by Linda Barnes
The poor guy hung on her words as if he were tuned into the last out of the last game of the World Series, turned and pointed in Spraggue's direction. Spraggue shoved the photo quickly in his pocket, got a welcoming smile together on his face. The director was already hurrying over, prancing, practically drooling.
"Michael!" Grady's voice was great, too: warm and low and sexy as hell. "I finally found you."
Spraggue held back on the applause, but what an audition! He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Everod panted for an introduction.
A ripped-up ankle, itchy ribs, lousy scripts, and now Grady Fairfield, future star! Kate was right, he had all the luck.
"Places!" screamed the production assistant.
Spraggue smiled down at Grady, saw her stretched out on Leider's sofa, barely wearing that soft green dress .... Had she been following Leider's orders? Posing for one of Lenny's hidden cameras?
He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.
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