Page 6 of Home Grown Talent
Aaron nodded.
Tag was currently an actor-slash-barista—he was a couple of years out of drama school, and he’d won a small part on Aaron’s show which he was hoping would prove to be his big break.
“What would be funny about asking Tag along?” Owen asked.
Lewis chuckled. “He has a… sort of thing with Mason and Jay.”
“A thing?” Owen echoed, horrified. Why had Lewis been encouraging his attraction to Mason if—
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Aaron said, laughing. “Tag and Jay met Mason at the same party a few months back and they both asked him out. And now it’s turned into this weird competitive fake-dating thing. According to Tag, Mason’s in it for what he can post on his Insta—God only knows what the other two are getting out of it. They seem to see it as some sort of pissing contest though.” He glanced at Lewis. “Jay will be so pissed to see Tag there.”
Lewis grinned, then glanced at Owen. “What do you say? It’s up to you. It’s your plus-one. If you want to bring someone else—”
“Nah,” Owen said. “I don’t mind. Tag seems like a nice bloke.” Besides, Owen was only going to see Lewis get his award. He didn’t care who he’d be sitting next to, provided the guy wasn’t a complete dick. And if Mason was there on the arm of a gorgeous, famous actor, that was a very good thing. It meant Owen wouldn’t be tempted to act on his completely misguided attraction.
Aaron pulled out his phone. “I’ll text Tag,” he said and started typing.
Beside him, Lewis poked suspiciously at one of the slices of patisserie. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have brought jam doughnuts.”
CHAPTER TWO
Mason
Carefully, Mason applied a last smudge of Masculin eyeliner and a final lick of mascara, before pulling back from the mirror to study the result.
Not bad. He wasn’t actually that into cosmetics, but his contract with Masculin was lucrative, and he had to admit the mascara gave his light gold eyelashes some nice definition. Plus, the little bit of extra sparkle certainly worked with his outfit.
He’d eschewed a traditional tux in favour of a floral Simon Carter shirt and a cornflower-blue suit that fitted in all the right places. The whole point of the evening was to be seen, after all, so why dress like everyone else? Mason wanted to stand out, and stand out he would.
Picking up his phone, he took a couple of sultry selfies, eyes partly obscured behind a lock of hair that gleamed gold in the soft bedroom lamplight. He added a filter to deepen the green of his eyes and to ensure his makeup stood out, then posted it with the tags #Masculin #BigNightOut #instagay #love #me
Not in the mood to look at the likes and comments that immediately started flooding in, he flung his phone onto the bed and went in search of his shoes. Truth was, he was not in the mood for a Big Night Out. And even if he were, an evening at a tedious TV awards dinner was hardly his idea of fun. Especially after Jay had messaged him with the news that Mason’s ex, Lewis Hunter, would be there with Aaron, his ridiculously wholesome boyfriend, and, even worse, his brother, Owen, who Lewis talked about as though he was a bloody living saint. Which, to be fair, he probably was to have put up with Lewis all these years.
In a fit of pique, Mason had messaged back to tell Jay that he’d changed his mind about going. He’d only relented after Jay promised to pick him up in a limo. That was a result, especially because Mason couldn’t really afford not to go. Mason wanted—needed—to step his career up a gear, and the awards were a fantastic networking opportunity for him, not least because Misty Watson-King, the producer of Weekend Wellness, would be on their table.
Last time he’d spoken to her, Misty had hinted that there might be a permanent presenting role opening up on Weekend Wellness. Rumour had it that Marc, the current anchor, wasn’t seeing eye-to-eye with Misty, and his contract was up at the end of the year. If Marc was on his way out, Mason wanted a chance at that anchor job, and it was crystal clear that schmoozing Misty was going to be key to making that happen.
Besides, arriving in a limo with Jay guaranteed a couple of decent snaps on the red carpet. Jay Warren was proper acting royalty—his mother, Dame Cordelia Warren, was a bona fide National Treasure for God’s sake—and Mason’s profile would get a nice boost if they were photographed together at the awards. Especially if Leeches won its category. They might even make it into the tabloids if Mason engineered a romantic ‘moment’ for the cameras. That alone would be worth a tedious evening watching Lewis drool over his new boyfriend while being judged by Saint bloody Owen.
Mason had met Owen a few times while he and Lewis were involved. Owen was an outdoorsy guy, strong and capable, and—annoyingly—pretty hot in a salt-of-the-earth kind of way. He’d also struck Mason as a holier-than-thou prick the first time they’d met, eyeing Mason disapprovingly when he’d walked in on him taking a selfie in Lewis’s ridiculously huge bathtub—thankfully when the bath was empty and Mason was fully clothed. Then he’d made it worse by chuckling when Lewis had taken the piss out of Mason for, as he put it, ‘plumbing new depths in shameless self-promotion’ by posting the picture on Instagram. Whenever they’d met after that, Owen had seemed to make a point of keeping his distance, as if Mason wasn’t worth getting to know. As if he wasn’t good enough for Owen’s precious little brother.
So, no, Mason was not relishing the idea of an evening with the Hunter brothers, even if he would have Jay Warren on his arm.
Talking of Jay, where the fuck was he?
Mason checked the time. Five minutes late already, which was typical. Mason really needed to be there for the drinks reception so he could talk to the right people before everyone was marooned at their tables for the evening. Jay never thought about things like that, though. People like Jay floated above the roiling sea of ambition that the rest of them had to swim in.
Pacing to the bedroom window of his basement flat, Mason looked up towards the road, but there was no sign of Jay’s limo. The bastard better not have forgotten, or—
From the bed came the muffled sound of his phone ringing. Snatching it up, his heart sank at the sight of his mum’s photo flashing up on the screen. For a moment, he dithered, watching it ring, tempted to let it go to voicemail. But no, then he’d just spend the evening worrying that something had happened, that the latest crisis was spiralling into something harder to handle. Something he’d have to deal with sooner or later anyway.
Biting back a sigh, he answered the call. “Hi Frieda. Everything okay?”
“Oh, hello,” she said in that wobbly voice that heralded trouble. “I’m sorry to phone you. It’s just I thought that I’d better keep you in the loop…”
Worry surged through Mason. Gazing out at the busy street beyond, he said in the steady voice he used when he needed to keep his mother calm, “In the loop about what?”
“Well, Kurt’s payment hasn’t gone through again this month…”