Chapter 1

I'd like to thank all the judges…

God, would he ever.

Dusty shifted in his seat, then glanced back up at the mirror and smiled. You're a handsome little fucker, Dustin Harding. He wasn't ashamed to believe it; he'd worked hard to love every inch of himself, from his weirdly-hooked second toes to the tippy top of his cowlick-riddled head. If there was anything about him that could be perceived as a flaw, he'd found it—worried about it, gained or lost weight over it, dyed or tattooed it. Eventually he'd even had enough therapy to accept it all, and he felt ready to show himself off on the red carpet the way a popular and successful actor should.

Then he'd worked and waited a few more years to become successful enough to actually make it onto that carpet.

Now that he was finally here, he was…fine.

Just fine. Everything was fine.

He'd been nominated for a Best Actor award, and everything was great.

As long as he didn't throw up.

Again.

He loved the makeup and hair and all the fuss of dressing up, though, and at the moment his esthetician was kicking smoldering, smokey-eyed ass.

His hair was already done—his stylist had finished that an hour ago, and as long as no one touched it, he'd easily pull off the ubiquitous but sexy, stylized messy look.

I'd like to thank my parents for being so supportive of me all these years and telling me I could be anything I wanted to be.

Well, he would like to, but they'd tossed him out the millisecond he graduated high school, so he had no intention of doing that. In fact, he really wasn't sure who he should thank. His agent, he supposed. His neighbor, who had helped him run lines. His ex, who'd helped him truly understand what it felt like to be heartbroken.

I'd like to thank everyone who helped me get to this point.

And if that was three people, who'd be the wiser?

All of this was assuming, of course, that he'd be given the opportunity to thank anyone at all. He was putting the cart before the horse; he hadn't won anything yet.

"If you keep pouting, you're going to have pouty makeup." Charlie tapped a brush under his chin.

"I'm not pouting; I'm being pensive," he protested weakly.

"Whatever. It does the same thing to your brow and your lips."

"My eyes look great, though." She did such good work.

That earned him a smile, and Charlie stopped bitching at him. "Thank you. I'm happy you're happy. It's a big night."

He shrugged. "It is. But I'm a little terrified, to be truthful."

"You listen to me, Dusty Harding. Don't tell anyone else that. You have to be confident. Look in that mirror."

He looked. "I do look a little pouty."

Charlie sighed. "I'll fix that. Now you listen to me. You are gorgeous. You are smart. You are talented. You have earned your place here tonight. You got me? Sit up straight. Own it."

"Own it," he repeated, shifting in his seat and squaring his shoulders.

Charlie leaned down next to his ear and spoke softly as she looked at him in the mirror. "Say it. You've earned this."

"I've earned this." This was silly.

She nodded. "Good. Louder."

He cleared his throat and tried again. "I've earned this."

"You belong here."

"I belong here."

"Come on, Dusty. Believe it. How am I going to believe it if you don't?"

"I am talented. I belong?—"

Charlie straightened up and stared at him. "More."

"I belong here." He bought into the exercise. He sat up and leaned toward the mirror, reminding himself that this had been a long road. "I am talented, I belong here, and I fucking earned this!"

"Yes!" Charlie smiled at him. "There. That's what you need tonight. Barrels of that."

He took a breath and closed his eyes, willing himself to absorb the moment. He'd worked hard. He'd studied and researched and learned from his peers; he'd given everything he could, everything he had. Maybe he really had earned the right to be here. Even if he didn't win, he'd worked his way into this nomination, and he was going to believe in it.

"I fucking own this."

"You so fucking do. Now let me get rid of that frown."

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and a short woman with a sharp nose and a grin as big as her shapely hips burst into the room. "Dusty! I let myself in—I knew you'd be busy. This is so exciting. Are you excited? Are you ready?" The lights from the makeup mirror reflected off her sequined jacket, making her twinkle.

"Yes." He turned to his agent, raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and said, "I belong here. I fucking earned this, Ann."

Ann stared at him for a second; then her face lit up and she moved in close enough for cheek kisses with two inches of air between them. "You so fucking did, kiddo."

