Page 18 of Act Like You Don't Care
"He's fast," Dad said thoughtfully.
I nodded. "Something to keep in mind." The assistant also had access to all the places that Tam would go. We’d have to do a deeper background check on the young man than what had been turned over by the studio.
We got out and followed Will around to the door. Muffled voices filtered through the steel, and Dad knocked.
The door opened, and Will's head popped out. "We're good. Just making coffee." He withdrew and left the door open for us to climb up.
The inside was crowded and smelled of food and shampoo and, to my nose, the omega. A narrow rectangular table took up most of this end of the trailer and, through a curtain at the other end, I got a glimpse of an unmade bed, sheets tossed carelessly down to the foot. The producer from this morning sat on one side of the table that took up this end of the trailer, a man wearing the studio's security uniform next to him, and then Tam. Interestingly, Tam was at the end. I wondered if he was feeling trapped, if his choice of seat meant he couldn't bear being hemmed in by the two alphas, or if it was just luck of the draw. I doubted it was the last option. One of his legs bounced in a quick, staccato motion as if it was the only thing keeping him from getting up from the table and running. Was that stress, or just his normal energy level?
Dad ducked in between the table and the long bench, sliding down to the end farthest from the door. I followed him and Will took the space at the end. The actor’s assistant laid out a clipboard, a blank sheet of paper, and a couple of pens.
"You have personnel suggestions?" the studio’s head of security asked.
I looked at Dad, who nodded. "We have. There's a choice of men we can set up to play a boyfriend, and one woman with the specific training needed for this kind of security. There's pictures, their security background, and some more personal information in each of these folders. Hobbies, musical preferences, that sort of stuff. If you've got to be stuck with someone twenty-four hours a day, it's good to have something in common." Dad looked across at Tam and under that calm, steady gaze, even the nervy omega settled. Then he turned back to the Security Chief. "And we've pulled our most discreet operators off their current assignments, people who can blend into the crowd you run with." He nodded at Tam. "We will do everything in our power to make sure that this stays quiet."
"Thank you." Tam's leg fidgeted some more, then he reached across the table to put a hand on the folders. "This them?" he asked, his tone oddly hesitant.
"It is," I said. I gathered up the pile and started to lay them out, side by side, and oriented to face in Tam's direction... Wait. There were five folders--there should only have been four. Quickly, I flipped them open one by one, took a peek at the photo then pushed them across the table. No faces I hadn't agreed to—not that I had the power of veto anyway. That was my parents.
The last folder was me.
I stared at it for a moment, then switched my gaze over to Dad. I didn't say anything, couldn't say anything here in front of the clients—but what in the hell was a file on me doing here?
Dad plucked the folder out of my hand and passed it across the table to the producer. "You're as capable of any of these men, and your mother and I agree that your file should be in this pile. Besides, he seems to like you," he said in a voice pitched for my ears only.
"Thanks for warning me," I shot back, just as quietly, then pushed my file across the table.
"Problems, gentlemen?" Francis asked.
"No, no problems," I said with a smile and a shake of my head. "Have a look at the files, any one of them will work as the twenty-four-hour security." Then I sat back and waited to be embarrassed.
The producer finished with the first file and passed it down the table to the security chief. Tam sat at the end, his leg bouncing a mile a minute again, looking unhappy. On impulse, I shoved one of the files across the table at him. "You might as well start looking at them," I told the actor. "The sooner we get this sorted out, the sooner your security can breathe easy."
Tam shot me a startled look, then picked up the folder. The security chief started to object, on what basis I couldn't imagine, but Dad shot down whatever the man was going to say before it even came out of his mouth. "I guarantee that any of these people will work. But Mr. Laydon's going to have to practically live with his choice until this person is tracked down. It could be a day, it could be a week, could be longer."
The actor looked startled, then thoughtful. He threw me an odd glance, then went back to reading the file.
Dad continued, "His relationship needs to be believable, so it's best if he chooses someone he thinks he can get along with. Even an actor with his talent is only going to be able to act a part for so many hours of the day."
That put a thoughtful look on the producer's face.
Tam set aside the folder he was reading and reached for another one. He glanced down it quickly, then shook his head and pushed it back across the table. Dad flicked open the cover, mouthed, "Rory," in my direction, then set the folder out of the way.
A second folder went into what Tam was obviously calling, at least in his head, the 'keeper' pile. A third one hovered over it a moment before Tam shook his head and, with his lower lip caught between straight white teeth, he passed it back across the table. "I don't think..." he began, then shook his head again.
The last two files were quickly pushed back across the table, and the two Tam had kept passed down to the security chief and the producer. They looked at him, glanced at me and Dad, then passed them back to us.
Quickly, Tam reached out to look in the top file, then switched them so the other one was on top. He didn't say anything, just sat tensely with his hands pressed to the table's surface, his leg doing that nervous jig beneath. His eyes never left me, staring with an intensity that made me shift with my own unexpectedly nervous reaction.
Dad looked in the first file and raised his eyebrows. "This is your first choice."
Tam nodded.
Dad slipped the folder down to me.
I knew before I even opened it, but my gut certainty was confirmed at the sight of my own face staring up at me.
Oddly, the butterflies got worse.
