Prince of the Playhouse (14 page)

GRAY LEANED
forward on the car seat and watched the lights of Laguna go by through his heavily tinted windows.

Chris peered into his rearview mirror. “Everything okay, boss?”

“Yeah. No. Some damned drone took pictures of me yesterday and plastered them all over the Internet.”

“I guess they get big money for photos of you.”

“These are some shots of me with Ru Maitland. He came out of his studio yesterday and was horsing around with me. I was excited about doing well in the play. The pictures probably look bad—if you don’t know what they are.”

“You really like him.”

Gray glanced toward Chris, but the guy didn’t seem to have an agenda. How much had he heard of what Ru said outside the car earlier?
Man. Tough to keep your life private from your driver.
Benson had hired Chris after Gray stopped seeing his gay crowd, and he’d been a virtual monk since then, but still— “Yeah, he’s a good guy and really helped me with the play. For some reason he’s able to explain Shakespeare to me when no one else can.”

“I really like the man’s clothes.”

“Yeah. He’s a great designer. Wait until you see all the costumes for
Hamlet
. They’re amazing.” He leaned his head against the seat and let that stupid, spontaneous, fabulous, ridiculous, amazing offstage kiss with Ru play through his mind—and across his lips. It would be so much easier to just forget about it and marry Penelope and preserve his career and—

“We’re here, boss.”

Gray glanced up at the back entrance to the Vistage Hotel, where he’d been staying since he started serious rehearsals for
Hamlet
. They let him enter through this door to keep from getting mobbed by paparazzi in the lobby. “Thanks, Chris.”

“You need the car anymore tonight?”

“No. Thanks.” Man, he wished he could say, “Yes, take me back to Ru’s.” Not happening. He wouldn’t be welcome. If he wanted to see Ru again, he needed to make some serious changes.

He crawled out of the car and, instead of running for the door, walked across the lawn to the edge that led down to the ocean.
What a view.
Solid water as far as you could see. The hotel lights shone down on the path that led to the sand and the wall of rocks rising up from the beach. Some ambient light reflected off the white crests of waves. He could get a place to live by the water—small, maybe inconspicuous, on an island where people didn’t watch Gray Anson movies.
Shit, where would that be?
Okay, maybe on an island where they didn’t watch his movies often. And he’d live with—

Ru.

Why is that? You don’t even know him.

He picked up a small rock someone had left on top of the fence. Rearing back, he threw it as far out into space as he could get it. That was far, since he was a damned good pitcher. He watched it sail in its freewheeling arc, then turned and walked toward the hotel. Chris still sat there in the limo, watching him. Gray waved and opened the hotel door.

If I don’t know Ru, how come I’m so sure he’s the strongest man I ever met?

Through the back corridors, he found the hall where their rooms were located—his at the end of the hall, looking out on the ocean, with Benson on his right and Chris’s room next to him.
Just try to sleep and figure this all out later.
He keyed open the door and stopped when he heard voices inside the suite.

“Gray, is that you?”

Slowly, his breath cooled his lips. “Yes, Penelope.” He walked through the entry hall and into the huge, expansive suite with its amazing view. Penelope stood in the middle of the suite, dressed casually, a way he rarely saw her, and Benson perched on the side chair. Gray forced a smile. Not her fault he was gay. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Benson frowned. “I told you what happened.”

“Yes. More photos from the fucking drones.”

Benson bounded to his feet and walked over to take Penelope’s arm. “So we need to do damage control fast. I’m thinking you both hit the bar right now, canoodle a bunch, let the reporters take all the photos they want.”

Gray shook his head. “Wait—”

“Talk while we walk.” Benson moved toward the door, with Penelope in tow.

Well, hell.
Gray fell into step behind them. “I don’t want to do this now. I need to talk to both of you.”

“We’ll talk in the bar. This has to be done immediately. Courtney’s all over it. She’s planting rumors that you’ll be here tonight, so the press should be thick as flies at a barbecue.”

