“This has to be good enough, Alex.” Her mouth was pale and tight with tension. “I don’t want you to call in favors, and I don’t want your costume department to do extra work for me.”
From what he could tell, she didn’t like anyone doing much of anything for her. Ever.
“Okay.” He reclined back on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. “Look, here’s the deal. When we walk the red carpet, all the photographers will just tell you to move anyway. They’ll want you out of their shots, because I’m the dude their audience pays to look at. Not a random woman they’ve never seen before and may never see again. So as long as your dress isn’t actively embarrassing, it doesn’t really matter what you wear.”
“Then why all this talk about couture?” Her voice contained entire worlds of strained patience.
He shrugged. “I like sparkly shit.”
“Of course you do,” she said in that dry Santa Ana voice.
When she stepped out from behind the bathroom door, he had to smile. Genuinely smile, because yes, that dress was clearly not couture or even high-end, but it was lovely on her. It might have been black, black, black, but the floaty knee-length skirt and peeks of pale skin beneath the lace were pretty.
“The dress is fine. You’ll be fine.” He collapsed down onto the bed and waved her away. “I may not be, however. I need to work on my speech for the auction and get it approved by Ron before tomorrow.”
The bathroom door shut again, and she called out from behind it. “What’s the charity?”
“A local organization that works to prevent domestic violence and provides shelters for abused women and children.” He scratched absently at his beard. “I’ve been involved with them for a few years. Hopefully my exceedingly handsome face will bring in some high bids, because my speech is currently as heinous and inadequate as your daily wardrobe.”
He needed to script a better speech, and he would. It might be especially hard to bear down and finish projects when he was tired, but he’d had years of specialized therapy to help him through situations just like this.
“Are there any other big names coming?” she asked, her voice still muffled.
He closed his eyes, suddenly tired again. “Asha had planned to attend, but she’s evidently on a quest to make out with her pop star boyfriend in every Mediterranean port. She sent a big honking donation in apology.”
He had to admit, he was a bit jealous. Not of Asha or her ginger boy toy, but of what they were experiencing right now. That all-consuming need to be with another person. The sort of raging desire and attraction that meant you couldn’t—wouldn’t—be parted for long.
He hadn’t felt that for years. Maybe for more than a decade now.
“Otherwise, the big names are my cast friends who live in the area. Carah Brown. Maria Ivarsson. Peter Reedton.” He hadn’t bothered issuing an invitation to Ian, and Mackenzie had already given money on Whiskers’s behalf. “I don’t think you’ve met any of them. They’d all finished filming before you arrived.”
Marcus would have come too, but he was currently in San Francisco and utterly preoccupied with a geologist named April, and Alex wouldn’t get in the way of that.
He’d just make sure Marcus sent the charity a healthy donation later.
Lauren’s voice came from near the bed, and he startled.
“Let’s get you home,” she said quietly. “We both need lunch and a nap, and you need to work on your speech.”
She was back in a nondescript tee and jeans, lovely eyes sympathetic as she surveyed his limp, supine form. Her beaky, crooked nose caught the light from one of the casement windows, and he stared.
Maybe she was right after all.
Maybe flashier clothing would only compete with her distinctive features and frame. Maybe they’d distract from what made her interesting and unique.
Not that he’d ever tell her that.
When she held out her hand, he took it. She helped him off the bed, and he gave her fingers a little squeeze before letting go.
“Don’t think I missed the wedge heels you packed into your suitcase.” He sniffed in judgment, hoisted her luggage, and swept out her bedroom door. “Hasn’t the Killjoy Guild of America discussed the dangers of such sartorial folly and extravagance?”
She snorted, and he smiled, content.
Lauren’s Email
From: [email protected]
Subject: Weekly report and tomorrow’s event