheil, so you know how it goes. You just have to hold your breath and wait for it to pass, which it does eventually. And while you wait, you have to see the stupid side of it, or you go insane.”
Someone knocked on the trailer door. “Garrett.”
Kate groaned.
“Winter,” Garrett said. “Well, the peace wasn’t going to last.” He got up and started to dress.
Kate rolled over and put on her jeans. “I don’t know how we arrange it, but I’d like to do this again, sometime.”
“We got away with it clean cold because we didn’t plan it.” He threw on his shirt. “Planning it means a next time won’t occur. But we can watch for opportunities.” He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her quickly. “I agree, this was nice.” He went through to the main room to let Winter in.
Winter stepped into the trailed and stood aside with a grimace. “Sorry. He insisted on knowing where you were.”
Roman stepped up into the trailer. “I might have figured it out for myself.” He glanced at Garrett’s open shirt. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Would it matter if you were?” Kate asked, from the bedroom door. She was fully dressed.
Roman turned to look at her. His face dropped into neutral. “No,” he said stiffly. He held out a big white card. “Brittany wanted you to have this right away. I think you should read it.”
“An invitation?”
Even Garrett recognized the stiff white card and florid script as an invitation of sorts. Why the hysterics over an invitation?
“Just read it,” Roman said, lifting the card up toward her.
Kate took the card and starting reading. “Oh shit,” she said and held it out to Garrett.
He took it.
The Academy of Television Arts & Sciences
Invites
Kathrine Lindenstream
&
Adrian Xerus & Calum Micheil Garrett
To
The 63rd Annual Emmy Awards Show
Sunday, September 18, 2012,
at the Nokia Theatre.
“Well, there’s a crooked dram of whiskey and a game that’s gone to Lucifer,” he murmured.
“What?” Kate asked.
“Ah, he’s reverted back to Gaelic. Always a bad sign,” Roman said.
Garrett looked up from the card. “I was back in the old tongue?” he asked Roman.
Roman grinned. “Scotch references and all, you old sot.” He looked at Kate. “He’s worried.”
“That was Gaelic? I’ve heard him use it before.” She bit her bottom lip. “But not when he was worried.”
Roman’s grin faded. “Well, there’s then, too,” he said. He crossed his arms.
Kate glanced at Garrett, her expression startled. Then she dropped her gaze to her toes. Awkwardness radiated from every angle of her body.
But her pulse had increased.
Roman was staring at her, his arms loosening, growing awareness in his face. He couldn’t miss the signs of arousal in her, either. He was closer to her.
Garrett touched her arm with the card, drawing her attention. “What are you going to do?”
Kate lifted her head enough to spot the card and take it. “I have to go. It would be political suicide to turn down an invitation from the Academy, especially with my leading lady up for an award. But it’s a media red carpet event. I’ve been before, but I’ve never been one of the fashion totems.” She drew in a breath and blew it out. “I think…” She held up the card. “I think this means I’m one of the primary targets.”
“Because of us,” Garrett added.
Kate held up the card. “It’s very explicit. They want both of you there. I’m nobody on my own. Even with just one of you, I’m another director with a great man on her arm. But with both of you….” She gave a small smile. “Sorry.”
Roman glanced at Garrett. “I don’t presume to speak for longshanks there, but the way I see it, if it helps the movie, I guess I can suck up being seen with you, if you’re in a backless, sequined shimmering thing. It’ll just kill me having to dance with you wearing so little, but I can take one for the team.”
Garrett hid his smile. “Even if it means more speculation about the three of us, Roman? You know that walking down that red carpet with her is going to give them another month’s worth of speculation.”
Roman shrugged. “Fuck ‘em,” he growled. “They can think what they want. They will anyway.”
Kate looked at him. “Micheil?”
“I’m with Roman on this. If it helps the movie—and you—then yes. I’ve never had the chance to take you out on a date. Even with the morose Byzantine there playing fifth wheel, it would be nice to get out somewhere.”
Roman snorted.
Kate pulled out her cellphone. “I’m going to run it past my publicity person—”
“Mary-Ann?” Roman asked, wincing.
Kate shook her head. “The director of issues management at the agency. She’s cool. She thinks you two almost pass as boyfriend material. And she didn’t faint at the idea of two men at once. I like her.” She turned away, her cellphone to her ear.
Roman caught Garrett’s eye.
Garrett wondered if he was thinking the same thing Garrett was. Kate’s phrasing had been…interesting.
September 18th was starting to have possibilities beyond showing the world the three of them assembled together at the same time.
Chapter Thirty
Kate descended the stairs, her shoes clattering unmusically on the tiles, giving away her impending entrance. But that was fine by her, because she didn’t want to do any surprises or startle anyone. She was nervous enough to throw up and figured everyone else was on the same frame right along with her.