Even Gray’s long legs were having trouble keeping up, Benson moved so fast. The hotel was low-rise so as not to block any views of the ocean, so no elevator ride separated them from the bar. Benson burst through the double doors from their wing into the lobby with Gray trying to catch up. Chris stood outside the door, and he fell into step beside Gray, putting his bulk in the way of anyone trying to get too close. Flashes started popping. Penelope immediately stepped back to Gray and slipped her arm through his, giving him a sultry smile.
Okay shit, this is happening. We’re again in fantasyland.
He covered her hand with his and flashed the pearlies, first at Penelope and then at the press.

Benson powered a path into the bar, where they found a booth only because Benson had obviously called in advance. They slid in, Penelope snuggling close to Gray as cameras flashed and the cool, upper-income Californians craned their necks to get a better look while trying to appear indifferent.

He ordered a beer from a flustered waitress, and when it arrived mostly stared at it. What a stupid situation, but it felt so familiar, like he’d been here before many times, thanks to the zealous passions of people who wanted the best for him—and themselves. But what did Gray Anson want?

He took a small sip of beer.
Not this.

Benson leaned over, smiling broadly for the press. “You’re pretty quiet tonight. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

He looked at Penelope. “Did you get my message earlier?”

She shook her head. “It cut off. But you seemed kind of upset.”

“I was.” He exhaled. “I am.”

“What’s wrong, dear?” She placed a warm hand on his arm.

“You’re a great woman—but right now you’re faking it. You know what’s wrong.”

Her lips tightened, and she pulled her hand back. “I know that I was called away from home on a second’s notice to come to Laguna Beach and make you look good.” She snorted. “As usual.” She gave him a big, shiny smile that came nowhere near her eyes. “Is that what’s wrong—dear?”

“This whole charade is just a piece of the whole effort on your part, along with your parents, Benson, and my entire staff with the possible exception of Chris, to get you and me married as quickly as possible. I’ve repeatedly told you all individually and together that I don’t want to get married. I was brought up to take marriage seriously. We don’t love each other.”

“How can you say that?” She adjusted the sleeve of her sweater.

“Please, Penelope—do you really love me? Who am I to you besides an icon, a face on a screen, the guy your girlfriends wanted so you decided to want him too?”

She leaned forward, still smiling, which looked positively creepy under the circumstances. “What I know about you is that the tabloids are probably right. You are gay.”

Benson plastered on a grin and hissed between his teeth, “If you ever repeat that lie to anyone under any circumstances, I don’t care how rich your father is, we’ll take you out, is that understood? You’ll be looking up at poverty.”

Sweet Jesus.
Gray’s stomach turned. These were the threats he never got to hear. The ones said in the other room after he’d left.

Penelope went white.

“Smile!” Benson bared his teeth at her, and she complied.

Gray looked at her levelly. “Why would you want to be with a man you think that about?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Gray Anson.” She gathered her purse. “Don’t worry about me repeating it. I have to go home now.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but she kept up that weird smile.

“Chris will take you.”

“Thanks.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek to the illumination of more than a dozen flashes, then slid out of the booth. Gray nodded to Chris, who frowned but stepped beside her and escorted her from the room.

Benson spoke through his shiny teeth. “Did you have to do that now?”

“You asked.”

“Shit, Gray. As in it’s hitting the fan.”

“Why do you say that now?” He leaned back to show the press how relaxed he was.

“Because you just cut loose your only female diversion, and you look at that damned costumer like he’s your first meal after a thirty-day juice fast. Who the fuck do you think is not going to notice?”

Gray rotated the glass of beer and watched the droplets of condensation form patterns. Suddenly he smiled. “Okay, so what if they do notice?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed the speed dial for his publicist. “Hey, Court, I need you to gather the press for me tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you with the press now?”

“Yes, and I need more press tomorrow.”

“Glutton.” She laughed. “Okay, give me the deets.”

“You ready?”

RU WIPED
his cheek and stared at the story on his laptop screen. In a photo as big as his brain, which was about to explode, there sat Gray, snuggled up to Penelope, smiling down at her like a cute shark, all domestic bliss and shit. The caption said the photo had been taken in the bar of the Vistage Hotel the previous night. So Gray’s big declaration had been good for what? Maybe forty-five minutes?
Do not blame him one bit.
Jesus, those drone photos of the two of them looked—well, kind of damning and disgusting. What had he been thinking, jumping all over Gray Anson like a lovesick puppy?

