“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.”
DREWturned 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 withwassort 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 Makeup.” 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?”