Charlie laughed and got back to work while Ann kept talking. "You're sitting with the cast, house left, great camera sights. Don't drink. I've asked for seltzer at your table—with lime, of course."

"Of course." Dear God, no alcohol? "Can I have a shot of something before I get in the car?" Maybe he could sneak one in the car.

Ann clucked her tongue. "You're so funny."

"I wasn't kidding."

"Yes, you were." Ann gave him a meaningful look. "You were."

He wasn't. He rolled his eyes.

"Next. Your escort will be here shortly?—"

"My escort?"

"Your date."

He frowned for real this time. "A date? I don't have a date."

"Oh, yes you do, kiddo. We discussed this."

"We did, yes. And I said no." He'd made himself very clear.

"Oh, Dusty. It wasn't really a discussion; you know that, don't you? Besides, you don't want to go to these things alone, especially when you're in the spotlight. You should be on someone's arm. Let the cameras speculate about you. It's part of the…" She waved her hand vaguely. "The thing. The aesthetic."

Charlie sighed. "Dusty's aesthetic is kind of my job."

"Nonsense. It's mine," Ann countered, but there was no anger in her words. "You make him pretty. I have to sell him."

Regardless, he didn't need to be on anyone's arm. He was just fine on his own. You earned this. You own this. "Ann. How am I supposed to?—"

"He's very handsome. His name is…oh gosh, let me look." Ann pulled her phone out from somewhere in her sparkly jacket. "Cameron. Isn't that cute?"

"Cameron? Ugh." Was she fucking kidding? He was nervous enough, and now he had to go through the night pretending to be fond of some guy with the same name as his ex? "That's a stupid name."

"Right? He sounds like a dick," Charlie added helpfully.

"Well, I'm assured that this Cameron has one, but isn't one. He's a professional. He's being paid, and he has strict instructions to be seen but not heard."

Seen and not heard. Jesus Christ, was this the 1950s? "Could he be not seen too?"

"Kiddo…" Ann gave him that look.

He sighed. "I hate this idea. What do I do with him? How do I introduce him?"

"He's your date."

"My—oh, hello. This is my date, Cameron. Have you been seeing each other long? Oh, no, we only just met. It's very new." He carried on the absurd conversation with himself, dropping his voice as the reporter. "How did you two meet? Oh, long story. Right place, right time…you know how it is."

"Good. See? You really are a marvelous actor." Ann seemed fine with all of that.

"No, Ann. That's ridiculous." He took a breath and puffed out his cheeks.

"Makeup, Dusty. You have got to stop frowning. Ugh." Charlie spun his chair and went after him with a makeup brush. "Maybe don't answer questions? This is Cameron. No personal questions, please."

"Aloof. Demanding privacy, keeping the press at arm's length. It's very Prince Henry. Very…Johnny Depp. I like it."

"Ugh, Johnny Depp," he and Charlie said at the same time, making him laugh.

"He's the worst." Charlie chuckled. "But good-bye frown."

Ann glanced at her phone again. "Oh, Cameron is here. I'm texting security to send him upstairs." She tapped sharply on the screen with her index finger as she spoke. Ann texted the same way she typed. One finger hunt-and-peck like a nervous little bird.

"Company might be nice, Dusty." Charlie was so sweet to try.

"I have Jack and Lita, Steve, Joline…" His cast members were company enough. He and Jack had become great friends, despite the awkward sex scenes. He'd skipped watching those scenes himself, but he'd been told they were hot together in the final cut. Ah, the magic of the movies.

"She might be right, Dusty. Give it a chance. Having a date might help you be even more confident. At least no one will ask you why you don't have one."

He blinked at her. "Are people really that rude?"

"Do you really need to ask that question?"

"I guess not." He'd been asked all kinds of things.

There was a light knock at the apartment door, and they all turned toward the sound.

"I'll get it." Ann left the room, looking pleased with herself.

Okay. He would do this. Ann had never steered him wrong before, had she? Honestly, never. He adored her and she took good care of him.

