The Interview

by Alice Ward

  “I’ve heard that.” Dropping the mangled remains of my pizza onto my plate, I took several napkins from the cheap dispenser and wiped off my hands. “I keep getting recommendations for DIY avocado face masks on my Pinterest.”

  He studied me, eyes roving over every inch of my face, and my insides turned to jelly. I could feel his gaze as tangibly as if he’d been running his fingers over me instead. There was something gripping about the way he looked at me, something claiming and relentless. And though I was definitely handling myself with more professionalism now than I had in his dressing room, I still found my brain turning to mush every time those piercing orbs sizzled on mine.

  “That’s offensive and presumptuous.” I doubled back in my thoughts to recall what we were discussing before I became too lost in his stare. “You don’t need any of that rejuvenating face mask crap. You’re, what, twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

  I beamed. “Twenty-six. But, thanks.”

  “Ah. Young enough to make mistakes and old enough to know better.” He pressed the pad of his thumb to the corner of my mouth, wiping away a stray blot of sauce. I shivered as he sucked the tomatoey goodness from his digit.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I murmured.

  It occurred to me we’d somehow wandered off track from the interview. The conversation was flowing so easily between us that veering into other topics was effortless, like an incredible first date.

  If only that’s what this was.

  Interview. Focus on the damn interview.

  “Anyway.” I tapped my notes again. “There’s a rumor going around that you threatened to refuse your role in Concrete if they didn’t double your Paradox salary. Is that true?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I eyed him warily. So far, he hadn’t done a great job expanding on his basic answers, and I was learning I had to pry the details from him with a crowbar. His mouth opened, and I pulled my pen from my hair in anticipation, but he tore a chunk of crust off his pizza and popped it between his lips. I frowned.

  “Well, is there any truth to it at all?”

  His expression was mild, unperturbed by my digging, despite being pressed for information on a generally taboo subject. Having grown up in a well-to-do family that prioritized manners over blunt honesty, I’d been taught never to ask anyone about their salaries or finances. Becoming a member of the media, however, revealed that rule to be generally overlooked in the world of celebrities, yet I still feared a snappish retort for my inquiry.

  To my relief, Tate’s reply was even-toned and light. “It depends on how you look at it.” He swished his cup around in a circle on the peeling tabletop, ice cubes clattering as they collided with one another. “I was in negotiations for a third installment of the Paradox series when Concrete was brought to my attention. I flew back to New York, read for the role of Xander, and informed casting I would need to know sooner rather than later if they wanted me because I had another opportunity back in Hollywood that needed answers.”

  “And that’s when you told them you’d do it for twice the money?”

  “No. The producers wanted to know what I made doing Paradox and offered to double my salary if I backed out of the third movie. I missed theater and New York, and I loved the plot of Concrete, so I accepted.”

  Warmth spread throughout my body from scalp to toes. I wouldn’t have thought less of him had he bartered for an exorbitant amount of money — more than many Broadway shows had budgeted for entire productions — but I thought maybe I’d misjudged him after hearing his explanation. I also had half a mind to hunt down the top hat man and chastise him for ever having accused Tate of being greedy.

  Tate flicked the edge of my paper plate, sending it spinning toward me. “Eat.”

  “We’re talking. It’s rude to talk and eat.”

  His expression changed completely, sitting me back in my seat. He looked so fierce I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if he’d rounded the table and bent me over his knee to land a sharp spank on my ass. Heat radiated between my thighs at the thought. Like an obedient child, I picked up my pizza and took a small, placating bite.

  “Thank you.” His eyes lingered on my mouth as I chewed.

  I made a face.

  The chuckle that rolled from his throat was deep, appreciative. “You’re something else, Juliet.”

  Swallowing, I relinquished the slice to my plate again and pushed it a few inches away. “Why do you keep calling me that? Is that the term you use when you’ve forgotten a woman’s name?” My stomach hollowed at the notion I could be so forgettable. “Because it’s Sadie.”

