‘You know I don’t do that in real life, right?’ The words snapped Tress back to the present and she jumped. Something in her mind hadn’t quite readjusted from fiction to reality, and the sound of Rex Marino’s voice made the hair on the back of her neck bristle. He had a towel round his shoulders and his usually swept-back raven hair was falling over his forehead, dislodged by the violence and the physical effort of the scene. ‘Go around murdering old ladies, I mean,’ he went on, with that easy, sexy grin that she’d seen on adverts and billboards for years before she joined the show.
She covered up the momentary reaction with a chuckle. ‘I hope not. I’m trying my best to avoid homicidal maniacs in real life. It’s one of my general rules. No homicidal maniacs. No pathological liars. No serial killers.’
He leaned against the wall so that he was facing her, his teasing expression matching the levity in his words. ‘How’s that working out for you?’
‘Haven’t dated for a year,’ she shot back, deadpan, making him laugh. And, oh dear swirling ovaries, she could see why the viewing public were obsessed with this man. He was the romcom Mr Right, the sexy action hero, the gallant officer in the civil war. Or, as Nancy often put it, one glance from those blue eyes could make a woman shudder in her slippers.
Tress had no idea why he gave her the time of day. None. Yet here he was, chatting to her as he’d taken to doing every day for the last few months. It had started just a few days after she’d landed the job, when she’d been sitting in the canteen, having a rare half-hour to herself. She’d still felt out of place, still wasn’t one hundred per cent confident in her ability to switch from interior decorating to set design. She’d landed the job by sheer fluke, after working on the home of Lina Worth, the former producer of the show, before the new team had replaced her. They’d got into a conversation about the authenticity of thehome environment, of Tress’s talent for making a house reflect the character of the occupant, and Lina had asked her to help out with the design of the kitchen for a new arrival on the street ofThe Clydeside. Tress had done it as a favour, with no idea that it could result in a job, but she’d been both surprised and thrilled when it had. Even so, she knew she had a lot to learn, so she’d been alternating eating her tuna salad with doing research on her laptop, when he’d casually slid into the chair opposite her, and waited until she’d lifted her head before saying a word.
‘I hope you don’t mind. This seat was free,’ he’d commented. ‘Please carry on with your work and I’ll just sit here quietly and wonder who you are.’
That had made her shoulders relax a little. ‘I’m Tress Walker. New set designer.’
‘Hello, Tress Walker.’ He’d stretched his hand towards her. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Rex Marino.’
‘You do look vaguely familiar.’ She couldn’t help but make fun of him. Odette Devine and Rex Marino were the galactic stars of this universe, and their faces were everywhere: huge portraits in the corridors, photos on every set, articles in every newspaper and magazine, and they were at the top of the images that popped up when you googled the show.
That was the first day they’d spoken, and it had gone from a chance encounter to an almost daily habit. After a week or so, she’d opened up and told him the story of her husband’s relatively recent death and he’d seemed genuinely moved. After that, when the sad stuff was out of the way, they’d built a friendship based on Rex being funny and lovely, and Tress making him laugh and mercilessly poking fun at him. She was fairly sure rumours were swirling on set, but she didn’t pay any attention, mainly because she knew the truth. They were just friends. Or, at least, that’s all it had been until yesterday…
The crowd that had formed to watch the final scene was dispersing, so Tress began walking to her office, with Rex falling into step beside her. ‘Listen, about yesterday, I’m sorry if I overstepped…’
Tress felt heat rising up her neck and knew there would be a very attractive red rash of embarrassment accompanying it. She was hopeless at this stuff. Out of practice. She kept right on walking forward, although her mind was spinning backwards to the day before.
They’d been leaving the studio at the same time last night, just like they’d done countless times before. When they were going down in the lift, they’d been chatting about… actually, Tress couldn’t remember. It was just normal stuff. Probably about how their day was going. Maybe a bit about her preparations for Buddy’s birthday breakfast. Everyday life stuff. Until, like a scene from a million TV shows and movies, he’d leaned over and pressed the STOP button, before turning to face her.
