Page 22 of A Star is Scorned

“He gets so tongue-tied around me. Isn’t it cute?” Then she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Flynn’s cheek. He could feel the ghost of her lipstick leaving its mark on his skin. This situation was going from bad to worse by the second.

He looked back at the bar for Livvy, shoving his hands in his pockets to avoid scrubbing at his face.

He wanted a napkin to wipe off the lipstick print this instant.

If the press saw him like this, with the outline of Rhonda’s ruby-red pucker seared onto his face like a cattle brand…

Well, the thought gave him hives. But he couldn’t exactly rub it off in front of Will Hays and Rhonda’s uncle like it was something contagious.

Livvy wasn’t standing at the bar anymore. Damn it, where had she gone? Where was Harry, for that matter? Didn’t he see that disaster was about to strike? If the studio boss wanted tonight to be a success, he needed to intervene. And quickly.

Could Flynn make a run for the toilet? Before he could feign illness, Hays gave him an appraising look and began to speak. “I must say, Mr. Banks, it’s nice to see you out on the town for a reason other than getting your kicks.”

Flynn bristled. Jesus Christ, didn’t anyone know how to have a little fun around here? “Yes, well, I never would have picked you for a supporter of—” Bollocks. What was the name of the charity they were supposed to be here raising money for? He’d already forgotten.

He grabbed at the collar of his shirt, suddenly finding it much too tight. Devlin was staring him down, his beady black eyes practically boring through his skull.

“Yes?” Hays raised one eyebrow. It was obvious Hays knew Flynn had no idea what charity they were celebrating tonight.

Hays clearly found it funny and was enjoying making Flynn sweat, while Devlin stared at him with the intensity of a jaguar stalking its prey.

If Flynn so much as blinked or, heaven forbid, turned to read the banner hanging over the dais at the front of the room, he’d give himself away.

Nuts. What had the invitation said? Juvenile delinquents? Widowed mothers? No, neither of those was right. Devlin pursed his lips, and Flynn could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his spine. Damn it.

“Darling, there you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.” In the nick of time, Livvy swanned into their circle, wrapping her hand around Flynn’s arm and tugging him ever so slightly in her direction. Rhonda glared daggers at them both.

Flynn used the moment to edge a little further from Rhonda. Livvy reached up to kiss his other, unblemished cheek, and he hissed in her ear, “Impeccable timing, Blount.”

Livvy smiled at him, the portrait of false innocence, and passed him a cocktail.

“I thought you could use a drink,” she murmured.

He could use about four. He yearned to down the drink in one gulp.

It was only the knowledge that Devlin would mark it in his list of Flynn’s sins that kept him from knocking it back.

Instead, he sipped at it while Livvy turned to face the rest of their semicircle.

Flynn said, “Miss Powers, Mr. Hays, and Mr. Devlin. I’m afraid there must be some confusion as to who’s company I’m keeping tonight. I’m here as a guest of Evets’s Studios. Might I present my costar and my date for the evening, Miss Liv de Lesseps?”

If looks could kill, Rhonda Powers would be tried on charges of homicide with the glare she shot Livvy. But Devlin’s expression of disgust twisted into something leering when he regarded Flynn’s costar.

Flynn fought the urge to possessively wrap his arm around Livvy’s shoulder.

She wasn’t his; this relationship was a farce.

Besides, he didn’t do possessive. But he didn’t like it when a Hollywood suit looked at a lady like she was a particularly delicious item on the Brown Derby menu.

Flynn stepped in front of Livvy slightly, trying to shield her from the lascivious gleam in Devlin’s eye.

The man seemed to take the hint and glanced at his niece with bored distaste. “It seems I was…given faulty information about who was meant to be on your arm for the evening.”

Rhonda’s cheeks heated as Devlin cast her a withering look.

She looked ready to say something nasty when Livvy broke in.

“An innocent mistake, Mr. Devlin. Flynn is so popular, after all. Thanks for keeping him warm for me, Miss Powers.” Devlin’s mouth twisted into a moue of repulsion at the reminder of Flynn’s profligacy, but Livvy didn’t falter and merely yanked Flynn a little closer and placed her hand over his, patting it gently.

“I’m new to Hollywood, and he’s been ever so attentive in making sure I’m not lonesome as I get accustomed to so many fresh places and faces. ”

“‘Attentive’ is one word for it,” Rhonda grumbled under her breath.

