In her youth, Marla had shining auburn hair, sharp cheekbones, fair skin, and a commanding presence. Her first role of ingénue had turned quickly to that of femme fatale, and that was a mantle she still wore well at seventysomething. She obviously colored her hair, but she stood straight, and her movements spoke of a woman half her age.
So, Drew thought bemusedly, did her vocabulary.
Steve’s mouth dropped open. “…Mom?”
“Hello, darling,” she said, some of the frost in her posture melting as she patted Steve’s cheek. “I hope you don’t mind we stopped by to vent.”
Steve blinked at her. Drew, also not particularly prone to speechlessness, could think of nothing to say, even to introduce himself.
“We?” Steve said.
Marla opened the passenger-side door and unclipped a pretty pink leash from the seat belt. Rita hopped out and went straight for Steve, fluffy tail wagging madly.
The dark cloud that had been following Steve most of the day blew off, and he grinned unfettered as he knelt to lavish her with pets.
Drew forgot to police himself watching him, which meant he had a really dumb, sappy smile on his face when Steve’s mother turned her attention to him.
Oops. “Um,” he said. Crap, was he going to blush too? How embarrassing. “Hi.” How should he address her? Mrs. Stone? Marla? Mrs. Steve’s Mom? He had never done the meet-the-parents thing. He decided to skip it. “Drew Beaumont. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Marla took off her sunglasses and regarded him shrewdly with clear blue eyes. Then she extended her empty hand and smiled, showing off a number of smile lines. “The pleasure is mine. Call me Marla.”
“Marla.” He smiled. She had a firm grip. “I hope—oof!”
Rita planted her paws in his chest in a blatant demand for attention. “Sorry,” Drew said to Marla, trying to get Rita to put four feet on the ground. “I think I encouraged some bad habits.”
“Nonsense. I’m happy she likes you. She’s very particular. And, as it turns out, a better judge of character than I am.”
Steve found his voice again. “I’m assuming Rico is the limp-dicked, hairy-assed little weasel in question. Thanks for that visual, by the way, Mom.”
Rita got her fill of Drew’s attention and dropped to stand at Marla’s side. Marla rolled her eyes and put her sunglasses back on. “Obviously. Next time I meet a new boyfriend, I’ll have Rita vet him first.”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, you know that gallery we were supposed to open together. Well,apparentlyhe’s decided that the legal arrangement we signed shouldn’t apply now that I’ve kicked him to the curb.”
Drew had only known Marla for thirty seconds, and he couldn’t imagine crossing her. Rico was either dumber than a box of hammers or he had balls like coconuts. “Tell us about it over dinner?” he invited. “We’re supposed to go out with the cast and crew, but I think they’ll understand if we ditch. Or you could come with?”
“Now that’s the best invitation I’ve gotten all day.”
THEYspent a pleasant few hours at a shady restaurant patio a few streets over from the crew’s chosen haunt, Rita curled up under the table. Steve relaxed more with every passing moment until he was smiling, leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked good like that. Despite the audience—and the fact that the audience was Steve’s mother—Drew found it hard to tear his gaze away.
Marla noticed, if the looks she shot Drew’s way were any indication. And she confirmed it when Steve excused himself to go to the washroom and she leaned forward and put her hand on Drew’s wrist. “I like you,” she said. “And my son is besotted. But if you’re not good to him, I’ll make your life hell. What I do to you will make what I’m going to do to Rico in court look kind and compassionate. Understood?”
Drew swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
But even with that frightening interlude, dinner was fun. Marla had made a career of being personable, and she was easy to talk to and adept at steering the conversation where she wanted it to go. Drew happily went along for the ride as they swapped stories about making movies, nightmare directors, and Steve’s childhood antics.
He was in the middle of explaining their current dilemma withDog Gonewhen he paused and looked under the table. Rita peered up at him from her back, gravity pulling her upper lip into a ridiculous smile.
Drew sat back in his chair and turned his attention to Steve. “Hey. Does Rita have silver screen ambitions, by any chance?”
“Well, she was found on a TV set.” Steve quirked up a lip. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“She’s perfect for the part,” Drew pointed out. “Husky, Finnish Lapphund. Call it creative license.”
“She doesn’t exactly have formal training. A lot of dogs get anxious in new situations.”
“It might not work.” Drew shrugged. “But you’ll be with her the whole time. If you think she’s uncomfortable or unhappy, we’ll wait on filming the dog scenes until we can find the right dog for the job.”
