“We shouldn’t waste that outfit on my kitchen.”
“You’ve had a long and hard day, Montgomery,” Hilliard chided. “Relax. Besides, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I’d prefer spending time with just you than a whole bunch of people.”
Monty couldn’t help the smile that took over his face at Hilliard’s words. “I missed you, too.”
Hilliard reached across the table and rubbed his thumb over Monty’s cheek affectionately. “Tell me how the tour went.”
Monty did as they ate dinner. And when they moved back out of the kitchen, Monty made himself another drink—Hilliard politely turned down a refill—and they talked about how Hilliard’s latest picture had gone. It’d been a gritty detective flick, with Hilliard playing a villain’s henchman.
“What I don’t understand,” Monty said as he downed the rest of his cocktail, “is why you’re always playing these side characters.” He decided to pour another splash of whiskey out since he was already standing there.
“It’s what I do best.”
“Yeah, but you’re really good. You could be in a leading role if you wanted to.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Don't you want top billing someday?”
“Not particularly.”
Monty sat down, noticing dimly that he was clumsier than usual. “Well, take this movie, for instance. Are you the main character in it?”
“In our movie, you mean? No, I’m not. I’m the best friend. You’re the main character.”
“But that isn’t fair! I’m horning in on your…” He floundered for the right word. “Lane.”
Hilliard chuckled as he brushed hair off of Monty’s forehead. “And I’m gonna welcome you with open arms, and we’ll make this the best picture either of us has ever made.”
Monty shook his head. “It isn’t fair.”
“That’s Hollywood, doll. You done with that drink? Good. Let’s get you to bed.”
Hilliard eased him back up and guided him to the bedroom. He helped him out of his shoes, and his coat, and Monty was so tired he sank onto the bed with the rest of his clothes on. Hilliard tsked his disapproval. “You’ll ruin them.”
“Don’t care. Too tired,” Monty mumbled.
Hilliard pulled the blankets over him. “Sleep tight.”
Monty closed his eyes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness about the whole situation. It wasn’t fair that he’d been pulled from a project that would have been perfect for him. It wasn’t fair that he’d discovered Jesse Morgan’s talent and wouldn’t even get to reap the benefits of the discovery. It wasn’t fair that Cal Campbell was getting the starring role in a picture that Monty needed and he didn’t, especially when the man couldn’t dance or sing worth beans. It wasn’t fair that Hilliard—sweet, talented Hilliard—could do so many movies and so many roles, and barely anyone knew his name.
The house was quiet, but Monty’s mind was too noisy for sleep. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Finally, he threw the covers off and sat up groggily. It took him some time to struggle back into his shoes and coat. But it took no time at all to call for a cab and pour himself a drink as he waited for it to arrive.
Chapter 2
Hilliard
Hilliard Burke was the result of many generations worth of warm and well-to-do doctors. His magic was deeply rooted in his heart, the same as it was for his mother and both of his grandmothers who spent their long careers caring for children. It had been his father’s last wish for him and his siblings to follow in their mother’s footsteps. His eldest sister was a pediatrician back home in South Carolina. His other sister was nearing the end of her surgical residency.
With so many fine examples to look up to, Hilliard had done the only logical thing and become an actor. He’d arrived in Hollywood with several suitcases full of clothes exactly two weeks after his eighteenth birthday and never looked back.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of caring for others. In fact, he thrived on it. He never felt more at ease than when he had someone to look after. The problem was that he sometimes cared too much. The thought of seeing sick and injured babies day after day made his chest ache something awful. But he’d found over the last decade or so that he could use his strengths in other ways.
Playing a supporting role in a movie gave him just as many opportunities to work his magic in the background so that his leads could shine. Running lines together, talking through stage notes, making sure they were drinking enough water; it was all important. Having a tender heart was indeed the rarest and greatest gift of all in show business.
This was what he repeated to himself as he put his motor car in park outside the Pink Peacock nightclub on Hollywood Boulevard. He shut the door with a bump of his hip and began peeling off his leather driving gloves. A worried yip came from the passenger seat.
“I’ll only be a minute, princess,” he told the terrier. He’d named her Henrietta after his great aunt because they both had wild white hair and a feisty disposition. “I just have to rescue our favorite disaster first.”
