Page 9 of Home Grown Talent

“You didn’t tell me the hotel was on Park Lane,” Owen said to Lewis as their limo drew up outside the awards dinner venue.

“Didn’t I?” Lewis sounded totally uninterested. He’d never been impressed by glitz and glamour.

Tag, who was sitting beside Owen, opposite Lewis and Aaron, chuckled. “The last time I was here, I was waiting tables. I wonder if I’ll see anyone I know.”

Tag had a boyish sort of handsomeness that verged on prettiness and a ridiculously cute smile, with teeth so white they had to have been bleached.

“You worked here?” Aaron asked, sounding tickled by the idea.

Tag grinned. “Yeah. Not full-time, though. I have a flexible temp gig—I pick up shifts for events like this quite often. They pay pretty good if you can be available on short notice—which I can be now Bow Street’s about to wrap for the season.”

Lewis opened the limo door, and they all piled out onto the street, four men in more or less matching black tuxes.

“We look like we’re going to a James Bond convention,” Owen said once they were all standing on the pavement. He tugged uncomfortably on the cuffs of his rented tux.

Aaron laughed, and Lewis said drily, “I’m pretty sure James Bond’s hair is tidier than yours.”

Owen chuckled and ran a hand through his dark mop. “Sorry, I meant to get it cut, but I didn’t have time.”

“Right,” Aaron said in a take-charge voice, rubbing his hands together. “We should get a move on. We missed the champagne reception, and they’ll be serving dinner soon.” He tugged Lewis towards the red carpet set out in front of the hotel entrance, leaving Owen and Tag to follow.

“I like your hair,” Tag murmured, bumping Owen’s shoulder with his own as they followed Lewis and Aaron inside. “It’s sexy. Though it’s definitely more Game of Thrones than 007.”

Cameras began to flash as they approached the front door of the hotel, manned by two men in red-and-gold livery. Lewis raised a hand at the line of photographers as he passed but didn’t bother stopping, so Owen and Tag kept walking too, though Tag looked a little wistful as they entered the hotel.

They followed Lewis and Aaron towards a wide, winding flight of stairs on the other side of the foyer and began to climb. An avalanche of sound cascaded down: music, laughter, shouted conversations.

“Do you think dinner will be served soon?” Tag said. “I’m bloody starving.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be served at seven-thirty, and it’s seven twenty-five now,” Aaron said over his shoulder. “So hopefully, yes.”

“The food’ll be crap,” Lewis warned. Which, from Lewis, could mean anything from cordon bleu cuisine to rubber chicken.

“Who else is on our table?” Tag asked.

“RPP people mostly. Toni obviously.” Aaron glanced back at Owen. “Have you met Toni?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. She’s lovely.”

“Everyone likes Toni,” Lewis said. “She’s bringing a date, but she was pretty cagey about who, so that’ll be semi-interesting.”

“Misty Watson-King and Henry Armitage will be there too,” Aaron added. “They’re from the Factual Programming department.”

“Both boring as fuck,” Lewis put in. “And their spouses are even worse. Misty’s husband is a hedge fund manager or something. Some finance thing—don’t ask him if you can help it. He could bray on about it for hours, and Misty’s favourite conversation is herself. As for Dinah Armitage, she goes on about her fucking charity work so much you’ll be ready to open a vein by the pudding course if you end up next to her.”

“Sounds awesome,” Owen said faintly.

“At least Jay and Mason will be there,” Tag said. “Don’t forget them.”

No danger of that, Owen thought. He’d spent way too long thinking about Mason Nash in a tux—and out of a tux—over the last few days…

At the top of the stairs, black marble gave way to a swath of ugly hotel carpet which led through several sets of double doors and into a sea of tables in a vast, echoey ballroom. The lights were low, and the music was loud and tinny. Almost everyone was already at their tables.

Aaron checked the table plan. “Table twenty-four,” he said and patted Lewis’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you your award.”

“We’re not going to win,” Lewis said flatly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aaron said, giving him a little shove.