Chapter 4

Charlie was goingto kill him—he had to have cried off all his eye makeup, but Dusty didn't care. He could look like a raccoon all night as long as this feeling, this high, didn't go away.

The cast was escorted off the stage as a group to the same red-carpeted holding area he'd visited earlier tonight. There was champagne waiting, and Jack raised his glass for a toast. "I love you all, I'm so fucking proud. Here's to us!"

"To us!" They clinked glasses and hugged, and he downed his second glass of champagne in two gulps.

Before they stepped in front of the cameras, an adorable young woman wiped lipstick off his cheek and did a quick eye makeup check.

"Sorry, tears."

"I should hope so. You fucking won two of the biggest awards in Hollywood tonight." She winked at him, smiling. "Okay. You're good enough for the hooligans in the press."

"Thank you so much."

Right. He had fucking won. Twice.

He'd worked, starved, hustled, focused, and won. He'd learned how to be humble, but right now he was so fucking proud of himself.

They walked out in front of the waiting press, and he found he wasn't nervous at all this time. He'd done this alone just a few minutes ago, and now he was here with his friends, his cast, his people. This time it was fun.

"Jack! Jack, Dusty told us during his interview that you are the best actor he's ever worked closely with. What do you say to that?"

Jack glanced over at him. "You said that?"

He blushed. Truth was truth.

"Well, I'm—wow. Thank you, Dusty. I mean, I feel the same way. Dusty's generous with his acting, he gives so much, he makes it easy."

That was a compliment he wasn't going to forget. But make it easy? Him? He felt a little awkward because he hadn't been fishing for a compliment when he'd said that at all. The reporter had asked him what it was like working with Jack, if they had a good dynamic, and he'd just been honest. He hadn't known they were going to repeat his words right back to Jack.

That was all they asked the men; the rest of the questions were for Joline and Lita. They were superstars too, really dedicated, talented actors and amazing women, and they knew how to handle reporters. He should have gotten some advice from them, but he honestly hadn't expected to win. He'd wanted to, and he was stunned and proud that he had, but he was still such a newbie.

"They left without us." Jack handed him another glass of champagne.

"They who? Where did you get this?" He sipped it gratefully.

"I have friends in the right places. And they—our dates."

"They did? Whoa. That seems ballsy."

Jack snorted. "No-no, they were whisked off by the staff, and put in a limo. We'll meet them at the after party."

"Well, fancy fancy." He laughed and sipped his champagne. This was so much easier with alcohol.

"Okay, we're done."

"You're done?"

"We're done, can we get out of here?" Joline meant business.

"I don't know. I don't know anything." This was all new to him. "What do you think, Jack?"

"We should be able to." Jack stepped toward a young woman wearing a headset. "Can we go?"

"Are you the best-picture people?"

Jack looked over his shoulder at them, but they were no help; they were all trying not to crack up. He had a mouthful of champagne he was trying not to spit onto the carpet.

"Uh. Yes." Jack nodded, sounding official. "We are the best-picture people."

"I think you have a van."

"A van?" Lita sounded offended, and Steve barked out a laugh.

"Ah!" A tall woman in a stunning gown and carrying a clipboard appeared from behind a thick curtain and counted heads, ticking them off in the air. "Ms. Aria, Ms. Sephora, Mr. Loom, Mr. Newsome, and Mr. Harding. You're all here. Excellent. We need to get you to the party."

This woman seemed as though she knew what she was talking about.

"Yes, thank you." Jack rejoined them just as straight-faced as he had been a moment ago.

"You'll receive your Best Picture awards at the event, where you can get them engraved at the bar."

"That's a talented bartender," Steve joked.

She laughed politely. "The bar is a nickname for the engraving station."

"Oh, right. Sorry." Steve chuckled softly, and Dusty was glad he hadn't taken another sip of champagne.

"Come with me, everyone. Your limo is waiting."

Lita capped her hands. "See? Limo. What was Van Girl talking about?"

"I don't know, but that was funny as hell." Joline slapped Jack on the shoulder. "How did you keep a straight face?"

