That was two for unfortunate death by lipstick. She reserved the right to adjust the number, depending on how the next couple of hours played out.
“You did know that the interview is with Richard and Will?” Sadie was all fluttery innocence. “Oh...dear.” Laughter threaded her words. “Awkward.”
Lainie entirely agreed with her.
Sadie’s stylist thankfully silenced her with coffee and the latest copy of Vogue, and Lainie let a subdued Sharon get back to work. She couldn’t stop jiggling her crossed leg as the stylist finished her makeup and started on her hair.
Live TV. Will and Richard on one couch. Sadie stirring the pot. Jack—not the brightest bulb at the best of times, and probably hungover at this hour of the morning. She couldn’t see any help coming from that corner.
No potential at all for career-trashing disaster.
Sharon had decided on a no-makeup makeup look, with natural waves in her hair, as opposed to Sadie’s full-on red-carpet glamour. It took gobs of product and a depressingly long time to create the illusion that she’d just woken up attractive.
Sadie was finished first, and was wrapped around a barely conscious Jack when Lainie entered the greenroom. He was sprawled on a couch, head tilted back, eyes at half-mast, seemingly unbothered by the tentacle-like arms that entwined his shoulders. Will and Richard were seated at opposite ends of the other couch, pretending that the other didn’t exist. Will was playing games on his phone. She could hear the tinny theme music. He glanced up when she came in, scowled and then went back to obliterating animated snack food. Richard was reading a newspaper. He didn’t even bother to raise his head.
And these hulking specimens of manhood constituted her past and currently imaginary sex life.
God, she hoped there were pastries on that refreshment table.
There were, so the morning wasn’t a total loss. She went with the one closest to her hand, to be polite. The fact it was oozing the most jam and cream was merely a bonus. She had no compunctions at all about eating her feelings. She took a bite, cupping her hand underneath to catch the cream spillage, and said hello to Jack. He detached his earlobe from Sadie’s teeth and turned to look at her.
“Oh, hey,” he said, with a smile and wink. “How’s it going?”
“Great. Thanks.”
Nope. No idea who she was.
The only free seats were on the four-seater between Will and Richard. With a sigh, and as the lesser of the evils, she sat down beside Richard. She would prefer an indifferent silence to a sulky one. She also preferred his aftershave. Although that was a bit of a misnomer when he clearly hadn’t picked up a razor this week. Chewing on a bite of pastry, she eyed him critically. They hadn’t even put much makeup on him. And he looked fine. Good, even. Bastard.
“Is there something on my face?” he asked, without much interest. The paper rustled as he turned the page.
“About ten days’ worth of stubble, I imagine.” Lainie finished her breakfast and licked a glob of apricot jam from her thumb. “I’m marinating in half a can of shine spray here. You could have at least shaved.”
Richard cut his eyes in her direction and then glanced briefly at Will. “Like the Backstreet Boy over there? Pass.”
She was not going to smile.
“I’m not interested in stocks. Or farming.” She leaned forward to look over his raised arm. “I’ll take international news, please.”
“There’s a pile of magazines over there.” Richard turned the page again, interrupting her perusal of the classifieds. “And nobody is reading them.”
“Yes, but then I would have to get up.”
“Great. You can bring me a cup of coffee.”
Lainie propped her elbow on the back of the couch and considered him thoughtfully. “Do we think that’s a good idea?”
He paused, his fingers tightening around the paper. “Do we think what’s a good idea?”
“More coffee. You do get a bit grouchy. It could be caffeine sensitivity. Maybe you should just stick with the one cup. I mean, live TV. They might not be that quick with the bleeper at the crack of dawn.”
A muscle shifted in his jaw. “I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
“Oh.” She looked at him sympathetically, wondered if a patronizing pat on the arm would be going too far. She risked it anyway. “Bad night’s sleep?”
“No.”
“Huh.” Swinging her legs up beneath her, she rested her chin on her arm and frowned. “So—it’s just you, then.” She paused, counting to three in her head, and then asked helpfully, “Should we talk about that?”
“Take the bloody paper.”
“Thank you.”
A production assistant stuck her head through the door a few minutes later. “On in fifteen,” she said, looking a bit flustered. “Someone will come to escort you to the set in ten minutes.”