Hollywood on Tap (Sweet Salvation Brewery 2)

In reality, he’d ended up as the brewmaster at a small brewery in Virginia. Yeah, it was going to take a while to make that fit under the “logical category” heading on a chart.

Fake sincerity clung to Rupert Crowley like cheap cologne as he watched her, no doubt mentally recording her every reaction. It took everything she had not to choke on the figurative stench. “There may be some resemblance.”

“Not some resemblance,” he insisted. “Sean O’Dell is Sean Duvin.”

Despite what her brain knew to be true, part of her couldn’t accept it. The Sean she knew would never lie about something like this. “You don’t—”

“Please, Ms. Sweet, I appreciate your loyalty to your employees, but I’ve been chasing this story for years. I’m not going to give up now.”

And he wouldn’t. The reporter practically hummed with fanatical determination.

“Why are you so intent on finding him?” Maybe if he left, they could go back to before. She could pretend this whole conversation never took place. The early stages of an anxiety attack pinched her lungs and she picked up the pace of her fingers traveling over the pearls.

“I’m a reporter. I chase the stories that interest my readers and with the new live webstream, viewers. And, for better or worse, they are fascinated by the disappearance of one of Hollywood’s hottest actors at the peak of his popularity. Imagine, if you would, Ms. Sweet, if LeBron James vanished, never to be heard from again. Even non–basketball fans would be curious about what had happened to one of the greatest players of all time and why he went into hiding.”

“So that’s what this is for you, a story?” Natalie divided her attention between his answer and maintaining slow, steady breaths, just like Dr. Kenning had taught her.

“In the beginning, I suppose it was.” Rupert leaned forward, an excited gleam in his eyes. He was in full storytelling mode and obviously enjoyed it. “It really is an amazing story. Sean started out as a child actor on kids’ shows and commercials, working steadily for years without any hint of trouble. Then he became a teenager and things got a little sketchy. Drugs, alcohol, and women were all easy to get for a teen heartthrob with a devoted following. If Tumblr had been as hot then as it is now, he would have been its biggest draw. Of course, that kind of life catches up with a boy. He showed up late to the set, refused to attend the mandated educational classes, and needed extra time in makeup to cover the results of his carousing. Directors and producers lost patience with him, and it looked as if he was going to be another Hollywood tragedy.”

Despite herself, Natalie was sucked into the tale. ?

??What changed?”

“Oh yes, the third act.” Rupert rubbed his supernaturally tanned hands together. “So he shows up for an audition to play a dying teenager in a made–for–TV movie. He blows the casting people away, but he has this reputation following him, so they don’t want to hire him. In the end, they decide to take a chance. He won a Golden Globe for that part. More critically acclaimed performances followed in movies and TV until, only a few short years later, he was accepting an Oscar for best supporting actor. Then—poof!—he disappears.”

Rupert sat back in his chair, a self–satisfied, snarky twist to his thin lips.

Knee jiggling under the desk, Natalie reached for her cup in an effort to buy time for the deafening static in her head to fade back into the background. She couldn’t go back to that anxious place, not now. She took a slow, measured sip of green tea that had cooled long ago. The liquid did nothing to relieve her thirst or calm her churning stomach.

“Are you all right, Ms. Sweet?” Rupert narrowed his gaze, giving her an assessing up and down.

The perusal was predatory, but not in a sexual way. No doubt the reporter was looking for cracks in her armor.

“I’m fine.” She settled the cup on the saucer and clasped her hands in her lap. She inhaled. Find a problem, fix a problem. That was her mantra but this time, the problem had found her. She breathed out. “It sounds to me like he doesn’t want to be found.”

Rupert clapped his hands together. “Oh, but he doesn’t have a choice in that, because I’ve found him. Americans love a redemption story. They instinctively root for the underdog. Sean Duvin is a story that combines both. He’s the bad boy who made good when no one thought he had it in him.”

The static grew in her head, threatening to drown out the rest of the world. She had to get the reporter out of her office, but not until she understood. “Why him?”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean, Ms. Sweet?”

“Don’t be coy now.” The urge to reach across her desk and strangle the slimeball was running neck and neck with the anxiety shrinking her lungs into the size of raisins. She thought of Sean—not the man Rupert had described, but the one she knew. The whole situation failed the logic test. “Why chase a man who obviously doesn’t want to be found?”

He looked down and to the left before returning his gaze to her. “Let’s say I’m personally invested. Not the wisest choice for a journalist, but it does happen.” He flashed a blindingly white, insincere smile. “Finding Sean Duvin has become my life’s mission. My sword in the stone, if you will, Ms. Sweet.”

“And you see yourself as King Arthur?” The man’s ego was big enough.

He paused and looked up at the ceiling, as if parsing the ancient legend’s cast of characters. “More like Merlin, the man behind the scenes who makes everything work.”

She sucked in a deep, cleansing breath, forcing her hands apart in her lap and flexing her fingers. The tightness in her lungs lessened, and the static rolled back its volume.

“So what do you want with him?” Even though Sean had lied to her and everyone else at the brewery about who he was, there were few people she’d throw to a hyena like Crowley.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “What every reporter dreams about, an exclusive that will make their name.”

Bingo. What a sleaze. Of course, the side benefit of his ridiculousness was the slow abatement of her anxiety. It was hard to get worked up over an idiot. “And I had assumed it was to satisfy your viewers’ curiosity.”

“Oh yes, of course. Who could forget the millions of viewers and readers who’d love to know what happened to their favorite, Ms. Sweet?”