by Ally Decker
"I talked through most of the breakfast," she finally said when they came to the first light stop right as it changed to red. "Now it's your turn. Tell me something you're passionate about."
"Well, acting, but I guess that answer would be a cop-out." He nodded right after she did. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I love music, too."
"Do you play any instruments? Or sing?" She figured he had to have a good enough voice if he was going to be in a musical on Broadway. Sometimes a theater would bring in a big name for more publicity, but holding a tune was still a basic requirement.
"Both, but I play better than I sing," he said with a self-deprecating smirk as they were crossing the street. "Mostly guitar, but I can also play piano and some drums. I sing sometimes to accompany my guitar, but I've never sung in front of a big audience."
"You're brave to come to New York for your first performance, then."
He chuckled. "Brave or stupid. But I admit the challenge part was yet another reason to say yes to this."
She squeezed his fingers and smiled. "I can't wait to see you out there," she said before she could stop herself. Oh God. She could feel her cheeks heat up, so she looked down. You weren't supposed to talk about it, she told herself. Get a grip.
But Greg only shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "I hope you will. I really want to do it." He frowned, his expression turning somber. "I don't want to get my hopes up too much, though."
"Isn't there a way to fight this if they pull the plug?"
He shook his head. "No. They knew it was important to me, and that gave them the upper hand in the negotiations. There's little wiggle room—they wouldn't be able to just pull the plug without a cause—but the list of reasons is pretty extensive and the morality clause is broad."
Judging from the ease and honesty of some of the theater stars on social media and beyond, it didn't seem like the Broadway actors had anything like Greg described, to Sylvia's relief. She understood some restrictions, but that seemed much too excessive.
"Do all contracts look like this in Hollywood?" she asked him.
"No, no." He shook his head quickly. "The ones for a big franchise are the trickiest, because you're not selling the movie alone. You're the face of the entire brand, and probably the future movies, as well, so they want to make sure you're not going to jeopardize anything."
"Is it worth it?" Sylvia asked. It was definitely not her business, but that didn't stop her from being curious.
Greg sighed. "It depends. When I was signing the contract five years ago, it was worth it. I liked the franchise, the right people were involved on the creative side, and it wasn't like I had scripts sent to me left and right." He shrugged. "And I'm not going to lie—the money was important, too. It was going to buy me a lot of time if I ever wanted to take a break or work on something low-budget."
Sylvia tried to remember what she knew about Greg's career. He'd had a few great roles before Collectibles, including the supporting role in Torment that had earned him an Oscar nomination six years ago. Then the first Collectibles movie had come out, and Greg's character—a SEAL that left the military behind until it came knocking when the world was falling apart—gained him instant star status and recognition.
And a paparazzi escort whenever he went, apparently.
"So it was worth it then, but isn't now?" Sylvia grimaced right after the words came out of her mouth. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
"It's fine. I don't think you'll sell it to the press." He sent her a dry smile and she snorted. Yeah, there has to be a special brand of trust when we're both lying to other people. "But an answer is more complex than a simple yes or no," he went on. "Would I sign a contract like that today? No. But I'm in a totally different place in my career now, and I know that I wouldn't be here without these movies—not now and maybe not ever—so I don't regret signing it back then."
He stopped talking as he quickened his pace when they were passing a group of tourists who had their phones out and pointed at them. Sylvia lowered her head and hurried as well, tightening her grip on his hand.
When they were safe from the prying eyes again—or as safe as they could be, given the circumstances—Greg picked up their conversation as if nothing happened. "All in all, it's not so bad. I was able to do a few projects in between where I didn't have to worry about money. I actually like the Collectibles movies, so I won't have to wince for the rest of my career when someone mentions them, which, believe me, is a relief." He quirked up a smile. "I'm lucky only die-hard fans have seen the movies I'd done when I was starting out. Nobody's going to ask about them twenty times a day for six months to a year."
She tried to muster up a smile, too, but she was still fighting the urge to look back and check no one was following them. She finally took a deep breath and let Greg's words wash over her, temporarily pushing the worry away.
"If that happened, I bet I would break at some point and start answering honestly," he went on. "Then the producers would sue me, and it would become a terrible mess."
"Lucky you, huh?" she offered with a dry smile. "Apparently, your situation could have been worse than it is now."
He snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, lucky me, indeed."
The way he looked at her as he said it did not send shivers down her back. It did not.
CHAPTER SIX
TWO HOURS LATER, the elevator door closed behind him and Greg released a deep exhale as he leaned against the back wall, thankful for a moment alone.
He'd just spent an hour and a half with Nate and Shawn, and his mind was still obsessively going through everything they'd talked about. The guys told him the plan was working fine, and the pictures from the alley should be buried quickly under all the other ones that clearly suggested Greg and Sylvia were dating. Basically, nobody even got to suggest Sylvia was a prostitute, since the photos of their breakfast hit the Internet almost at the same time—and that meant the worst case scenario was unlikely to happen at this point. Everyone had agreed last night that Greg and Sylvia should twist the real elements into their "romance", so the story turned into one about Greg being an attentive boyfriend who helped his girlfriend when she was about to faint. Dot Entertainment couldn't play the morality card for something like that.
