He kept smiling, too, and she tilted her head and laughed, and he reached across the table and chucked her under the chin, and it wasSkip and Scooterall over again.
By the time the server appeared, the crowd of photographers on the sidewalk had spilled into the street, and her stomach was a mass of knots. Within minutes these photos would be popping up on computer screens all around the world, and the circus would pick up steam.
“Crab cakes for Scooter here,” Bram said with an elegant flick of his hand. “Scotch on the rocks for me. Laphroaig. And lobster ravioli.” The waiter disappeared. “God, I need a cigarette.”
He picked up her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Her skin burned at his unwelcome touch. She felt a callus on the bottom of his finger and couldn’t imagine how it had gotten there. Bram might have grown up in a rough neighborhood, but he’d never worked hard in his life. She came up with a merry laugh. “I hate you.”
He took a drink from her iced tea glass and let the chiseled edges of his mouth curl into a smile. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Bram had no reason to hate her. She’d been the good soldier while he’d single-handedly ruined one of the best sitcoms in television history. During the first two years ofSkip and Scooter,he’d only occasionally misbehaved, but as the years passed, he’d grown more uncontrollable, and by the time Skip and Scooter’s on-screen relationship had begun to turn romantic, he cared about nothing but having a good time. He spent money as fast as he earned it on fancy cars, a designer wardrobe, and supporting an army of hangers-on from his childhood. The cast didn’t know from one day to the next whether he’d show up on the set drunk or sober, whether he’d show up at all. He totaled cars, trashed dance clubs, and shrugged off any attempts to curb his recklessness. Nothing was safe from him, not women, reputations, or a crew member’s drug stash.
If he’d been playing a darker character, the show might have survived the sex tape that had surfaced at the end of season eight, but Bram played buttoned-down, good guy Skip Scofield, youthful heir to the Scofield fortune, and even the most loyal fans were outraged by what they saw.Skip and Scooterwas canceled a few weeks later, earning him the wrath of the public and the hatred of everyone connected with the show.
Their meal dragged on until Georgie couldn’t bear it. She set down her fork next to her dismantled, uneaten crab cake, studied her watch, and tried to look as if Christmas Day had unfortunately come to an end. “Aw…Too bad. I have to go.”
Bram speared the final bite of his ravioli and thrust his fork in her mouth. “Not so fast. You can’t leave Ivy without having dessert.”
“Don’t you dare prolong this farce.”
“Careful. You’re losing your happy face.”
She choked down the ravioli and pasted her smile back on. “You’re broke, aren’t you? My father invested my money, but you squandered yours. That’s why you’re doing this. No one will give you a job because you’re unreliable, and you need publicity to get back on your feet.” Although Bram still worked, he only got minor parts these days, playing morally weak characters—a cheating husband, a lecherous drunk—not even meaty villains. “You’re so desperate you have to piggyback off my press coverage.”
“You’ve got to admit it’s working.Skip and Scootertogether again.” He lifted his hand for their server, who hurried over. “We’ll have the pecan shortcake with hot fudge sauce. Two spoons.”
When the server was gone, she leaned forward and dropped her voice even lower. “How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. I hate thee for making my childhood miserable…”
“You were fifteen when the series started. Not exactly a kid.”
“But Scooter was only fourteen, and I was naïve.”
“I’ll say.”
“I hate you for embarrassing me in front of the cast, the crew, the press, in front ofeverybody—with your stupid practical jokes.”
“Who knew you’d keep falling for them?”
“I hate you for all the hours I spent sitting around the set waiting for you.”
“Unprofessional, I’ll admit. But you kept your nose buried in books, so you should thank me for your superior education.”
“And for your sleazeball behavior that got us canceled and cost me millions.”
“You? What about the millions I cost myself?”
“At least I can feel good about that.”
“Okay, my turn…” His smile had a silky edge. “You were a stuck-up little prude, sweetheart, and a big-time tattletale. Whenever you had the tiniest gripe, you made sure Daddy Paul ran to the producers and raised a stink. His little princess had to have everything her way.”
Her mouth remained curled, but her eyes flashed outrage. “That is so not true.”
“And you were a selfish actor. You always had to stick to the script, no room for improvisation. It was suffocating.” He chucked her under the chin again.
She kicked him hard on the inside of his calf where no one could see. He winced, and she patted his hand. “You only wanted to improvise because you didn’t have your lines memorized.”
“Whenever I tried to push the show out of its comfort zone, you sabotaged me.”
“Disagreement isn’t sabotage.”