  “I know. Sadie Danes, The Apple.”

  The amount of relief that licked my mind was entirely disproportionate to the wound of his possibly having forgotten my name. “Okay, then why?”

  He leaned back in his chair once more, this time crossing muscled arms over his hardened chest. “I’m surprised at you. You call yourself a theater critic, but a reference to arguably the most famous play of all time goes completely over your head.” He pursed his lips and jutted his chin out. “Shameful.”

  I scowled. “I know the reference. Shakespeare’s Juliet is the only Juliet who matters.” His chin returned to its original depth, and I detected a glimmer of amusement on his mouth. “What I don’t know is why you’re referencing her in relation to me.”

  “That’s almost as shameful as not getting the reference at all.”

  Apparently, amongst the many and varied adjectives one was able to use to describe Tate McGrath, “infuriating” was no exception.

  “Or maybe what’s shameful is your improperly using Shakespeare to come across as cultured and knowledgeable.” I crossed my arms as well, throwing one leg over the other and bouncing my foot petulantly.

  He pushed backward, the feet of his chair groaning against the cracked tile floor and rested his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped just as he had in the dressing room. “At the beginning of Romeo and Juliet, Juliet was quiet, innocent, and youthfully obedient.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Once she meets Romeo, though, we discover another side to her. Determined, headstrong, defiant, and sporting razor-sharp wit.” A constellation of sparkles popped in his eyes, and he pointed at me with two forefingers joined by the pads. “You, my dear, are a Juliet.”

  “And I suppose that makes you a Romeo,” I replied, rolling my eyes. Despite my outward disdain, however, popcorn was bursting in my belly, and I had a strong need to squeeze the stuffing out of a plush stuffed animal. It was a mark of how deep my adoration for the theater ran that I couldn’t think of a more romantic, swoon-worthy pet name.

  “I hope not.” Tate grimaced. “Romeo is an insufferable, ungrounded teenager at best.”

  I pointed the pen at him. “You should learn to form an opinion.” He smirked. “No, really, you’re far too wishy-washy. People won’t take you seriously this way.”

  Yet again, we’d mysteriously wandered off topic, and I hadn’t even realized it until we were knee-deep in another subject. He was a warlock of words and an incubus of stares, drawing me into him with subtle cues and holding me captive with enchanted chains.

  I was distinctly aware that, as far as interviews went, I was failing miserably. I’d barely gotten a couple questions in despite having had more than enough time to conduct the whole interview and devour a slice of pizza, but it didn’t seem all that important with his penetrating orbs bearing down on me and sending bolts of hot lust to my groin.

  The tongue-tied super-fan I’d been when I’d first ventured backstage was gone, and in her place was a woman with a belly of butterflies and genuine interest in the man sitting across from me. The exquisite marble pedestal upon which I’d kept him had disappeared, but he burned even brighter now as a flesh and blood man, like an Olympian god who’d descended the mountain to stand before a mortal. Still great, ever powerful, but undeniably of some other world.

  “Far too wishy-washy,” I murmured again.

  He
trailed his thumb over his five o’clock shadow, still watching me. I heard the scraping of skin against blunt, coarse hair, and the space beneath my ear prickled as I imagined his beard scratching there instead of his finger. This man may have become less of an untouchable star and more of a normal person to me in the short time since we’d met, but he still could’ve thrown me on top of the table at that very second and screwed me stupid in the middle of the tiny New York pizzeria, and I wouldn’t have done a thing to stop him.

  I drowned in his gaze as he crooked a brow and jerked his chin toward my plate again. “Finish eating.” Gruff. Commanding. Hot.

  My thighs flamed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tate

  She’s either a really bad journalist, or a really good one.

  I could sit here with her all night.

  The things I would do to that mouth…

  Thoughts raced through my head at warp speed, all of them unexpected and very unwelcome. I usually held journalists in the same regard as termites — pesky, intrusive, damaging, and always another popping up after squashing the first. But Sadie had me captivated.

