Prince of the Playhouse Read Online Free PDF Page B

arm of a superclassy blonde woman and followed by three men in suits, came the billion-dollar baby himself, Gray Anson. A crease the size of the San Andreas fault carved his forehead. “Why can’t they keep those fucking things away from me?”
    “Sorry, Gray.” The guy replying stood well over six feet and outweighed Gray by at least seventy pounds. “We don’t know where they originate, so we can’t stop them.”
    “I know. Sorry. But they’re so damned intrusive. It’s like being robbed or something. Jesus.”
    Merle leaned over and whispered, “Probably drones. They fly around the guy like mosquitoes. It’s got to be insane.”
    Gray’s chest expanded with an inhale. Then he flashed the pearlies and called out, “Sorry to be late, everyone. I hope I haven’t screwed up the morning for you. These damned paparazzi won’t leave me alone, and I can’t get past them.”
    Artie waved from the front of the house. “Oh, poor baby.” He laughed, and Gray joined in. Still, it didn’t sound like fun.
    His clothes reeked of money—jeans so perfectly tailored they probably had a Dolce & Gabbana label rather than Levi’s, a white silk shirt, and a hammered-leather jacket as thin as tissue that would have bought most of these actors a car. Hell, it would have dressed Ru for a year. If the clothes were rich, they paled next to the woman. Ru had seen her in magazines with Gray lately—Penelope Tisane, a trust-fund baby who regularly appeared on the Best Dressed lists. They said she had a few years on him, but not so you’d notice.
    Merle whispered, “He does make an entrance.”
    Could this be the same man Ru met in the costume department a week before? Did he have a shy twin?
    Artie walked up the side aisle with his hands extended. “Gray, sorry about the bullshit. Glad you could make it.”
    “Sorry I’m late. Please, put me to work.” He pointed to the youngest guy in his entourage. “George is going to take down all the blocking for me so I can review it at home. I had them build a model of the stage in my backyard.”
    Artie raised an eyebrow. “How Elizabethan of you.”
    Gray laughed—a sound almost as famous as his face. “Artie, this is Penelope, my manager, Benson, and my bodyguard, Chris. And George you met.”
    Chris had to be a Christophe or a Christian. Huge and Germanic.
    Artie shook hands. “Come meet the cast and crew.” He turned and spied Ru and Merle. “Starting here. This is Merle Justice.”
    Gray’s eyes landed on Ru, then flicked to Merle, whom he gave that patented smile. “Horatio. Honored to meet you.”
    “And this is our brilliant fashion designer costumer, Rupert Maitland.”
    Ru smiled but waited to see what Gray would say. Anson stuck out his hand, took Ru’s, squeezed, glanced at Merle with a tiny flicker of a frown, then showed the teeth. “I’m so happy to meet you. I know the costumes will be a big reason people come to the show. I can’t wait to see them.”
    “Happy to meet you too. I’m a big fan.”
    “How nice.” He glanced back at his manager. “See, Benson, I do have intellectual fans amidst the truckers and rednecks.”
    Ru shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m not as smart as I look.”
    Gray smiled, and then he laughed full-on.
    Artie led him down the aisle. He looked back once, still laughing, although his eyes again stopped on Merle. Maybe I dreamed it.
    Merle leaned toward Ru. “I’d say you made an impression.”
    “Yes, but maybe not the one I wanted to make.” What the hell had possessed him to say that? Oh well, the slim ass of Penelope Tisane pressing against Gray’s hip certainly advertised that, whatever Gray Anson might have said about Ru’s eyes looking like a cat’s, his real interest was in pussy.
    Merle smiled. “So did you decide about joining us for drinks?”
    Ru sighed very softly. “Sure, why the hell not?”
     
     
    RU STEPPED into the bar and glanced around the crowded tables. He’d gone home to get a touch clubbier