CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

My insides liquefied and I found myself dumbstruck. He was on to us! Before I could say anything, his smile returned, if possible even bigger than before.

“I already have an agent, so I won’t be signing your exclusivity contract,” he said with a wag of his finger and a laugh. I weakly echoed his laughter.

“You’re on to me,” I agreed with an even weaker smile. Michael didn’t notice, or if he did, ascribed it to other causes.

“And I really must apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For my last-minute cancellation of the audition.”

“I forgot all about that,” I lied.

“I’d like to apologize and explain anyway.”

I lifted my mask to the top of my head and sipped my drink noncommittally.

“I’ll be honest. I had thought I wanted to sign. Ultimately I wasn’t ready to go exclusive.”

Interestingly, that was mostly true. I guess he really wanted to be an actor. I wondered again if we had the right man…er, incubus.

“I’m still not,” he continued. “That doesn’t mean we can’t share a drink and a dance.”

I half-heartedly laughed again and turned to the bartender. “I’ll take a whiskey sour.” The bartender nodded and began mixing the whiskey, lemon juice, and sugar. I refocused on Michael. “I’m Catherine, or did you remember that?”

“Nice to meet you, Catherine. I’m Michael; of course, you already knew that.” His shrewd look had me trying to decide if he really thought I still wanted to woo him to my agency or not. Seemed a little narcissistic, but hey, he was an actor. It wasn’t unheard of.

“You’d been pointed out to me,” I admitted, my attempt to both be honest and stroke his ego.

His smile widened. “I hope you only heard good things,” he said with a wink. Uncertain how to interpret that, I did the girly thing and giggled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I was proud of that response because it wasn’t a lie, and hopefully was mildly flirtatious. It seemed to work. Michael focused more on me.

“Would you like to dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

We replaced our masks over our faces to maintain the theme of the evening and he extended his hand. We hit the dance floor, making idle chit-chat about the entertainment industry in Las Vegas. When the song ended, Michael bowed dramatically.

“Thank you, miss. That was lovely.” And then with another wink, he walked away.

Well, shoot, I didn’t pique his interest. Flooded with disappointment, I made my way back to the bar. How on earth was I supposed to elicit his confession with my feminine wiles, if my feminine wiles weren’t doing it for him?

A light hand on my shoulder startled me and I turned with fists clenched.

Robin Landon laughed nasally and took a step back. “Sorry, Catherine. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she assured me. Her yellow mask made her skin look sallow.

“I guess I was wrapped up in my thoughts.”

Her eyes widened. “That must have been some deep thinking. What could be so captivating at a social event? Perhaps the good-looking young man you were just dancing with.”

I tilted my head, considering her comments. Coincidence? “Oh, Michael? Do you know him?”

My question seemed to throw her and she stared at me a moment too long. “Sure. He’s an actor in town.” She shrugged. “I represent him. As do other agents, no doubt.” Her lips thinned in a forced smile. “I believe you know you’re the only boutique agency in town.” Her lips puckered in distaste, like she’d sucked on a lemon.

Hmm, interesting that the agencies were threatened by my approach. I silently chided myself for getting distracted by business. Robin told the truth about representing Michael; however, like so many others this evening, her comment was incomplete.

I spread my arms wide. “Our approach works in New York and so far, it’s been working here.”

“How is your agency handling one of your top actors being investigated for murder?”

My jaw dropped at the question. I snapped it shut and shook my head. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Robin chuckled. “Please, Catherine. Everybody in town saw Elizabeth Addison’s report that Alexander Moore is a suspect.”

“That is inaccurate,” I disagreed. “He was a person of interest—”

“Everyone knows that means suspect,” she interrupted.

“Interviewed and released,” I continued as though she had not spoken. “Not a suspect.”