Page 19 of Home Grown Talent

“Yeah. You left him alone all night!”

“You could have talked to him. But here you are, haranguing me, instead!”

Mason covered his face with his hands and started laughing. He couldn’t help himself. It was either laugh or cry. Or maybe throw up. Perhaps he’d do all three because fuck, he really was very drunk, and suddenly, everything was just so stupid and sad, and he felt so pathetically alone—

“I don’t think we need any photographs,” a new voice said.

It took Mason a moment to realise that the new voice belonged to Owen Hunter. Owen, who was somehow now standing right beside him, placing himself squarely between Mason and another random bloke standing a few feet away. Mason blinked. No, not a random bloke—that was Austin Coburn, the journalist who’d been speaking to Misty earlier.

Austin stiffened. “I beg your pardon?” he said, in a haughty Do you know who I am? tone of voice.

Owen was unmoved. “I saw you taking pictures on your phone, and I don’t think anyone here wants that right now.” He glanced over to where Tag and Jay were staring at him like a pair of stunned mullets, his gaze skipping past them to land on Mason. “Right?”

Mason nodded, and then Jay, thin-lipped with anger, said, “Yes, that’s right. Do run along, Austin, old chap.”

Austin fixed a venomous glare on Jay, then turned the expression on Owen. “And you are, what? The hired muscle?”

Chuckling, Owen shook his head. “Just being a friend,” he said. “I’m sure there’s plenty of other people here who’d like to have their pictures in your mag.”

“My…” Austin spluttered in outrage. “My… mag?”

Mason couldn’t suppress his snort of amusement. Among other things, Austin Coburn had a regular column in the arts section of one of the broadsheets and was used to being feted, even feared, by those aspiring to be taken seriously in the creative industries. The fact that Owen clearly had no idea who he was obviously pissed him right off.

As if to hammer his complete indifference home, Owen gave an apologetic shrug and said, “I’m afraid I don’t know who you work for.”

Austin’s lip curled into a sneer. “Clearly. How embarrassing for you.” And with that, he stalked away.

Owen turned back to face the rest of them. “Sorry about that, but I saw him sneaking photos of you, and you all looked like you were, er, preoccupied…” He trailed off, his gaze landing on Mason with a slight frown of concern. “I hope I haven’t put my foot in it or anything?”

“Not at all,” said Jay, recovering his usual savoir-faire. “Quite the opposite in fact. Austin Coburn is a pompous prick who’s hated me since prep school. I’m grateful you spotted what he was up to.”

Tag rolled his eyes. “Prep school.”

Jay shot him an irritated look, then turned back to Owen. “Watching you put him in his place is the most fun I’ve had in what’s been a very long and tedious evening.”

He probably hadn’t meant that comment as a slight to Mason, but Mason was drunk and dejected and in a sensitive frame of mind—and he had come to this fucking dinner with Jay after all. Blowing out an irritable breath, he folded his arms, well aware it looked like a flounce. “Thanks a bunch.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “Oh, Mason, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“No you never mean to be insulting, do you?” Tag muttered. “But somehow, you always are.”

“Insulting?” Jay rounded on Tag again. “You’re the one…”

All at once, Mason had had enough—of them, of the night, of everything. He turned away sharply, which proved to be a big mistake because the room took a sudden and sickening spin. “Shit,” he muttered, swaying queasily. “Fuck.”

“Whoa.” A strong arm closed around his waist, holding him upright. “Easy there.”

Owen. Confusingly, Mason felt a rush of relief. It was Owen.

For a blissful moment, he relished the way Owen pulled him in close like that, confidently pressing him against Owen’s strong body. Unfortunately, though, his head was spinning, and now his guts were getting in on the act and starting to pitch and roll like the deck of a ship.

Was he sweating? He felt hot; his face felt damp.

Owen steadied him, looking even more concerned than before. “Are you okay? You’ve gone really pale.”

“Fine,” Mason said through gritted teeth. It was a lie. “Ah, fuck, I’m really drunk, actually.”

“Yeah. You want to sit down? Let’s sit down.”