Page 27 of Act Like You Don't Care
Grady Roark—an actor who usually played the hero—was the villain that Tam’s character was trying to catch up with. His personality seemed on the surface to be the polar opposite of Tam’s. Where Tam tended to lean over his script, entire body focused on the text, Roark was slumped in his chair like he was home playing video games after a hard day’s work, the script balanced between his thigh and the edge of the table as he absently peeled and ate an orange. He wasn't as tall as I had thought, but despite his easy-going manner, he still gave off an alpha vibe strong enough that I had to remind myself that he wasn’t competition for me.
For a moment, I wondered why Tam had never dated the man, then realized that he wasn't really Tam's type. Whoever Tam dated had to be willing to take a back seat to whatever Tam wanted to do, and this man was never going to do that. No matter how nice he’d be about it.
The flap of paper as they changed scenes caught my attention. I leaned back in my chair to watch, stretching my legs out and crossing them at the ankles in a show of relaxation. It felt like listening to the audio part of a movie, without the sound effects or music. The actors read their parts as if they were on stage, all the emotion, the breaks in dialog. There was some laughter during the scene where Tam had to kiss one of the female co-stars and he went overboard with the sound effects. I listened with interest as the director corrected delivery and talked out the emotional impact he wanted the actors to convey as they worked through the scenes.
Then it was time for wardrobe, make-up, and filming.
"Am I covering any hickeys today?" the makeup artist asked as he tucked strips of tissue in around the neckline of the t-shirt and leather jacket that Tam was wearing for today’s scenes. It was the same young man as yesterday and, as I listened, I gathered that he and Tam had been working together for most of the film.
"Naw, he's a polite fellow. But once the movie's over..." Tam let his voice trail off suggestively and winked. I raised an eyebrow in Tam’s direction and buried my nose in the client file Mom had included in my duffel bag last night.
"He's shy?" The make-up artist moved around Tam, a pale beige piece of foam in one hand and three different flesh-colored pats of makeup in the other. "Chin up, please."
Tam tipped his head back. "No, not really. Miles, this is Octavio. Octavio, this is Miles."
"Nice," Octavio said. He glanced over at Miles. "Nice to meet you. Don't think I've ever met a Miles before."
"I could say the same," I said, closing up the folder. "My mother has a thing for science fiction books. She named us all after characters she liked."
Tam twisted in his seat to look at me, delighted. "Really? Who are you named after?"
I opened my mouth and paused, because it was honestly kind of embarrassing. "Why don't I tell you later?"
"Bribery," Tam said, sagging back into a chair. "I love a man who makes things worth my while."
Octavio laughed. "Tip your head to the right, please." He began dabbing the makeup around Tam's ear and down his neck. "He have any brothers?"
"A few."
"Taken," I said dryly. "Well, all except Ben."
"What's wrong with Ben?” Octavio asked.
"Nothing, except being on deployment,” I said. "Have you worked with Tam for long?" We had the official files on everyone associated with the movie, but files were dry things, all facts, no patterns unless someone else applied them. I doubted this Octavio was our letter-writer, but I still set myself to watching him for anything—behavior, wording—that would move him onto our shortlist of possible suspects.
"Whenever I can." Octavio moved around Tam to work on the other side. "We move around a lot, we show business people." He swiped one more coat of color onto Tam's pale skin, then closed up his makeup container. "Stay right there, I'm going to do some contouring, then we'll add your bruises."
"Sure." Tam rolled his eyes in my direction. "Bored yet?"
"Nope."
"Good. This isn't done." His smile made the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle and somehow made his eyes look a deeper blue.
Octavio bustled back over. "Tam's been known to fall asleep during make-up." He winked at me and a breath of the man's own scent drifted to my nose. He was omega too, but very different. I found myself thinking that I still preferred Tam's style of omega to Octavio's. Not that it should have made a difference.
An hour later Tam was made-up, his face and hands covered with bruises recreated from a series of photographs that Octavio kept in a file-keeper on his table. "There, you look utterly horrific," Octavio said and tugged all the protective tissues out of Tam’s costume. "And right on time, too," he added, gesturing to the clock on the wall.
Tam got out of the chair and peered into the mirror. "Perfect, like usual. I don't know how you do it."
"Talent, my dear. Go make money." He started to tidy up the scattered brushes and sponges and glues.
Tam took my arm, holding me close as he led me out of the room. "Bye," I called over my shoulder. The politest of boyfriends.
"You come visit anytime you get bored," Octavio yelled after us.
"Hands off!" Tam yelled back. "He's mine." And then, as if to prove his point, he spun me up against the wall and pressed our mouths together.
I started to protest that this wasn’t necessary, only to be silenced by Tam's tongue in my mouth. My stomach clenched and my hands closed over Tam's biceps, prying the omega off me even while one part of me—becoming more obvious by the second—demanded I pull Tam closer. The crowd bustling through the hallway had stopped to whistle and whoop loud enough that I winced, but Tam seemed to bask in the attention.
