The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(87)
“Tempting. But—”
“But family sticks together,” Charlie said, and Griff’s eyes locked with his brother’s.
“Christ,” Rupert muttered. Then, standing up straighter, he said, “Regardless of how we release the truth—” his voice still sounded sour “—my family’s reputation is going to be put through the wringer.”
Griff was prepared to do what he could for Rupert, but he was never going to like the man. “Then in the interests of pre-emptive damage control, we’ll have to make some shrewd decisions as to how we deliver this discovery to the media, and what angle we push. Because if it breaks in the wrong way, the fallout could be fucking disastrous.” Very faintly, his mouth lifted. “As your daughter would say, we’ll have to get our Slytherin on.”
To really cap off the shit turn to the day, the moment Freddy charged out of the house she bumped into Sadie. Their resident problem child was standing under the jutting eave that the myriad smokers in the company had commandeered, using her own break to have a cheeky cigarette. It was a terrible habit for anyone to pick up, and a disastrous one for actors who relied on their voice and stamina, but Sadie wasn’t demonstrating much care for her career in general today, so who was really surprised.
“If it isn’t our femme fatale,” Sadie drawled, tapping a bit of ash from the end of the cigarette. With a peculiar little smile, she added, “Such a...worthy addition to your illustrious family,” and Freddy turned, in no mood to deal with her.
“Careful. The act is slipping. You’re becoming more and more unconvincing as a human being. If you give the soulless, demonic bitch full rein, even Lionel Grimes will struggle to place you in work.”
Sadie lowered the cigarette and lifted her eyes to Freddy’s face. There was a vivid light to her pupils. Freddy was surprised they weren’t glowing crimson. “I’d be careful what you say to me, Frederica.”
“Why?” Freddy asked, with biting scorn, the latest wave of disillusionment still washing through her. Her caution about not falling out with a co-star this close to curtain went flying out into the rainy greyness. “Because you’ll slither around, hissing a few words of gossip about me and Drew Townseville? I don’t give a shit. You want to dig your claws into me instead of torturing Maya, who by the way, is so good in every respect that she makes you look like a talentless, immoral hack? Great. If it compensates for the fact that one day, nobody will even remember your name, because you’re so fucking heartless you give nothing to people, nothing that affects them, nothing they can hold on to—then do your worst.”
That glint in Sadie’s eyes deepened. “Yes. Our saintly Maya.” She looked Freddy up and down. “And I suppose you think your name will go down in the history books? Like your infamous grandmother?”
Muscles all over Freddy’s body twitched simultaneously, and she couldn’t stop herself from an abrupt flinch.
Sadie’s lip curled. It was the sort of smile that a spider might give upon spotting a fly caught in her web. “Do my worst? Do you know, I believe I will. And I think, poppet, you’ll find you do give a shit.”
Chapter Eighteen
Showtime
The rain this morning had been a mild drizzle compared to the downpour tonight. It fell in a hard rhythm against the theatre roof, and sound technicians stood around in corners with morose faces, muttering about acoustics. Freddy sat in a chair in one of the makeup rooms, with her feet wrapped around the rungs and a plastic bib protecting her old-fashioned stays and petticoats. She was trying to breathe slowly and keep still.
Leo Magasiva, a makeup artist she’d worked with in the past, skilfully applied a contour shade under her chin. The makeup was lighter than usual, to adapt for the high-definition cameras that would be filming in close-up. “Am I tickling you?” he asked in his incredibly smooth, deep voice, reaching for a new brush. When he shook excess product from the bristles, his enormous biceps flexed. She’d forgotten how bloody huge he was, all heavily packed muscle and warm brown skin. He was a treat for the eyes, and she couldn’t even be bothered to have a good perv, because her heart and mind were otherwise occupied, twirling about in love with a prat. “You’re not usually this jumpy before an opening.”
“Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.” Freddy made a renewed effort to keep still so he could start her eye makeup. It was a subtle art to make it look as if she was both well-rested and not wearing a scrap of cosmetics. Lydia might have run around with the militia, but she would have drawn the line at visible kohl liner. “It’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while. How’s your girlfriend? And your baby?”
“A couple of troublemakers, the pair of them,” said the doting boyfriend and father. Then he winked at her. “Lights of my life.” Leo’s dark eyes had gone very soft, and it made Freddy’s heart hurt more for Griff.
Because of Maf’s insistence on preparing until the last moment, she’d been in the theatre all afternoon, so she hadn’t seen him, or Charlie, or her father since this morning. She was still simmering over the fact he’d gone behind her back, but—She bit down on her lip, and Leo lightly nudged her with the balm he was trying to apply.
Unlike her father, who’d lied by omission for his own ends, when it came down to it, Griff had acted the way he had to protect her.