Page 7 of Home Grown Talent

Mason closed his eyes. Kurt, his father, had left when Mason was thirteen and his sisters were toddlers, running off with the first in a series of women, all of whom, strangely enough, reminded Mason to some extent of his mother. Kurt was supposed to pay Frieda money at the start of every month, but he never had been the most reliable guy in the world.

“Okay,” Mason said evenly, “don’t worry. You know I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have to keep asking you,” Frieda said crossly. “It’s his responsibility!”

“It’s okay, though. You don’t need to panic.”

Please don’t panic.

A sigh came down the line, part relief and part self-pity. “What would I do without you?”

Mason didn’t answer that. Couldn’t answer that because he honestly didn’t know what she’d do without him, couldn’t imagine her ever being able to cope without his support. Wearily, he sucked in a breath, his chest feeling tight. “Listen, I’m on my way out. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed, but then added, “Are you going out with Jay Warren?”

“Yes, we’re going to the TV Best Awards,” he said, knowing she’d like that.

Sure enough, she brightened. “Ooh, maybe you’ll get into a magazine?”

“That’s the idea, yeah.”

Frieda loved it when he dated celebrities; she loved showing off his pictures to her friends. She’d be disappointed if she knew that he and Jay were just friends who fake-dated occasionally, so he let her think what she liked about that.

“Well,” she said then, “why don’t you come over for lunch this weekend? You can tell me all about it. And you could bring Jay. I’d love to meet him.”

He would not be bringing Jay. Or anyone else, for that matter. He’d lived and breathed the consequences of a relationship gone sour when his parents broke up, and he had no interest in getting serious with anyone. So he just said, “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know when I’m free, yeah?”

Mollified, Frieda wittered on a little longer, but luckily—and at fucking last—the sleek black shape of Jay’s limo pulled up in front of his building.

With guilty relief, Mason said goodbye and ended the call, took one last look at himself in the mirror, and headed out to the car.

The driver was already waiting. “Good evening, Mr. Nash,” he said, holding open the rear passenger door. Mason gave him a polite nod and slid into the car, grateful for its warmth. The February night was cold and crisp, without a hint of spring in the air.

Inside, he found Jay relaxing on the back seat with all the self-assurance of a man who travelled around in limos all the time. Hell, he’d probably been travelling around in them since he was a kid.

“Mason,” Jay said, smiling his actor’s smile as the driver closed the door, “you look gorgeous. Quite ravishing.”

Mason returned the smile with a dazzling one of his own. “Thank you, I like to think so. You look rather ravishing yourself.”

“Well.” Jay glanced modestly down at his beautifully tailored tux. “Who doesn’t look good in a penguin suit?”

“At least half the people there tonight, probably.”

Jay laughed. “I see you’re in one of those moods.”

“Am I?” In fairness, he usually was after speaking to Frieda, and this was already the end of a long week full of too many people.

“Don’t worry. I’ve come prepared,” Jay said, reaching down for something near his feet. “You’ll feel better after a glass of bubbly.”

And, yes, Jay really did have a bottle of champagne on ice in the car—good stuff too. He held up the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. “I think we both need a little help getting through tonight, don’t you?”

This time, when Mason smiled, it felt more genuine. He reached out to take the glasses from Jay, holding them while Jay expertly popped the cork. “You read my mind.”

“Hardly necessary,” Jay said drily. “I’d already read your flouncy text.”

Mason winced, but Jay didn’t seem too bothered, smiling as he poured the champagne. “Bottoms up.” He winked. “As they say…”

By the time they reached Park Lane, Mason had downed two glasses of excellent champagne, and his mood was much improved. In fact, he was the perfect degree of buzzed as he stepped out of the car and onto the red carpet, relaxed enough to drape himself elegantly over Jay, pouting and preening for the cameras, without being so drunk that he made an arse of himself. Jay was up for the display as well, sliding one arm around Mason’s waist and laughing as he pressed a quick kiss to Mason’s lips for the benefit of the flashing cameras.