  Our dialogue was as rhythmically flawless as any script I’d ever read, and the innocence of her soft looking cheeks negated the sharp, bladed questions she asked. Better yet, she received my teasing without batting a lash and handed it right back to me with the kind of familiarity I’d lost since becoming an American sensation, since everyone except my brother either treated me with pompous courtesy or babbling excitement.

  I’d wholly expected Sadie to be one of the former before meeting her and one of the latter after the first minute in her presence, but by the time the last chunk of sausage was picked from her plate, and the last clump of cheese scraped from mine, I’d found out I had no business expecting anything from her.

  And that turned me on.

  “I know you’ve probably answered this question a hundred times in your career already…” she pressed the tip of her pen down to the pad of paper, prepared to begin writing the second I started talking, “but what was it that interested you about theater? How did you get into stage acting?”

  She was right about having gotten that question a number of times before, but my mouth thinned into a tight line like it always did when I was presented with the inquiry. My stomach immediately chastised me for downing the pizza, and I was flooded with memories I constantly tried to forget. Failing to answer her, however, wasn’t an option.

  “A community theater in my neighborhood used to put on free shows once a month. I was starved for entertainment one night, so I went, and it was love at first sight. The costumes, the music. The silence and laughter and heartbreak.” I cleared my throat. “It was moving. I had to be a part of it.”

  “How old were you?”

  I didn’t miss a beat. “Thirteen.”

  Sadie’s eyebrows lifted, two smooth, curious arcs over inquisitive eyes. “You never saw a live production before your teens? No school plays or anything?”

  “Nope.” I popped my lips on the tail of the word. “That was my first time.”

  “And what playhouse gave you this life-changing experience?”

  This time, I hesitated. She was watching me expectantly, but I slid my gaze over her head to the neon Manga! sign casting a lime glow onto her hair. My tongue took control and formed the answer my brain wouldn’t. “You’ve probably never heard of the place.”

  Her smile grew wider. “Try me.”

  My mind whirled, trying to conjure up a name. “I’m actually trying to remember.” I tapped my temple, buying myself some time. “Gold something or—”

  “The Gold Rush Community Theatre in Sacramento?” Her skin looked flawless even in the tiny establishment’s unflattering light, but I was starting to feel beads of sweat forming on my upper lip as the temperature in the space began to mysteriously climb.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “I’ve heard good things about that place.” She smiled, sweet and unassuming, and I lifted the corners of my numb lips in reciprocation. “What production stole your heart that night?”

  The restaurant was boiling hot. I wanted to strip out of my shirt and dump a cup of ice water over my head just for a breath of relief from the unseen hellfire, but I looked her dead in the eye as I gave my answer. “Romeo and Juliet.”

  Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. The light-distorted color of her cheeks deepened, and I distinctly noticed the sudden halt in her steadily rising and falling chest.

  Through the dense aroma of marinara and baking dough, I caught a tendril of her scent. She was flowery, fresh, real — none of the chemical fruits of overconfident teens or the pungent aroma of women with cat-eyes and lip injections for her.

  My cock pulsed unexpectedly, forcing me to shift on my chair to hide the aggressive erection growing in my jeans. This woman was sending me on one hell of a rollercoaster ride, and all she’d done was exist.

  “Well, I should ask the most important thing now.” She tilted her head as she changed tack, sending the curls that had freed themselves from her bun bouncing to one side. “How has your experience been working with the cast and crew of Concrete, and do you regret turning down the next Paradox installment to take on this project?”

  I nabbed an ice cube from my cup and crunched it between my teeth. “That’s two important things.”

  Her lips pursed, but I saw a glimmer of amusement shining on their delicate surface. “Are you really going to play semantics?”

  I crunched the ice harder, thinking I might need to stuff a few cubes into my pants. I was so hard I ached. “I can play whatever you want.”

