Page 17 of Home Grown Talent
Owen got his phone out, then, taking pictures, his pride in his brother obvious. Watching him, Mason felt… odd. Out of sorts. The whole display was completely OTT, he decided, but there was a strange, tight feeling in his chest as he watched Owen, and he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have someone like that, strong and dependable, in your corner. Lewis hadn’t talked much about his background when they were together, but the one topic he was forthcoming on was his perfect older brother, who had fought so hard to take care of Lewis after their mother’s death.
Watching Owen now, Mason wondered what it had cost him. The weight of responsibility must have been crushing, and perhaps it was a weight Owen still carried. Responsibility, once assumed, was almost impossible to put down.
As Mason well knew.
“I can see why you’re staring,” Misty said, leaning across Jay’s empty seat—he’d been poached by one of the RPP bigwigs at the neighbouring table a while ago. “He’s a hunk, isn’t he? The housewives will love him.”
Mason blinked at her. He probably shouldn’t have had so much wine. His gums were starting to feel numb. “Owen?”
“Yes, Owen,” Misty laughed. “Obviously. I can see you’re into him.”
“I’m not into him,” Mason protested, horrified. Had he really been staring?
“No? Not even a little?” She paused, then gave a little shrug. “That’s a shame. It would be good if you were.”
Mason glanced at her sharply. Her gaze was calculating, just as it had been when she’d said that stuff to Owen about doing the show for the sake of his employees. Mason couldn’t believe he’d fallen for such an obvious line, but he had. Mason had seen it in his eyes.
“What would be good about it?” Mason prompted.
“You have chemistry. That’s important between co-presenters.”
“Chemistry,” Mason repeated, slowly.
“He can’t keep his eyes off you, Mason.” She smiled, her gaze amused. “And you’ve been watching him too. Don’t deny it.”
Mason’s face heated.
“The thing is,” Misty went on when Mason stayed silent, “a bit of flirtation between you and Owen would play really well in any slot you two do together on Weekend Wellness. Viewers absolutely love that sort of thing. And with you having so many followers on Insta, I’ll bet you could create a decent buzz around it. We’d certainly love to improve our numbers in the 18-35 bracket.” She raised a brow at him. A question.
Flirting? With Owen? Mason wasn’t sure whether it was fear or excitement making his heart suddenly race. Either way, even if Owen agreed to do the show—and Mason seriously doubted he would—he surely wouldn’t agree to something like this.
He can’t keep his eyes off you, Mason.
Would he?
Misty was staring at him expectantly, waiting.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I am good at flirting.”
She smiled at that, pleased. “You really are,” she agreed. “You had Marc eating out of your hand the other day. He said—” She broke off when the audience quietened, turning to look over her shoulder, and when Mason shifted his own gaze to the stage, it was to see that Lewis was standing at the podium, award in hand. He leaned toward the mic.
“This episode was inspired by, and written with, my partner, Aaron Page”—Lewis lifted the award up to shoulder height—“so I’ll be giving this to him.” And with that, he nodded and began to walk away. He hadn’t gone two steps before he stopped abruptly, leaning back towards the mic to add quickly. “Also, the team that works on Leeches is the best fucking crew in the world. You're all amazing. And my brother, Owen, is the best fucking brother. I couldn’t do this without you all, so thanks.” And with one last curt nod, he stalked off-stage.
Mason couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a typical Lewis speech.
Jay slid into his seat just in time for the cameras to descend for Lewis’s triumphant return to their table, his megawatt smile firmly in place as he smoothly rose to greet Lewis as though he’d been sitting there the whole time. Pulling Lewis into a bro-hug, he deftly manoeuvred him into place for the obligatory photo call that Lewis would have brushed off given the chance, beckoning Aaron over to join them. Jay really did have star quality, Mason had to admit as he watched him work, and not just in terms of looks. He had that elusive charisma too, that certain something that drew the eye.
Mason looked away, feeling suddenly flat.
The awards continued, and as they did, the wine continued to flow.
Misty didn’t win her category, much to her obvious and jaw-clenching dismay, and after that, she lost all interest. After a while, Jay went off to speak to someone he went to drama school with, and Misty took the opportunity to move into his seat again. She started regaling Mason with stories about her children, Oscar and Mabel, which he listened to politely while he worked his way steadily through the remains of the last bottle of too-warm Sauvignon Blanc on the table. Tag had disappeared too, not very long ago, and Owen had moved into his seat to chat to Aaron, leaving an empty chair beside Mason—which made Mason scowl at his wine glass. Stupid to feel abandoned, but he did.
“...Mabel’s always been a voracious reader,” Misty droned on. “So, I bought her The Iliad last Christmas, and now she’s insisting we spend half term in the Greek Islands instead of skiing.” She laughed. “Apparently, she’ll ‘just die’ if she doesn’t visit Knossos.”
“Right,” Mason said, topping up his glass again.
Misty needed no further encouragement. She carried on without drawing breath, allowing Mason’s increasingly drunken thoughts to amble back towards Owen. Like most of the men here, he wore a classic tuxedo. Unlike most of the men, he looked amazing in it, the clean lines flattering his solid, masculine body, even as his thatch of tousled brown hair and rugged features undermined the suit’s formality. Even here, dressed up to the nines in the ballroom of a luxury Mayfair hotel, Owen Hunter looked somehow windswept and outdoorsy.