Thank god it was the last week of filming and they were into early pick-ups and wind-ups. Patrick had already finished and it was just second tier cast. She had been able to take the whole day off today, to prepare for this stupid Emmy thing.
The hairdresser and makeup artist had taken hours. Tizzy – Orlando Oritizia – had personally sewn her into her dress forty minutes before, while sighing over her perfect size eight figure with its hourglass proportions and begging her never to have children. He had departed with much careful hugging and butterfly kisses that never quite made it to her cheeks. He had been doing her dresses for five years, but this dress was different.
When she had commented on the odd departure in style, he had patted her still un-made-up cheek. “You, you are so different now! We must celebrate your essential qualities.” He’d broken off into a torrent of Italian of which Kate had caught the merest fraction. But it had been enough. He had been in raptures over her hedonism and public embrace of the liberal side of life.
Garrett and Roman, in other words.
&
nbsp; The dress was a deep, glowing red silk taffeta shot with black and laid over with the finest black Spanish silk lace. It had long sleeves and it pulled in tight around her waist and hips and lifted up her breasts. But Roman would be happy for behind there was nothing of the dress until just below her waist. Then it trailed and trailed, pulling the front taut across her thighs in a way that made her very aware of her hips, her thighs and the way her legs moved under the dress and kept flashing through the vent at the front.
She was wearing the most outrageous shoes. They were ridiculously high, razor thin heels, with built in platforms so that she stood over six feet tall. Black ribbons wrapped around her ankles, holding the shoes to her feet and crossing over the top of her feet, but that was all there was to her shoes, apart from the heels and the platform at the front. They were wickedly decadent and feminine and surprisingly comfortable.
Then there was the jewellery. A pair of armed guards and a woman with an electronic clipboard had delivered the jewels in an armoured vehicle thirty minutes ago. The woman had helped Kate put them on, securing the electronic fastenings herself. Then Kate had signed for them, her stomach tightening as the woman had explained what she was signing for.
“When you’re ready for us to retrieve them, call the number on the card and we’ll be here in thirty minutes,” the woman explained. “Don’t try to take them off yourself. You’ll trip the alarm.”
“What if I need to suddenly take a shower or fall into a swimming pool?” Kate asked.
“Try very hard not to fall into the swimming pool,” the woman said, “or put yourself into a situation where you need a shower. But the clasps should be able to withstand a quick spritz without harm. They’ve been tested good for fifteen metres underwater. We just don’t like them to get rusty and have to replace them. It drives the insurance up.”
“And what if I want to have sex?” Kate asked bluntly.
The woman smiled, while the two guards both stood stone-faced. “Have sex with them on. We don’t have any cameras hidden in them.”
One of the guard’s faces had turned red.
Kate signed, the woman counter-signed – it was an indecipherable scribble – gave Kate her card and picked up the board. “Have a great evening, Ms. Lindenstream.” The three left her bedroom.
Kate looked in the mirror. The jewellery was classic diamonds and pearls, with drop sapphires that were the same colour as her eyes and seemed to make her eyes even bluer. Just like the lace of her dress, the pearls were strung in loops and swirls that formed edges to the necklace and drop earrings and bracelet, giving them a delicate lacy look.
She studied the overall effect in the mirror. She had never looked like this walking down the carpet before. But she had made all these choices herself, this year. She hadn’t brought in a consultant, like she normally did. She hadn’t farmed out the chore to assistants. She had carved out precious minutes during lunch breaks to make calls. During the night she had poured over catalogues and websites. Her only concession had been Tizzy and for him, her directive had been “give me a dress that is something I would wear, not something your models would wear.”
And this had been the result. Now Kate had nothing else to do but pick up her stole and purse and head downstairs to where Garrett and Roman had assured her by text they were waiting.
She stepped into the front room. Garrett was peering out the window, possibly keeping an eye out for the limousine…or paparazzi. Roman was in the kitchen, digging around in her fridge. Both of them were in tuxedos.
Garrett dropped the blinds and turned to face her. He took a breath and opened his mouth to speak…and didn’t. He let out his breath again in a rush, shaking his head a little.
“Oh…wow,” Roman said. “Can I walk behind you all night?”
She looked over her shoulder at him.
He clapped his hands to his chest, over his heart. “Damn and you have to look at me just like that, with that expression, too. Right over your shoulder, with your eyes narrowed.” He closed his eyes. “Heaven.”
“Let me see the back,” Garrett said. “No, don’t move. It’s worth walking around to see it, judging by his reaction.” He moved around her in a big semi-circle, avoiding the train.
Silence.
“Now you’re worrying her, you great Philistine,” Roman growled. “Say something.”
“I have literally no words to say. Not in English,” Garrett said. He muttered something she recognized as Gaelic.
“Very romantic,” Roman said dryly.
“What did you say?” Kate asked, turning to face them both.