Hey, you are a lovesick puppy. A mongrel nobody is going to pick from the shelter. At least you’ve got your collection.

Snapping the computer closed, he went back to draping the new piece he’d dreamed up yesterday and really wanted to add to the garments he’d consider for the final runway show at Fashion Week. Kneeling in front of the dress form, he swiped again at his eyes.
Why in hell do you care so much? He’s just some movie idol you have a crush on.
Gray’s face deep in aloneness, then alight with joy as he talked about the play flashed in Ru’s mind. He sighed. Somewhere, somehow, this had moved far beyond a crush.

Damn, can’t see for shit.
He grabbed some pins, shoved them in his mouth, tucked one side of the hem up, and held it in place. Most of his garments had a fair amount of structure. He wanted to show his skills with softness while still reflecting the—
Damn.
His butt hit the floor, and he dropped his head to his knees.
Dreams die so hard.

“Ru, what’s wrong?” Shaz came flying in the door and knelt beside him.

Ru looked up, pins sticking out of his mouth like he’d eaten a cactus. The air from the window blew against his wet cheeks. “Mufng.”

Carefully, one pin at a time, Shaz removed his prickly mouthpiece. “Why are you crying, love?”

He shrugged.
Say one word and I’ll cry again.

Shaz sat beside him. “Okay, I seem to remember a moment just like this, but the tears were on my face. Turnabout. Shall I guess?”

Ru nodded.

“Something to do with Gray Anson?”

Another nod.

“Hmm.” He brushed the lock of hair away from Ru’s eyes. “What if I told you that Mr. Anson himself will be here in a few minutes?”

“What?” That brought his head off his knees. “Gray’s coming here? Why?”

“That’s by way of a surprise, darling. But I’d suggest you take something from the closet and doll yourself up. We also need a smashing piece or two from your collection. I’ve called a couple of the girls in.” He pulled a tissue from his pocket and handed it to Ru.

He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “What’s going on, and what does it have to do with Gray?”

Shaz bounded up. “You better hurry.” He bustled over to Ru’s closet and sorted through the various outfits he kept there in case of a fashion emergency. He pulled out a black pinstripe suit with high-waisted pants and a short jacket. “Here, I love this one on you. Shows off your perfect ass. Get dressed. I have lots to do.” With a flick of the wrist—out the door.

Well, hell.
Ru sniffed again.
Don’t think.
If Shaz told him he needed to get dressed—then he did. He quickly stripped to his boxer briefs, pulled on the suit over a white dress shirt, tucked a bright yellow scarf into the pocket, and gave himself a glance in the floor-length mirror.
Fierce!
He double snapped—then sniffed.

Down the hall, he barged in on the seamstresses and pulled a tough-chic pants outfit and an evening gown from the completed pieces of the collection. Depending on which models came, he’d show these. He stopped. Maybe these were for Penelope. Her trousseau. With a sigh, he swung the garments over his arm and headed for Shaz’s studio on the other side of the building.

He crossed the lobby and pushed open the door to the back rooms where everyone worked. The place bustled with activity. Clients were being styled and dressed in various parts of the big room. Ru’s two favorite models, Molly and Clarisse, sat at stations in the hair salon, getting their hair styled and makeup done. Shaz primped in the mirror. When he saw Ru, he turned. “Ah great, let me see what you picked.” He took the two garments from Ru and held them up, then called to the models, “Ladies, time to get dressed.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“That would spoil the fun.”

“Not for me.”

Shaz made kissy sounds as he handed the gown to Molly and the pants outfit to Clarisse. “Is Molly too tall for the gown?”

“Yes, switch.”

The girls swapped clothes and headed for the dressing rooms.

Ru stamped his foot. “Dammit, Shaz. Am I going to like this surprise?”

Shaz whirled, his bright red mane flying. “Think, darling. Would I let someone come to Shazam to give my best friend a bad surprise? I don’t care if he’s POTUS, only good surprises happen here.”