In the next chair, Drew threw a wadded-up tissue at him. “Some of us get our bread and butter this way.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, “but not me.” His stomach squirmed worse than ever now. What if he didn’t throw up onstage? What if he let out a huge fart instead? Would their mics pick that up?
Without looking, Drew reached over and squeezed his hand. “Hey. We can do this.”
The guy fluffing Drew’s hair stopped as the final powder went on Steve’s nose. “Okay, you’re done,” he announced. “A PA will take you to the ready room.”
Their PA gave them the rundown as she navigated them through the studio. “You’re the featured guests, and then Gloria will bring in a musical guest for a five-minute segment with the two of you. After that they’ll perform. Just stay on the couch unless you feel like dancing or whatever. Okay, we’re here. I have to go prep the house band—”
Steve watched her go, dizzy. He should’ve eaten something on the drive, but there wasn’t time to stop, and he didn’t think he could’ve kept anything down anyway.
“Come on,” Drew urged quietly, his palm warm on Steve’s back. “We have to go.” He pushed open the door to the ready room—
Where Cooper Miles sat waiting on the couch.
Steve stopped so abruptly Drew ran into him. The writhing mass of snakes in his stomach turned to lead.
Steve said, “What thefuck.”
Cooper glanced over, his expression blank—and then his eyes bulged.
Steve turned around. Drew had locked gazes with Cooper, his face pale under the makeup, his mouth slack. “Did you know about this?” Steve hissed.
Drew broke Cooper’s gaze and shook his head. “I swear. Alan made all the arrangements, and he never mentioned it.” He looked likehemight be sick. “Do you want me to fire him?”
The earnestness of the offer almost made Steve laugh. Or maybe that was hysteria. “Let’s not play into your diva reputation just yet.” He took a deep breath and then another one, reaching for anything to defuse the moment.
A clock on the wall above the door read 4:17, counting down the minutes and seconds until they would be called on set. Not helpful.
“Uh,” Cooper said, finally finding his voice. “I take it history did not repeat itself.”
What a mess.
“Pretty glad I didn’t take your advice,” Steve answered, turning around. He smiled as best he could because they were going to have to play nice on camera, and he didn’t want to make things more awkward. “No offense.”
“No, no, none taken.” He stood. “I’m glad it was unwarranted.” Cooper took a fortifying breath of his own and turned to Drew, who stiffened at Steve’s back. “Drew.” He extended a hand.
Drew’s lips thinned and his eyes went pinched, and for a second, Steve thought everything might get even more awkward. But then he took Cooper’s hand and shook it. “Cooper. I owe you an apology.”
You could’ve knocked Steve over with a feather.
The clock read 2:57.
“Probably one I can’t deliver in three minutes,” Drew continued with a grimace. “I didn’t treat you very well. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I… I’m sorry. You deserved better.”
“Are you kidding me?” Steve said sotto voce. The anticlimax felt unsatisfying, but he didn’t want to complain.
Cooper didn’t look nearly as surprised. “You rehearse that?” he asked neutrally.
Drew shrugged one-shouldered, that easy charm creeping into a self-deprecating smile. “Maybe a little. And Steve’s been helping me with my improv.”
Laughing, Cooper shook his head and turned to Steve. “Man, good luck,” he said. Steve was pretty sure he meant it. Fame made people weird.
He didn’t have time to offer more than a weak “thanks” before the stage door opened and another PA beckoned. “Drew and Steve, that’s your cue.”
Drew put his hand on the small of Steve’s back again. “You got this.”
Steve did not “got this,” but he also didn’t have a choice. He took a deep breath and let Drew precede him onto the set.
