Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

Malcolm had only had one sip of that mint julep, but it must’ve gone straight to his head. Perhaps she should switch him to sweet tea. That idea was too crazy to even respond to. “You should’ve been an architect instead of an actor.”

“Do you know how hard and expensive architecture school is? People drop out to go to med school because it’s easier.” Malcolm sat down in the other rocking chair. “Anyway, I could only afford it now because of all the movies I’ve done.”

“Then you should rebuild it in Malibu. You’ve got more money than I do. How many millions did you make for that ridiculous comic book movie?”

On reflex, Malcolm reached for his glass and took another sip of his drink. “Ugh. Not any better than the first time.” He shook his head. “I made twenty-five. Of course, my agent, my manager, Uncle Sam, and about ten other people on my staff all got their cut of it. But even if I made fifty million, I couldn’t rebuild a house like that in California. I might as well run a rainbow flag up the flagpole in the front yard. I could kiss my career good-bye.”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

Malcolm reached out to pat her hand. “Honey, please. While I love playing the role of your gay best friend in real life, it doesn’t pay so well in films. It’s nearly impossible to be openly gay and land the kind of roles I want. Action films? Romantic leads? Comic book heroes? Do you think they’d pay me a fortune for a Red Rhage sequel if they knew I was gay? Do you think I’d win an Academy Award? Hell, the only way to do that is to be a gay man pretending to be straight, playing the role of a gay man. Ironic, huh?”

Ivy listened to her best friend’s tirade as though it were the first time she’d heard it. “I just want you to be happy, Malcolm. You don’t seem very happy fake-dating half the women in Hollywood.”

“But that’s how I met you. I wouldn’t trade that even for a greased-up fireman calendar model with washboard abs. You’re my favoritest beard ever.”

“Thanks,” Ivy said. “I think.”

Malcolm smiled at her, showcasing the charming good looks that had landed him the title of Sexiest Man Alive. It really was a shame that the women of the world would only get to look and not touch. He had dark hair that begged a woman to run her fingers through it. Tall and hard bodied, he smelled better than any man had a right to. His piercing blue eyes, tanned skin, and flawless smile turned every woman, whether a toddler or a senior citizen, into a puddle at his feet.

Being his girlfriend, even for a few weeks and in name only, hadn’t been so bad. He was always a gentleman and always fun to be around.

“Maybe when you get home, we should date again. I have that Christmas romantic comedy coming out Thanksgiving weekend. I’d rather you go with me to those premieres and parties than that sitcom actress they had me contracted with this summer. She’s boring as hell.”

“I don’t think Kevin will go for that. I’m still coming off that Sterling Marshall thing. The charity work I’m doing is helping, but I think he still wants me to lie low on the relationship front for a while.”

Malcolm snickered and reached for his iPhone. A few seconds later, he held out a picture of her and Blake kissing on the dance floor at the retro prom. “You’re not doing a very good job of lying low, Ivy.”

“Where the hell did you find that?” she asked, snatching the phone from his hand.

“TMZ. There’s a couple more, too. I thought you knew about it. I don’t know if I’m more scandalized by the kiss or that lame´ dress. Did you and your ex really make out at the dance where everyone could see you?”

Ivy flipped through the photos and cursed. “There wasn’t supposed to be any press there. They were banned.” She scrolled through the page until she found the photo credits at the end.

Nash Russell. Big surprise.

“That man, I swear,” she said through gritted teeth. “Listen to this crap: ‘Local tongues were wagging,’ a source close to the couple said. ‘The sexual tension was off the charts the moment they walked into the dance.’ The couple left early, leaving no doubt in the minds of partygoers that Ivy and Blake Chamberlain were off to do a dance of the more private variety. Are you kidding me? It’s so juvenile.”

Malcolm snatched back the phone. “Easy on the gadgets, my dear. That’s my third phone this year. I keep breaking them.” He glanced at the picture for a moment. “So are you upset that they got a picture or that the whole town knows you and Blake slept together?”

“I doubt anyone has even seen these pictures. Not many folks around here are interested in celebrity blogs. The gossip network in Rosewood is powered by little old ladies.”

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he asked, “So, do you think Nash bought the pictures off someone at the dance? Or did he sneak in somehow?”

Ivy shook her head. “No, all the doors had guards, and even if he snuck into the school, he couldn’t get into the cafeteria without going past the check-in desk. Unless,” she said with a sigh, “he got a date and bought a ticket like everyone else. If he came with a local, I doubt anyone would question it.”

“Is there anyone desperate enough to date Nash?”

It was hard to believe, but she found there was always someone that Nash could manipulate to get his way. “There has to be. Actually, let’s go ask Pepper. If we leave now, we should get to the salon right as it closes. I promised her I’d take you to meet her, anyway.”

They loaded into her rental car and drove back into town, parking in front of the salon. Pepper was locking the door, on her way home, when they arrived.

Ivy put down the window and shouted. “Hey, Pepper. I’ve got a surprise in my car for you.”

Pepper’s eyes got so big they nearly bugged out of her head as she recognized Ivy’s passenger. She couldn’t say anything at first—a rarity for Pepper.

“Hop in and we’ll drive over to Woody’s for a drink. I need to talk to you about something.”

Pepper climbed in for the short ride, still speechless. It wasn’t until they climbed out of the car outside the bar and Malcolm held out his hand in greeting that she finally spoke. And then, it was like a rush of verbal diarrhea.