Greg knew he wasn't completely out of the woods yet—he wasn't going to be until the last possible minute—but he could at least say the situation was a lot better now than it was when he was running away from the paparazzo last night.
He pulled out his phone to check the time as he was crossing the foyer to the exit. Ten past twelve. He still had almost an hour before he was meeting Charlie for lunch, so he decided to take a walk. It had been way too long since he'd last visited New York. In a weird way, he always felt at home here, and every once in a while he even entertained the idea of moving here at some point in the future. Since his days of audition marathons were long gone, he didn't have to live in L.A. anymore.
And if the next two and a half months went well, Greg would love to do more theater work. It always held a bit of his heart, reminding him of the college years and the ups and downs of working on a stage production for months at a time.
Get through this one first, he told himself firmly, putting a ball cap on. You don't even know if you'll still have a role to play in a few weeks. He didn't want to get his hopes up, so he had to try and tone down the urge to plan out his future when his present was on shaky ground.
His present had Sylvia in it, though, and that brightened his mood. Sure, they had been thrown together by accident, and fake dates weren't an ideal situation for anything, but Greg still enjoyed their time together, and he was looking forward to seeing her again. They'd all agreed the two of them should keep up the ruse for at least three more weeks until Greg couldn't be forced out of New York anymore and he was more than happy to do it. Sylvia was passionate, funny, and beautiful, and she hadn't thought twice about helping him, even when she was clearly uncomfortable with being in the public eye.
Keeping up the appearance of enjoying her company wasn't going to need any acting on his part.
***
He was supposed to pick up Charlie from the theater, so he turned into the same alley he and Sylvia had met in yesterday. In the daylight, the dumpster area actually looked worse than last night. He'd been smart enough not to touch anything, including the wall, but he still grimaced as he glanced at it now. Fortunately, the rest of the street made a much better impression, and by the time Greg got to the theater's backstage doors, he had no problem leaning against the wall next to it.
He busied himself with his phone but didn't have to wait long. Charlie busted out of the door at five to one, and after spotting Greg, he hooted and ran to him, throwing his arms wide.
Greg couldn't help but laugh. As they fell into an embrace, he hugged Charlie as hard as his friend was hugging him, and they swayed on their feet.
"My boy," Charlie said, tightening his arms one more time before releasing Greg and pulling away. "I've missed you."
"Not enough to drop the boy thing, I see." He shook his head, amused. Charlie had been calling him that since they'd graduated together, in a mockery of their old drama teacher, who called every male student "my boy" and every female student "my dear".
"I'll never drop it." Charlie shrugged, eyeing him up and down. "You look good. Still hot."
Greg snorted. "Glad I continue to meet with your approval."
"Always." Charlie grinned with a leer, and Greg rolled his eyes but grinned back. Some things never changed.
"I've missed you, too, you brat." He threw his arm around Charlie's shoulders and turned him into the direction of the street. "Come on, let's go eat."
Twenty minutes later, when they were sitting in the booth at the back of Charlie's favorite Italian restaurant, Greg leaned back in his seat and let himself relax completely. The smell of tomato sauce and garlic promised him a good meal, and the company of one of his oldest friends let him drop the act and enjoy himself.
"Tell me what's going on with you," Charlie said, leaning his forearms on the table. "How's my city treating you?"
Greg snorted, not knowing where to start. "I've been here less than two days and it's already been a crazy ride."
"That's New York for you."
"If you say so," Greg said dryly. "But I saw Illuminations last night, and you, my friend, were great."
"You were there last night?" Charlie sat up. "Why the hell didn't you say anything? Or come back stage? We have some new people I could show you off to."
Greg chuckled. "Tempting. I was going to come up and see you afterward, but then my night turned on its head."
The waitress came back with their food—Greg couldn't resist ordering lasagna, since he wasn't on a fitness regime now—and when she left, Charlie pointed at him with his fork.
"Spill."
Greg could lie to his agent and publicist, but there was no way he would lie to Charlie, so he spilled the story as they ate, up to and including the whole pretend dating scheme.
His friend kept quiet, only shoving pasta into his mouth, but his eyebrows slowly moved up as the story continued. When Greg finished, Charlie shook his head.
"Your life is crazy. I know I tell you this at least once a year, but seriously—your life is crazy."
"I know." Greg swallowed another piece of lasagna. "But this is more insane than anything that's happened in a while."
"The fact that it isn't the most insane thing, says so much about your life."
Greg nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Well, the Oscar nomination is still up there in the first slot."
"Maybe in your book. As far as I'm concerned, this whole thing trumps the Oscars."
"I'm just glad the plan seems to be working. I really want to do this Broadway thing I've heard so much about," he joked after swallowing another bite.
