Page 110 of Home Grown Talent
“The fella from last week. Oooh, he’s lush, that one! No offence to you, love—you’re gorgeous, of course—but he’s more my type, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her dramatically painted eyebrows at him.
Mason swallowed. “Didn’t you watch last week?” he said. “Or see any of the social media stuff after?”
She set down her sponge and picked up a mascara tube, pushing the wand in and out a few times before pulling it out entirely and inspecting the bristles.
“Oh, I don’t watch the show, love,” she said, tipping his chin back with her hand and leaning in. “Not my cup of tea.”
A wave of some emotion washed over Mason, and he realised it was relief. There was, at least, one person on the planet who didn’t know what had happened.
“It’s not really my cup of tea either,” he said, once he had himself back under control. “And, no, Owen’s not on this week, just me. It was… rather a last-minute thing.”
She brushed the wand over his lashes, right eye, then left. “Yeah, well, you’ve got to be able to pick up last-minute opportunities when they come along in this business, haven’t you?” Letting go of his chin, she returned the wand to the tube, screwing it in tight. “It’s a tough old game.”
“Yeah,” Mason said softly. “It is.”
She canted her head to one side, looking at him. “I’m wondering whether to give you a touch of eyeliner,” she said, but before she could come to any decision, there was a frantic knocking at the door.
“Come in,” Carmen called again, and when the door opened, there stood Misty’s intern, Naomi. She was wearing her usual black-and-white ensemble, a pinafore dress today with a crisp white shirt underneath and flat Mary-Jane shoes, which made her look schoolgirlish. She was clutching her iPad and a sheaf of papers tightly, her expression harassed, a sheen of perspiration on her face. A few wisps of hair had escaped from her ponytail and were sticking to her forehead.
“Thank God, Mason. There you are!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Misty wants you urgently. She’s only got a few minutes, and she needs to speak to you before your segment.” She glanced at Carmen and said tightly, “Aren’t you supposed to be in 3.09?”
Carmen bristled and opened her mouth to retort, but Mason said quickly, “I’d better leave the eyeliner, thanks, Carmen. Am I good to go?”
She glanced at him, distracted. “Yes. You better get off if Misty wants you. God knows you’ll be in trouble if you keep Her Highness waiting.” She deftly untied the canary-yellow cape and pulled it off his shoulders. “Break a leg, kiddo.”
Naomi race-walked down the corridor with Mason at her heels. Her colour was high, and she was practically vibrating with anxious energy.
“Are you okay?” Mason asked her, quickening his own pace to keep up. “You look really stressed.”
Naomi gave a jerky nod. “I’m fine. It’s just been a rough morning. Our main guest pulled out at the last minute, and we’ve been running around like mad sorting it out. When Misty heard you were late, she was not happy, and when she called Carmen’s room and no one answered, she went off her head at Rowan for not escorting you up here…” She trailed off, letting out a huge sigh. “And now she’ll bawl me out for taking so long to find you.”
Mason frowned. “She treats you like crap. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
Naomi sent him an incredulous look. And yeah, they both knew this industry was full of people like Misty. But it shouldn’t be.
“I suppose things have been pretty full-on this week with the whole #pineapplegate thing as well,” he added.
“Yeah,” she agreed wearily. “It’s been intense.”
“You look pretty tired,” Mason said bluntly, noting the shadows under her eyes. “You been working late?”
She nodded grimly. “Twelve-hour days all this week.”
Shit. And she wasn’t even fucking paid.
They took the lift down to the ground floor where the studio was located. Crew members were rushing around, talking into headsets, carrying gear, everyone wearing matching harassed expressions.
Clearly, it was a bad day on the Weekend Wellness set, but even on his previous visits, when things had been calmer, it hadn’t seemed to Mason that this was a happy crew.
It certainly didn’t have an ounce of the ‘family’ vibe that Misty insisted she so carefully cultivated.
“I hold myself responsible for failing to protect my WW family from Hunter’s bullying and lies.”
The outrageousness of that lie hit Mason all over again, filling his belly with pure, white-hot rage. But he couldn’t give in to that rage. Not now. He was here to do a job. He had to grit his teeth, sit himself back down on the Weekend Wellness sofa, and make himself say the words he needed to say. No matter how much those words might hurt him.
Finally, they reached the green room.
Naomi opened the door, holding it open for Mason to go in ahead of her.