Lainie laughed. “She wouldn’t have been all that psyched about a period drama either. She thought the only good thing about my going into drama was that I might eventually be able to introduce her to Zac Efron. Oh, well.” She tapped her phone. “Maybe I would get a few more cool points for a romantic comedy. Carey is sending over a script for an independent film. Onwards and upwards.”
Despite her blithe words, she was still disappointed over the missed audition, and couldn’t hide her glum mood from Richard when he arrived from the theatre.
He stopped in her doorway when he saw her sitting up in bed—and not reaching for a bucket or visibly sweating, which made a nice change. A certain tension seemed to leave his shoulders as he surveyed her. “It moves. It’s alive,” he said drolly, in a very laconic Frankenstein impression.
“Confirmation that comedy isn’t your forte.” Lainie suddenly felt ridiculously shy. She yanked the bedcovers up past the neckline of her skimpy vest top, and he followed the defensive gesture with a quizzical brow. “How was the show?”
“Trying. I’m underpaid, and your standin is dire.” He hitched his perfectly creased trousers and sat down on the end of her bed. “And your ex-lover is a blithering idiot.” His sardonic eyes sharpened. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m recently recovered from the plague. Pardon me for not looking my best.”
“You look fine. Shampooed and combed is a good look for you. What’s wrong?”
“Why would anything be wrong?” she hedged.
“I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking,” he said impatiently. “I can tell by your face. You must be an absolute liability in a poker game.”
“It’s nothing.” Lainie pulled hard at a loose thread. “Just a job thing.”
“Yes?”
“The audition for Somerset County was brought forward to yesterday, and obviously I missed it as I had my head in the loo at the time. Apparently the producer is not big on second chances.”
“You spoke to Carey?”
“Yes. Nothing doing.”
“Who’s producing?”
She told him, and he nodded. “I’ve worked with him before. Fairly superhuman expectations of his cast and crew, and no patience with delays. He would have very little time for an actor who succumbed to illness anywhere near his set.”
“Swell.” Lainie reflected that they must have got on quite well together, being equally intolerant of normal human failings. She didn’t say so aloud. Richard had actually been very—shockingly—patient with her during the past few days.
Typically dismissive of an unfortunate circumstance that couldn’t be altered, Richard shrugged. “You can concentrate on your stage career.”
“Yes,” she said, deciding not to mention the possible rom-com yet. She could imagine his opinion of that, and it would be short, aggravating and mostly comprised of four-letter words.
He was studying her with a slight frown. “But you wanted it.”
“Yes.” She moved irritably. He was probably about two seconds from pulling out a sarcastic violin. A little mood music for her pity party. “Never mind. It is what it is.”
“How philosophical of you.” He looked preoccupied.
She tried to lighten the topic. “I suppose my new horizontal take on the traditional bow made a few headlines.”
Richard seemed to make an effort to focus his attention on her. “I expect the charmer who filmed the whole thing on his camera phone can afford an upgrade to a better model this week. By the way, your dear friend Greta French whispered to her live audience about your mysterious long-standing disease. She fears your public collapse is a sign the end is nigh.”
Lainie tried to be outraged, but her sense of humour got the better of her. She saw Richard’s mouth twitch, and gave into a giggle.
He smothered a yawn, and she shook her head. “I realise it would be beneath your dignity to confess that you’re knackered, but you need to get to bed. You look like you haven’t slept for a week.”
“Feels like it too,” he surprised her by admitting. He rolled his neck in a slow stretch and sighed. “Yeah. Bed. I’ll get on that.” One eye opened. “I assume I’m still not being invited to get on yours?”
“You are, as usual, correct.” Lainie reached out and rubbed his stubbly jaw. “And, for God’s sake, shave. My neighbours will think you’re a drug dealer. My professional reputation has been embarrassed enough for one week.”
Richard nudged aside her hand and stood up, groaning when a joint cracked in his knee. “Our fake relationship is prematurely aging me.” He leaned over the bed, his face hovering inches from her nose.
“Can I help you?” she asked politely, and shivered when their breath mingled.
He eyed her mouth. “I’m considering whether it would be worth the risk of infection.”
“I think that ship has sailed. You’ve been rubbing up against my germs for days.”
“Well, in that case...”
His lips parted hers, warm and firm, his hand supporting the back of her head.
“Well?” she managed huskily when he pulled away a fraction. Her fingers were knotted in the collar of his shirt.
He looked down at her. “Results inconclusive, pending further investigation.”