Roman turned down one corner of his mouth. “An observation on how beddable you looked. But Gaelic is one of the most poetic languages in the world. Very precise. And he wasn’t being poetic. Much.”
Garrett raised his brows and looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry.”
Kate laid her hand flat on her laced-in stomach. Oddly, his earthiness had made her feel much better. “You’re going to have to teach me Gaelic. And Greek. I’ve forgotten everything I learned of Greek when I was there.”
“Ancient Greek, in Roman’s case. He’s a die-hard purist.” Garrett pulled out his cellphone and glanced at the time. “Limousine is waiting. So are a bunch of opportunistic paparazzi. It’s time.”
Roman cracked his knuckles. “Showtime.”
“Literally,” Garrett added.
Kate smiled at them. “Thank you. Both of you. Thank you for doing this. I really don’t know how bad this may get, but the last few weeks haven’t been a picnic, either.”
“You noticed, huh?” Roman said. He was smiling.
Garrett hit the back of his shoulder with the heel of his hand. “You’re a lying sack of shit, Roman. You’ve loved every second of it.” He looked at Kate and cocked his head toward Roman. “He’s been asked out on more dates and had more offers of marriage since this thing broke than in the last century. And he’s totally getting off on being called…” He paused, recalling headlines. “‘A brooding Greek alpha mystery man.’” Garrett frowned. “Where do they come up with this crap? Mills & Boon?”
Roman was grinning. “He’s jealous. They’re still recycling the same headlines they’ve been using for him since before the dawn of time. He’s just a financial whizz. Nothing sexy about him at all.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
Kate took his arm, trying to control her laughter. She managed to keep herself to an insane grin that wouldn’t quit, as Garrett moved ahead to the front door and rested his hand against the latch. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
He opened the door and they stepped out.
Instantly, the cameras began to pop and flash and questions were called out. They ignored them all and Garrett and Roman helped her carefully down the steps and into the waiting limousine. They tucked her train in, climbed in on either side of her and shut the door.
The limousine driver backed out through the open gates. “Evening, Ms. Lindenstream,” he said as he drove. “They’re hungry tonight.”
“It’s the Emmys, Roger. I guess it’s always a little crazy on awards nights.”
He backed onto the street and the media pressed up against the windows, the cameras firing volleys like multiple machine guns. “They’re gonna get ‘emselves an injury at this rate.”
“Slow and steady, please, Roger. A civil suit is the last thing I need right now.”
“Right you are.” He nosed the car forward until they were clear of the crowd and Kate let out her breath.
As the car accelerated, Roger raised the dividing glass, giving her privacy. She looked at the time display in the console in front of her. “One down, the big one to come. Only six hours and forty minutes to go until I can turn back into Cinderella again.”
* * * * *
Her guess that she was one of the draw cards for the evening was right. As soon as Roger pulled up and they stepped out of the car, an Academy representative hurried over to greet them, carrying a big c
lipboard.
“Ms. Lindenstream, you’re here. Good. I can show you to the marquee entrance.”
Kate tested her theory. “I usually just duck in that way.” She pointed to the public entrance that the non-stars, production people, cast and crew used.
The escort looked alarmed. “Oh, but we have interviews set up and the press will want to talk to you and…” She halted, glancing at Garrett and Roman. Roman was grinning, enjoying the escort’s heavy-handed faux-pas.
“Yeah, I get it,” Kate said. “Which way?”
The escort smiled happily and hurried on ahead of them. They stepped onto red outdoor carpet. Acres of it. It led them into a wide, red, roped-off tunnel lined with tall posters with the Academy’s logo, as a backdrop for the cameras. On the other side was the press gallery. Strung out along the carpet were the stars and their escorts, posing for photos, calling out to journalists, answering questions and smiling for the cameras.
There were bright lights everywhere.
“I didn’t count on the lights,” Garrett said in an undertone.
“I didn’t bring sunglasses, either,” Roman shot back.
Kate looked at them, alarmed. “Light is an issue?” she whispered.
“Harsh, direct sunlight or its equivalent, yes,” Garrett murmured. He nodded his head toward the strobing, massive lights just ahead. “That could be.”
“We’ll handle what we can. Then we might have to bail, Kate. Don’t worry, we’ll make it look normal,” Roman said.
She bit her lip.
“Don’t,” Garrett told her, touching under her chin. “You’ll ruin your makeup. We’ll be fine.”
“Until you’re not.”
“Hey, we’ve survived this long,” Roman said. He picked up her hand. “Let’s do this.”
Garrett took her purse and handed her stole to Roman. He took her free hand in his. “Let’s really give them something to talk about.”
They moved slowly toward the sun-bright bathed section of the press gallery. Kate could feel her heart picking up speed and starting to slam around inside her chest. This part of the Hollywood tradition was never her favourite to begin with. Tonight was a thousand times worse.
Blood Stone Page 35