Charlie grinned. "I can't wait to play opposite you again. We haven't done it in ages."
It was Greg's turn to point with his fork. "I've asked you to come play in a movie with me probably a million times."
"And I've told you a million times, movies aren't my thing. That's why I had to drag you here."
"And you did."
In the end, it was as simple as that. He was in New York, about to play on Broadway, because his old friend had called with an offer Greg couldn't resist. And now they were going to play opposite each other in Illuminations, after Charlie moved from the understudy to the lead actor in a few weeks.
For probably the fifth time today, Greg wondered for a brief moment what Sylvia's reaction was going to be. She hadn't pushed this morning when she'd asked about his secret project, which he really appreciated. He'd been tempted to throw caution to the wind, but it wasn't only his ass on the line. If the word got out and he couldn't play later on, the repercussions to the theater and the whole production could be severe.
He still wanted to be the one to tell her about it when the time came—to see her face, see that spark in her eyes she always got when she talked about Broadway. He was pretty sure she was going to be over the moon, especially since he wouldn't mind letting her use the "family ticket" for the majority of the performances, save for one or two when his parents would undoubtedly take the trip up to New York to see him on stage.
The kick in the shin abruptly brought him back to the present.
"Hey!"
Charlie looked at him innocently. "What?"
"You are a big child, Charles Donatello Amis."
"Shhhh." Charlie waved his hand. "Low blow, man."
One of the advantages of knowing someone half his life was that Greg had enough ammunition on Charlie to last him for many years to come. And Charlie's hate for his second name was endless.
"I'm not the one who went for the kicking," Greg told him.
"Well, you zoned out on me." Charlie shrugged. "What were you thinking about?"
Greg hesitated and his friend's face lit up. Damn. The downside of knowing someone for so long was that they usually knew him just as well.
"You like her!" Charlie almost cooed, but not loud enough for anybody else to pick up on, thankfully. "Oh, this is so great. It makes this entire thing even better."
"I'm glad this is so entertaining for you," Greg muttered. "And it's not like that."
"If I thought we'd lose a chance to play together, it wouldn't be, but I'm confident it'll be fine. And having you step into a romantic comedy situation after only a day in New York is gold. I'm going to cherish this and laugh at you for the rest of our lives."
Greg grimaced at that. Maybe he should look for some new friends.
"There, there, I won't laugh at you too much…for now," Charlie said, grinning. "Tell me a bit more about this Sylvia."
"Well, the first thing I learned about her was that she was a big fan of yours," Greg admitted and watched as his friend lost it and erupted in laughter loud enough to turn heads on the other side of the room.
Yeah, Greg was screwed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"DINNER and a show?" Sylvia grinned up at Greg who leaned against her desk, looking very pleased with himself. And very hot, the voice in the back of her head added, but she pushed the thought away. "I feel spoiled."
"I want you to meet my friend, but he's working late, so we can catch the show and meet him afterward."
She raised her eyebrows. She didn't expect to meet any of his friends. "And what does your friend know about, you know…us? Are we going to have to pretend?"
"No, he knows everything. I told him how you're helping me out by playing along, and he helped me secure the last-minute tickets. I know you've seen Illuminations three times already, but since you loved it so much and your favorite is playing the lead this week, I thought…"
"Oh, I'm more than happy to see it again," Sylvia assured him. She wouldn't be able to justify buying the ticket again so soon, but getting to see the show for free? There was no way she was going to pass on that.
"Great. I should go and l
eave you to it."
He straightened up, and Sylvia suddenly realized how close they'd been only a moment before. She looked down at the file she had opened on her desk as she felt herself blush.
"See you tomorrow then," she said, not meeting his gaze.
"I'll pick you up at seven?"
She nodded. "Perfect."
"Okay, it's a date." He flashed her a smile and then left, leaving her to stare at the closed doors until she heard someone clearing their throat. She turned her head. Nate. She winced internally at his knowing look.
"Do you need something?" she asked, circling the chair to face him fully.
He looked at her a moment longer before speaking. "Should I worry about this?"
"About what?" She tried not to glance down but failed, and Nate knew her tells too well to miss that.
"You're forgetting it's pretend, aren't you?"
"I'm not." Sylvia shook her head. If she repeated it enough times, maybe she'd start to believe it. "I know it's not real."
"But you wish it was," Nate finished for her, and she shrugged.
"Hey, he's a movie star. What girl wouldn't wish for a prince scenario like that?" she tried to turn it into a joke.
Nate snorted. "You wanted to be a pirate, not a princess. And then you wanted to be a French revolutionary."
That was true. Her teenage Les Miserables obsession had been epic.
Nate leaned in against her desk, serious again. "Just remember, he's a movie star who's going back to L.A. in three months, tops. Don't let him break your heart."
"I won't," she told Nate and hoped her stupid heart would get the message, too. She had a history of falling too fast and usually for the wrong guy, but she hoped she'd left that behind her. That, and her belief in a fairytale ending—something this thing they were doing right now would definitely not have.