  Her pupils flared, and her eyes fell to my lips before she caught herself and looked away. “Clearly, since you’ve been everything from a lonely shepherd to a robotic thug in the last ten years.” Either she was oblivious to my innuendo, or she’d deliberately sidestepped it. Somehow, both possibilities aroused me even more, and I clenched my jaw as a weak distraction. “Let’s start with the first one, then. How has your experience with Concrete been?”

  My dick was begging me to divert the conversation into sultrier territory, but my mind was still very aware of Sadie’s role. As beautiful as she was, and as organically as we seemed to get along, she was a journalist at the end of the day, and anything I said or did was fair game for her to include in the article.

  Hers was the last interview I intended to do in the foreseeable future, but I would be bombarded with calls and emails and live people if The Apple headlined their next issue with “Tate McGrath Seduces Reviewer at Local Pizzeria: Has the Secret to His Success Been Discovered?”

  “It’s great to be able to work with a group of people as passionate as me about Concrete’s message.” It was the answer I’d prepared specifically for this meeting. Though the sentence had sounded fine when I’d gone over it in my mind after agreeing to the interview, it sounded vague and hopefully inoffensive coming out of my mouth, like a politician’s unhelpful diplomatic response when confronted with the blurred lines of ethics.

  Sadie chided me with a sideways glance of scorn. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  “On record, yes.”

  “Well, what would you say if it was off the record?”

  I’d been wrong about her. She was no novice reporter. This vixen had some tricks up her sleeve. The general understanding in the show business industry was that prefacing any statement with an off-the-record disclaimer obliged the media to either discard the statement completely or refrain from attributing it directly to the interviewee.

  I hadn’t declared the disclaimer and Sadie hadn’t made any promises though. We were speaking in hypotheticals, and a hypothetical off-the-record was as publishable as a bona fide on-record exclamation. She had taken whatever lingering expectations I had left and blown them to shit in her weaving of words, and I couldn’t have wanted her more for it.

  I winked. “Nice try.”

  She frowned, studied me for
a second, then reached for the recorder. I heard the snap of the OFF button.

  “Okay. Seriously off the record, what would you say?”

  I flicked my gaze between her eyes and the device. “This is completely off the record?” She nodded. “I’d say Concrete has a very special meaning to me, and I’m extremely honored to be able to play the role of Xander.”

  Her frown remained. “Why isn’t that something you’d want the public to know?”

  “Because it tends to sound patronizing when celebrities draw parallels to themselves and tragic characters,” I explained. It was partially true, but it was all the truth I was willing to divulge. Even off-record, there were things I refused to share.

  Her Cupid’s bow flattened as she pressed her lips together. “Anything else before we get official again?”

  “Yeah.” I leaned toward her as if about to whisper a deep, dark secret, and she bowed toward me with interest. “Working with Kelly Harper is a pain in the ass.”

  “What?” I’d clearly stunned her with that one, and I felt a searing of pride at the way her chin dangled loosely in surprise.

  “You’re the first person I’ve been able to say that to.” I leaned back again, feeling a bit lighter. “Feels good.”

  She shook her head vivaciously. “Wait a minute. Kelly Harper is basically the female you, pre-Paradox. And she was great in her role as Jocelyn tonight. Every director in this city would, at the very least, want her to audition for them. I don’t think she’d be so sought-after if she was a pain in the ass.”

  “Then you don’t know as much about theater as you think you do.” I smiled good-naturedly to meet Sadie’s testy glower. “She’s high-maintenance and egocentric. I can’t tell you how many rehearsals doubled in length because she either sucked the creative motivation out of her co-stars with her incessant demands or because she was too hungry, too thirsty, or too tired to ‘deal with this.’”

  Sadie rolled her eyes and shook a finger at me. “People in glass houses…”

  I quirked a brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Rumor has it you made the entire crew call you Xander during rehearsals.” How she’d heard about that, I had no idea, but I had to admire her investigative work. “And, if they didn’t, you refused to respond. True?”