He shook his head. “It’s not important.”
Marisa wanted to keep prying, but a shadow passed by the small windowpane in the stairwell door, reminding her that time was not her friend at the moment. She was about to say as much when Alec spoke again.
“What is important, though, is Monica’s friend Arthur recognizing and regarding me enough to involve me in the Christmas Ball. It’s something that would definitely get my agent’s attention, show him that, despite me turning thirty-five in February, I’ve still got a lot left to give to the game and can draw a fair crowd, which means money for him. And if I can help you in the process by carting you around on my arm for a wee bit as a date so you can still achieve Monica’s favor for your business, I can’t see the harm in it, really. A bit of awkwardness, maybe, but no harm. The key to us both getting what we want is for Monica to believe we’re a couple.” Then he lifted his head from the wall and smiled. “Pretty sure that was only six minutes, by the way.”
Marisa didn’t bother pulling her phone out to check. All she could do was laugh at the man before her and the deal they were about to strike.
“Well, Mr. Elms,” she said, straightening her spine and giving him her hand again while praying the yellow stain on her boob didn’t ruin her air of authority. And to the man’s charmingly sweet credit, he kept his eyes on hers and not her blemished boob as they shook hands before he opened the door and gestured for her to go before him. “For the next several weeks, it looks like we’ll be dating.”
Chapter 5
As far as investment opportunities went, the party was a nominal success. While Alec didn’t come away with anything worth throwing money at, he did leave a bit more attached than when he’d arrived.
All things considered, there were worse things that could have happened than landing himself a girlfriend for the holiday season, and a bonny one at that.
Alec closed the door to his brother’s apartment and emptied his pockets into the bin on the foyer table. “Hugh! Where are you, you good-for-nothing bastard? Get your arse over here before I?—”
Alec’s phone on the table began to dance toward the edge, shimmying dangerously close to tumbling onto the floor. In the sink, a couple of spoons and dishes from earlier rattled awake against the metal basin. Amusement pushed Alec’s spirits higher as he crouched into a squat, straining a few of the precious trouser seams that hadn’t signed up to hold in that much tensed muscle.
From within the shadows of the hallway, four paws as big as saucers hurtled across the hardwood. The black face mask and twinkling mahogany eyes barely came into focus before two hundred and thirty pounds of purebred mastiff tackled Alec to the floor. The tongue bath came next, a favorite pastime of the massive mongrel, but with Hugh’s paws firmly set on Alec’s shoulders pinning him in place, there wasn’t much he could do but throw his arms around the beast’s bulk and close his eyes.
“All right! All right! I’m home now. You can stop your fretting. Oh, bloody hell! Your damn tongue touched my teeth!”
Caring not a whit, Hugh continued to deliver his favor all over any available patch of skin in sight and a fair bit of Alec’s ruined silk shirt collar. It was only when Alec got his fingers good and buried into the wrinkles surrounding Hugh’s ears that the dog eased off him, obediently melting into the head massage that always greeted him whenever Alec was in town.
“That’s right. You’ve got your scratches. All’s right with the world.” Then Alec leaned closer and whispered, “I know you like my massages better than Cal’s. It’s okay. We’ll just keep that between us.”
Hugh barked his agreement and immediately went onto his back, exposing his brawny frame, smooth belly, and the most impressive set of balls Alec had ever seen—no small feat considering the locker room tours Alec had done—and stared up at him with expectant yet patient eyes.
“Fine. A few more rubdowns and then I’ll call your dad. Do you want to speak to Cal? Do ya? Do ya?”
The dog’s vacant stare and lack of enthusiasm about anything other than a belly rub were unsurprising.
Once Alec had gotten Hugh to resume his usual seat on the dog’s personal couch, he’d changed into a T-shirt and sweats and fired up Cal’s name on his phone. The video call connected two rings later, and Alec immediately wished it hadn’t. Far too much of his brother’s pale Scottish skin filled the screen before Cal managed to prop the phone up and stand back from it. The retreating view was far worse, however. Where Alec hoped to see jeans or literally any other pair of trousers appropriate for a man, he instead was met with white tights hugging his brother’s meaty legs before cinching him snugly at the waist. To add to the grisly effect, Cal still wore his character’s wig: a white powdery number that was pulled back in a neat queue.
“Och, come on, now, Callum. You look like one of those white sausages I had the last time I was in Bavaria. You could have just called me back after you were finished changing.”
“And miss the look on your face when you first got an eyeful of my belly lint after wearing a tweed waistcoat for two and a half hours? Never, my man. It was priceless.” That familiar gap between Cal’s two front teeth made an appearance as he grinned even wider, taking no small amount of pleasure in Alec’s discomfort.
Par for the frickin’ course, that.
“All right, enough. I figured you’d wrapped for the night already.”
“Oh, I did. Just chatting a bit with the crew before I made it back to my dressing room.” Cal rooted around at his scalp and pulled out a pin or two before yanking off his wig and placing it off-screen. The bald cap went next, and Cal promptly got to work roughing up his shaggy blond hair. “I tell ya, Jacob Marley is one of my favorite characters to play, but his costume’s not made for burly Scotsmen. I popped two buttons today, and Carolyn in the wardrobe department was none too happy pinning things together fifteen minutes before the show started.”
“Did she leave a few of her pins in you to express her displeasure?”
“I won’t have full circulation back until I get these bloody tights off, so I’ll let you know then,” he said, laughing. “I wouldn’t put it past her, though. This is her twenty-third season costuming A Christmas Carol for this tour, so no one wants to get on her bad side and risk any curses, you feel me?”
“Makes perfect sense, especially considering all those ghosts you already have to deal with.”
“Exactly. Thanks for staying at my place and taking care of Hugh during the tour, by the way. Show’s due to wrap December twenty-third, so I’ll be home for Christmas Eve.”
“Hugh misses you. Terribly. I don’t know how we’ll get along without you.” Alec positioned the phone so he could get as much of Hugh in the shot as possible, who had already fallen deep into sleep and was hard at work creating a pool-sized drool puddle on the hardwood floor.
“Traitor. Oaf doesn’t know what’s good for him.”
“Clearly.”