"We'll look busy." Charlie spun him back to face the mirror.

"Good call," he whispered. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin so she could pretend to take the shine off it. "Part of the aesthetic."

They were both giggling as Ann returned with his "date."

"Oh, we're having fun in here. Good." Ann marched into his room again, and he tried not to seem curious about the footsteps he heard behind her.

"How are the eyebrows, honey?"

There was nothing wrong with his eyebrows and Charlie damn well knew it, but she played along with him and pulled out an eyebrow pencil. "Oh, hm. Let me just…" Charlie barely touched him but by the flair of her wrist, you'd never know. He tried so hard not to crack up.

"Hey, kiddo. Cameron's here."

"I need to get dressed. Can he wait in the living room? Maybe see if he wants a snack."

"Don't you want to?—"

"It's all right," Cameron answered softly.

Ann sighed. "Well, come on then. Dusty's fridge is a ghost town, though."

"I'm not hungry."

He almost frowned but caught himself this time. Good Lord, Charlie would skin him alive. But that voice seemed familiar. He turned to get a look, but the guy had already left the room.

"Something wrong?"

"No, no." He was just hearing ghosts.

"Okay, so…tux?"

He grinned and popped up out of his chair. "Let's do it."

His tux was a Kylie Kitty. She wasn't a big-name designer yet, but she was fresh and upcoming and he liked that. The trousers were a skinny style, and his patterned tone-on-tone steel-blue jacket and black tie were on point. White shirt, shiny shoes, and he was handsome as handsome could be.

"The limo is here, kiddo!" Ann called from the living room.

"Time to go. I'll be watching you on TV." Charlie straightened his lapel. "Break a leg."

Shit, suddenly now he was nervous.

"Remember, you belong there." Charlie turned him toward the door. "Go."

He waved over his shoulder. "Thank you so much. I look amazing. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Charlie seemed so proud. "Go!"

"Going!" He laughed and made his way to the living room, taking a deep breath before putting on his red-carpet smile. "I'm ready."

Ann gasped. "Oh, kiddo you?—"

"Holy shit, Dusty. You're hot as fuck."

He blinked, his smile fading into a horrified stare. "No."

Poor, clueless Ann glared at Cameron. "Seen but not heard!" she ordered, as if that were going to fix this fucked-up situation.

"He's not coming with me."

"Now, Dusty, I know you're nervous, but remember, we agreed?—"

"We didn't agree. You insisted, and I'm refusing. No." He pulled his license and a credit card out of his wallet and tucked them into an inside jacket pocket as he opened his front door. "Pay him if you have to."

"Dustin Harding Lawrence, you close that door right now."

"Ooh. Shit," Cameron whispered.

He closed the door with a sigh.

"Ann."

Cameron clapped his hands together. "That was amazing."

"Shut up, Cam."

"Well. I can see there's some kind of history here. I'm not judging, you're an adult, and if you want to hire an escort for—anything—that's your business, but?—"

"It's not like that, Ann."

"You need to be a grown-up now and stick with the plan."

"Don't make me fire you."

Ann laughed at him. "Get in the car. Take him with you."

His lips twitched, but he couldn't fire her, she was…his Ann. He sighed and opened the door again. "Fine."

"Hey, you're an actor. I'm being paid; this is just a gig, right?"

"Just a gig? It's the biggest night of my career, and you're calling it a gig?"

"Seen but not heard," Ann said sharply, one short little finger pointing at Cameron's nose.

Cameron's eyes widened. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Dusty." Ann came to him and took his hand. "I'd hug you, but I don't want to get makeup on your beautiful jacket." She smiled at him, and the look in her eyes was affectionate and proud. "You're going to be amazing. Whether you win or not, you've made it into the room. You're a star, kiddo. Go be one."

Go be a star.

He smiled back and nodded. "I will. Thank you so much. For everything."

"I'll see you after. I'll be up in the nosebleeds somewhere, but I'm right with you in spirit."

He smiled again and decided he'd better get to the car before he cried. "See you after." He left the apartment and got in the elevator, Cameron hurrying behind him.