"Hey, I just won a coveted acting award, didn't I?" Jack grinned.

"Two," Dusty corrected Jack playfully. "We won two."

"Two!" Jack bumped shoulders with him. "That was nice, what you told that reporter."

"I wasn't—I didn't mean—I wasn't fishing."

"Oh, shut up, Dusty, and just say, ‘You're welcome.'"

He snorted. "You're welcome. I meant it."

"I appreciate it. I meant what I said too." Jack smiled at him as they approached the limo.

The stretch limo.

The white, stretch, Humvee limo.

"Holy mother of God, it's a motherfucking Hummer." Maybe he should have gone easier on the champagne.

Jack nodded. "That is fucking badass."

Their escort chuckled.

"Oh. I'm so sorry about the language." He covered his mouth, looking horrified.

"No, don't worry. It's pretty fucking badass."

They all laughed, and a tall man in a tux and black, shiny chauffeur's hat opened the door for them.

The thing was cavernous. It probably could have seated ten more people.

Lita was loving every second. "Okay, this is style right here. We have hit the big time, friends and gentlefolk."

"There's a bar."

"It's like a ten-minute drive, Steve."

"Then we better drink quick!" Steve handed them each a mini bottle of tequila.

Joline tossed hers right back to him. "No. Tequila bad."

"Name your poison."

"Whiskey."

"Your wish has been granted." Steve sent a different bottle her way. "To Until It's Over. That's how long I plan to enjoy this night."

"Hear, hear!" They held up their bottles, then sucked down the contents and threw them toward the empty end of the limo.

He watched them bounce against the seats and the windows. "I think I heard that echo."

Everyone laughed, and that felt good.

"Oh. My phone." He set his award down and dug through his jacket. It was a text from Ann.

Where the hell are you? Hurry it up. Look what you're missing!> Ann followed that with a short video of an enormous, elaborate buffet.

On our way! We're in a Hummer!>

Well deserved. See you soon.>

"The buffet." He passed his phone around, and everyone oohed and ahhed.

It was even more enormous and beautiful in person. There were fountains and flowers and sparkling centerpieces. The music was loud and the beat was heavy. The place they called "the bar" was hopping, winners all gathered there waiting to get their awards engraved. Most of the women had changed clothes and some of the men too.

"Congratulations!" Ann ran to him and kissed his cheek for real this time. "I can't believe it. This is so exciting. So well deserved. I'm so happy for you." She was gushing, and it was all genuine.

"Thank you. You are one of those people I talked about in my speech. I hope you know that. You're the biggest one, I think."

Ann looked as though she were going to cry for a second and hugged him before he could confirm the tears. "Thank you, kiddo." She let him go, and you'd never know she'd been close to crying. "Let me see that statue."

"Dusty!" There was Cameron, smiling at him as though he'd hung the moon. "Congratulations."

He didn't understand that look at all, but it was endearing as hell. "Thank you."

Cameron was relaxed, comfortable, so sexy, and totally at home at this wild party. Or maybe Cameron had tuned out the party entirely and was only seeing…him.

Dusty didn't know whether he should be turned-on or turned-off by either one. Or both. Or… Dammit. He was totally turned-on.

He was mad. He was still mad. He needed to remember he was angry.

Somehow.

Stupid champagne. Stupid tequila.

"Dusty? Dustin?"

"Hm?" He turned and blinked at the man behind the bar. "Oh! Hi! Oh my God. Dustin, please. Dustin Harding Lawrence, no initials."

"On both?"

"On…oh! Oh yes, on both please."

Right, there were two. He was never going to stop smiling.

Ann and Cameron kept chatting while he got his statues engraved, but he couldn't hear a word they were saying. Was Cameron telling her they had a past? Was she telling Cameron how he'd been so anxious he'd made himself sick on set early in the shoot? God, he hated being talked about. He hated that he worried that he was being talked about. Maybe they were talking about the food, or the music, or the almost-nothing dress the woman dancing right behind Cameron was wearing.

