“Lucky me. Who knew I was going to get a whole new wardrobe as a dashing, debonair man as part of this gig?”
“Isn’t that one of the great benefits of being an actor? You often get to take home the costumes.”
Chapter Four
Sutton applied mascara, the finishing touch for tonight. She’d always believed that it was the vitamin of make-up, the most essential one, and one should never leave the house without it.
“Right, my lovely Artful Dodger. You agree, don’t you?”
Sutton stroked her chihuahua-mini-pin between the ears and he looked up at her lovingly with those big wet eyes that always melted her. “Oh, you are my sweet, aren’t you?”
The Artful Dodger was sitting on the vanity in her bathroom, as he often did. He had bathroom counter privileges, but only when Sutton was applying makeup. She put the mascara wand away, brushed one hand against the other, and declared, “That’s that.”
Then she scooped up her nine-pound fur baby, brought him to her bedroom and deposited him gently on the burnished gold comforter.
She was ready for her first pretend date with Reeve at the theater. She was wearing a slinky gray dress that hugged her hips, knee-high black boots, and a silky red wrap thrown over her shoulders. She had the tickets in a small clutch purse, and as she grabbed the purse from the bed, she found her mind wandering back to the dressing room yesterday. Reeve kissed like he was made for kissing her, as if he’d been custom-designed by the gods of kissing to touch her lips, and taste her mouth, and drown her in kisses as she’d always wanted.
He’d seemed to want it too. He seemed to radiate hunger for her, like it was coming off him in waves. But yet, that was the point. That’s what she’d hired him for. She’d enlisted him to play a part, and he was playing it so well, she’d very nearly believed in the performance—that the kiss was legit.
She shook her head and bent down to kiss her dog on his soft brown fur. “I know you’ll always be here for me, my love.”
She had her dog; she needn’t worry about messy things like a bloom of feelings for a pretend boyfriend. The Artful Dodger licked her hand once, and curled into a tighter dogball.
Sutton was surprised to see Janelle and her husband at the theater. She’d thought Janelle had some sort of charity event to attend instead. But here she was, her hair slicked back in that tight-as-a-ballerina-bun and a stern look on her face as she kept her eyes on Frederick. Janelle rose and extended a hand to Sutton, while Frederick followed suit. Perhaps he had his puppet strings attached to her hand.
“It turned out we were able to make it tonight after all,” Janelle said, then flashed a smile that seemed fake, before giving Sutton air kisses on each cheek. “The charity event is tomorrow. I had the wrong date. And what a pleasure to see Mr. Larkin again. Reeve, please meet my husband.”
Reeve shook hands with Frederick and they exchanged hellos. Sutton wondered if Reeve was nervous meeting a producer who possessed the power to make or break an actor’s career, but he didn’t seem to exhibit an ounce of nerves because Reeve segued quickly into discussing golf, and Sutton couldn’t help but be impressed. She’d had no idea that Reeve too had researched the producers, but he was conversing now with Frederick on the best type of golf swing.
“Looks like they’re old chums,” Sutton said to Janelle with a smile. But the dark-haired woman barely cracked a grin. She seemed distracted, so Sutton followed Janelle’s gaze to a pretty usher seating other nearby theatergoers. Then to Frederick, who was checking out the usher’s trim little body. Ah, perhaps Janelle was worried that Frederick’s wandering eye might lead him astray during the play? Sutton’s question was answered when Janelle moved her hand to Frederick’s cheek, forcing him to look at her.
Frederick lowered his gaze, as if he were caught nicking food off the stove before it was served. He stopped chatting about golf, and Janelle said nothing as she stared harshly at her husband. Thrown off by the awkward maw in the conversation, Sutton wasn’t quite sure how to pick up the thread of casual banter again. Her mind raced through other details of the Pinkertons—they had a Siamese cat named Archibald. Perhaps, she should chat about pets?
But before she could toss out a line about cats and dogs, Reeve spoke. “Did you guys get a chance to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman at the Eugene O’Neill theater last week? He was as amazing as the critics say.”
Janelle relinquished her sharp-eyed stare and turned to Reeve. “Frankly, I don’t often care for big movie stars in Broadway plays. But he is the exception. A rare breed who can handle theater and film.”
Reeve nodded thoughtfully. “I hear ya. It can be a little distracting with movie stars, but then, he’s one of of a kind. What about you, Mr. Pinkerton? What else have you been to?”
They all chatted for a few minutes about the theater, and Sutton was relieved that Frederick’s wayward glance hadn’t unraveled the night for any of them.
“And what do you do, Reeve? Forgive me for not asking when we first met yesterday,” Janelle said.
“I’m an actor,” he said, with a touch of pride in his voice, Sutton noted.
“How marvelous,” Mr. Pinkerton chimed in. “And how did you two meet?”
Even though they’d prepped for this line of questioning, Sutton suddenly felt a jangly mess of nerves course through her. Was Janelle onto her? Was that why she was here? To check up on the engagement?
“On the job,” Reeve answered. “Sut cast me in It’s Raining Men, and the day we wrapped my bit part, I asked her out. I couldn’t resist. She was smart and she was beautiful and that was all it took. I’ve only had eyes for her since then.”
Reeve looked at Sutton, his brown eyes were so warm and true—they seemed to project all the things he was saying, as if he really were feeling them.
“And now the wedding is when?”
Sutton’s boardroom confidence fell away as Janelle glared at her. It was as if Janelle knew Sutton had proffered a lie and was trying to catch her. Sutton’s mouth went dry as she tried to open her lips to speak. She couldn’t read Janelle—one minute the woman was generous and warm, the next she was the ice queen.
Reeve jumped in, clasping Sutton’s hand tightly with his.
“May. One year after we met. I was ready to elope, but she insisted we have a real wedding, and we were lucky enough to get the sculpture garden at MoMA reserved. A late Sunday afternoon was all they had, but heck, I’ll take it, right?”