“Don’t start, Rhonda,” Devlin growled.

The rest of them pretended not to hear the exchange.

“I must say,” started Will Hays, who appeared eager to gloss over the uncomfortable situation with Rhonda. “I’m delighted to meet the woman who has tamed Flynn Banks.”

Tamed? Jesus Christ, the notion was absurd.

But Flynn pasted on a smile, knowing that Will Hays’s belief in his reform was the entire point of their being here.

If it meant Flynn had to give the performance of his life, he would do it.

He thought of the Sea Monkey, his house in Malibu, the doors that opened at the sound of his name—and all the pleasures he had worked so hard to win for himself.

All of that would be gone in the blink of an eye if Flynn and Livvy couldn’t pull this off.

Livvy, bless her, didn’t address Hays’s comment and instead asked, “Mr. Hays, are you a great lover of the symphony?”

The symphony! The Southern California Symphony Association. That was what this whole shindig was about.

Hays brightened, and Flynn marveled at Livvy’s ability to put anyone in a good mood. “Why, yes. I’m a particular fan of their Hollywood Bowl season.”

Livvy lit up like a Christmas tree. It filled Flynn’s chest with a warmth akin to the effect of his favorite Scotch. “Oh, I love the Bowl. That’s where I got my start. I was Lady Macbeth in their production last year.”

Flynn hadn’t known that. He was impressed. The dame could fence, sail, and she’d starred in bloody Shakespeare. Was there anything she couldn’t do?

Devlin wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something noxious. “That was you? Miss De Lesseps, that was one of the most depraved, bloody, immoral things I have ever seen.”

Flynn gritted his teeth. Olivia Blount was earnest, wholesome, and winsome. Not to mention respectable. And infuriatingly gorgeous. How dare Stanley Devlin impugn her character when he didn’t even know her?

“There’s a reason it’s called acting,” Flynn growled, at the same time that Hays interjected, “I loved every minute of it. You were a fearsome Lady Macbeth. Mr. Banks should watch out.”

Was that…? Had Hays winked at him?

Devlin scowled at his boss, clearly annoyed by Hays’s encouragement.

Livvy smiled, holding in a laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Hays.”

Devlin tried to save face, adding, “If you ask me, Hollywood could use a bit more Shakespeare. Now that’s art. Not the swashbuckling Banks does.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Flynn might surprise us all,” Livvy trilled. “Swashbuckling is harder than you think. I’m lucky Mr. Banks has been here to show me the ropes. I’ve had to learn an awful lot since coming to Hollywood—and he’s an expert at what he does.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Devlin demurred, at the same time that Hays muttered, “Often to his own detriment.”

A burst of pride bloomed in Flynn’s chest at Livvy’s defense of his work. A few weeks ago, she’d claimed that she’d never seen one of his films. Now she was championing them to strangers. Perhaps it was for the sake of appearances, but the note of sincerity in her voice touched him.

Still, he didn’t need her to fight his battles. He could perform bloody Shakespeare too. “I’ll have you know, Devlin,” Flynn interjected, “that I played in Hamlet at university, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when I did my Desdemona.”

“Mmm, yes, well, in that instance, I could probably understand Othello’s desire to strangle you,” Hays quipped.

Flynn and Livvy blinked in surprise, first at each other, then at Hays.

“Don’t look so surprised, I’m not a complete bore. I do have a sense of humor, you know.”

Flynn almost guffawed from sheer shock, but Livvy didn’t miss a beat. “Maybe remember that the next time you’re evaluating a film.”

Hays gaped at Livvy’s censure, but then he chuckled.

“That goes for you too, Mr. Devlin.”

Good old Uncle Stan turned beet red and looked as if he’d swallowed his necktie.

Livvy stared him down, refusing to blink.

Flynn was impressed. Hays and Devlin were intimidating, even to him.

Particularly when this entire scheme rested on their believing it.

But Livvy was easily using their fake romance to advocate for him. Whether or not he deserved it.

Hays clapped Flynn on the back—a friendly gesture that Flynn had never conceived the enforcer of the Production Code giving him. “I like her, Banks. She’s good for you.” Flynn happened to agree, but he wasn’t going to tell Hays that. Or Livvy, for that matter.

“Too good,” Livvy agreed. “But he has a nice face.”