He handed one of his completed awards to Ann. "You get to carry that one."

Ann laughed. "Happily! I feel so special!"

"I think they'll store them for you," Cameron suggested.

He hugged his award to his chest. "I'm not ready to let go of it yet."

Ann took his arm. "Listen, I know we're going to get separated tonight—there are just too many people. Can we plan on lunch tomorrow?"

"If it's lunch at dinnertime, yes." He planned to be up all night enjoying this party.

"Fair." Ann smiled and shook her head. "Dinner, then. I'll bring takeout Chinese—great hangover food, plus no cooking and no dishes."

"You're good to me. Thank you for everything." He'd tell her more tomorrow. It was too loud in here to really talk anyway.

"I'll leave this with security eventually. I know I'll leave long before you do." She patted the shiny acting award, then kissed his cheek again. "Enjoy your night, kiddo."

"Thank you! You too."

Ann stomped away and was showing off her shiny prize in seconds.

"Can I see?"

Oh, shit.Now it was just him and Cameron.

"Sure." He held out his prize, and to his credit, Cameron didn't try to touch it. "How long have you been hired for?"

"I'm supposed to leave with you."

Wow."Well, that's presumptuous."

Cameron's laugh was hard to hear over the music. "No. I just have to get into the car for the optics. From there I go home."

"Good."

Cam sighed. He didn't hear it, but he could see it in Cam's whole body. "Look, Dusty, we can have fun tonight. I'm being paid and you have your own job to do…this doesn't have to be awkward."

"Right, there's nothing awkward about attending a party with a man whose last words were, ‘Take your smug, self-centered arrogance and get the fuck out, Dustin.' Nothing at all." And the way Cameron had said his full name, as if he were a spoiled child…

Cameron put his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. "You've changed, I think."

"Oh, fuck you, Cameron. I didn't ruin things all by myself."

"You kind of did." The look on Cameron's face was a weird, indulgent wince.

He stared at Cameron, who still seemed relaxed and handsome despite their little spat. He knew there was no way he was pulling that off himself. He was too…too…too everything. Too high-strung, too defensive, too smitten with this confident, well-dressed, relaxed version of his ex.

Too damn sober.

The effects of the tequila and the champagne were beginning to leave him, and he didn't like this dose of reality encroaching on his magical fantasy night.

"I need a drink. Will you escort me to the bar, please?"

Cameron didn't blink, just smiled and offered an arm.

"How are you so relaxed?"

"This is what I do. Parties, social events, I've been to a hundred of these fancy things. You should relax too. I'll take care of you; it's my job."

His job. Dusty's job was to let himself be proud for a few hours, to have a good time—and he was going to. It was his night. Cameron could be pretty and be charming and spend the evening making him look good.

He kind of liked that idea.

"Dusty! Congratulations!"

Oh, God. It was Brad Kilner. The Brad Kilner. He didn't even know Brad Kilner, but the two-time best-actor award winner had half a dozen more nominations under his belt—one of them was tonight—and he was headed this way.

"You look great. I had to come over and meet you."

"It's an honor." He shook hands with Brad and smiled, totally starstruck. "I can't believe you're…I so admire your work. I—wow."

"You want my autograph?" Brad laughed. Cameron laughed too. "So, you beat me. Hollywood loves an underdog."

He blinked. He had no idea what to say to that. He prayed that Brad was joking…surely he was joking. "I don't think?—"

Suddenly Brad was pulling him in for a hug. "It was great meeting you. Keep up the good work." Brad gave him a wave and blended back into the crowd.

"Did he just go out of his way to say he was happy to meet me and then call me an underdog?" He watched the guy go, shaking his head.

"He was definitely throwing some shade, yes. But I don't see him holding an award tonight, so I don't think he's worth spending any time on."

He grinned at Cameron. "You're so right. I want to spend some time checking out the hors d'oeuvres."

"Mmm. Little bites. My favorite. This way, sir." Cameron tucked a hand over Dusty's where it rested on his arm, and led him to the trough.