‘Tress, if I don’t do this now, I never will, because at least here, I know you can’t run away. The thing is… I want to take you out. To go on a date. To kiss you. To see if maybe we could have something more than just friendship, because for me, there’s definitely a whole lot more to this.’
Tress was fairly sure she’d slid right into an impersonation of a guppy fish, mouth dropped, nothing coming out.
‘So, the question is, will you go out with me? Maybe dinner, next weekend? I was thinking that new restaurant in the West End. They’ve invited me to the opening next Saturday night and I’d like to take you.’
What? Tress’s brain was exploding. He wanted to take her out. On a date. And not just any date. A very public one. To a fancy restaurant. Where there would no doubt be cameras. And press. And crowds of people gathered to see the VIPs arriving. Itwas about as far from Tress’s idea of a lovely night as possible. She’d always preferred the background. It was one of the reasons that her marriage to Max had worked so well. Despite finding out that he’d been sleeping with Anya since before he even bumped into Tress for the first time, Tress would always believe that her husband did truly love her, and on a day-to-day basis they were genuinely happy. Tress knew that was because they’d balanced each other out. Max was the showman, the extrovert, the adrenaline junkie who lived a life of spontaneous excitement, whereas Tress was his anchor, the consistency in his otherwise unpredictable life.
With the lift still groaning in its suspended state, Tress had felt the need to check she was understanding this correctly. ‘You want me to go out with you? On a date? Why?’
It was a genuine question. Rex Marino was a drop-dead gorgeous actor almost ten years younger than her and he quite literally had women falling at his feet. A lady had almost been run over by his buggy on the studio lot last week because she had sneaked past the guards and lain down on the road, desperate to get his attention. Tress knew that some of the most popular actresses and models in the country had slid into his DMs (he’d had to explain what that meant). Meanwhile, she was a forty-three-year-old single mother, with avalanching boobs, a whole trunk of baggage and she hadn’t shaved her armpits since last summer. She couldn’t quite fathom the attraction or the compatibility here.
‘Because you’ve become my very favourite person to spend time with. And instead of having lunch in the canteen, I’d like to talk more to you in a room that doesn’t smell of chips.’
‘I don’t… I haven’t… I can’t…’ Tress hadn’t been able to form a sentence.
‘Look, just think about it. If this weekend doesn’t work, then the offer will stand. Any time. You call the shots.’
He’d stared right into her eyes, and for a moment she’d thought he was going to lean down and kiss her. Panic had spurred her into action, and she’d pressed the lift button, blurting, ‘I need to think about it. I mean, it’s complicated. There’s babysitters. And you know, kid things.’
He had stepped back, totally chilled, with that trademark, bloody gorgeous smile of his. ‘No worries at all. Like I said, the offer will always stand, and I hope we can figure it out. I like you, Tress.’
Just then, the doors had pinged open, and she’d managed to mumble some combination of ‘okay, thanks, right then, need to run,’ as she’d bolted out the doors, across the studio reception and into the car park. As always, there was the usual crowd of fans waiting for the stars to leave the building, so she knew that he’d get caught up signing autographs and posing for selfies.
When she’d jumped in her car, she’d been one hundred per cent positive that she would never go out with him. By the time she got home there was a slight possibility. When she’d woken up this morning, it was fifty/fifty. While she was having breakfast, the odds had swung again, and right now, despite the fact that she’d just watched him bump off one of the icons of Scottish television, Tress was finding the prospect almost irresistible. She just had to find the courage to say yes.
‘You didn’t overstep,’ she assured him, still walking, because somehow the motion helped her deal with the anxiety of the situation. At the end of the corridor, a couple of people alighted from the lift, allowing Tress and Rex to step right in. Her office was one floor up and she usually took the stairs, but today she was making an exception.
‘I didn’t? Okay, I like where you’re going with that.’ He was teasing her, but she didn’t mind in the least. In fact… sod it. She punched the STOP button, just as he’d done yesterday, turned to face him, stepped forward, reached up on to her toes andkissed him, stopping only when she realised she was no longer breathing and could faint at any moment.
‘I like you too. And I say yes to Saturday.’
‘You do?’
