Come Hell or Highball by Maia Chance Read Free Book Online Page B

the introductions.
    â€œIf you mean Bruno, he’s sunning himself by the swimming pool, darling,” Olive said. “Perhaps you ought to pop into your bathing costume, too, and join him. Nothing like a little fresh air and sunshine to—”
    â€œWhere’s my room?” Sadie said. Then, to George, “I told you I couldn’t bear it if everyone was going to push me to talk with Mr. Pipsqueak. And for God’s sake, George, would you stop pawing at my arm?” She swished toward the stairs. “I suppose my room is upstairs somewhere?”
    For a moment, Olive’s face fell. But she plastered on a smile—remembering, probably, that Sadie was going to be a big star—and scurried after her.
    â€œNasty piece of fluff,” George muttered.
    Whew! What a way to talk about your main squeeze.
    â€œSadie and Bruno,” George said to me as we followed Hibbers up the stairs, “—you’ve heard of Bruno Luciano?”
    â€œSure. Brightest new movie star of the year, the papers all say.”
    â€œSadie and Bruno are under contract to co-star in three pictures together. Production gets under way on the first one, and whaddaya know? They decide two weeks ago, when we start filming Jane Eyre, that they can’t stand the sight of each other.”
    â€œ Jane Eyre ?” I asked. “Sadie Street will play Jane?”
    â€œShe’s pretty convincing once she’s got the wig and everything on.”
    Mental memo: Skip that picture.
    â€œThe two of them have refused, flat out, to work together,” George said. “Pantheon’s investors are furious. I’ve got to get them to see eye to eye or we’ll be in the hole.”
    â€œCouldn’t you hire different actors?”
    â€œNo. They’re under contract.”
    â€œAren’t they breaking the contract themselves, by refusing to work?”
    George shook his head. “There are intricacies. Complications. No. They gotta be reconciled. And firing Bruno is absolutely out of the question. Didn’t you see The King of Sheba last fall?”
    â€œThe picture where Mr. Luciano was wearing a turban and all that kohl under his eyes?”
    â€œYep. That was the most profitable picture of 1922! We can’t let him go. Some other production company will snap him up. Pantheon needs him.”
    â€œWell,” I said, “maybe everything will get sorted this weekend.”
    â€œIt’s got to. The investors have given me a week to patch things up, or else it’s curtains for Sadie.”
    â€œHighball,” I mouthed to Hibbers when he glanced in my direction.

 
    6
    As soon as Hibbers left me in my room—a lofty affair with Olde Englishe replica furniture—Cedric leapt from my arms and began sniffing about.
    I went to the windows. Outside, the swimming pool glittered in the early evening sun, surrounded by topiary trees. Only one person was out there, lolling facedown on a teak lounge. A man, long and sun-bronzed, with a well-muscled physique and dark, curling hair, wearing small white bathing trunks. Bruno Luciano.
    I was about to turn away from the window when a manservant stepped into view beside the pool. He carried a tray with a drink on it. Something about his swagger caught my eye.
    The manservant bent down beside Bruno. Bruno said something without lifting his face. The manservant placed the drink on the table beside Bruno’s lounge, and straightened.
    Then he looked right up to my window.
    Well, well. Mr. Ralph Oliver.
    My fingernails clawed into the drapes.
    Ralph tucked the tray under his arm, grinned up at me. And winked. I snapped the drapes shut.
    *   *   *
    Hibbers arrived with my highball minutes later.
    â€œThanks,” I said after a bracing swallow. “Nectar of the gods.”
    â€œYou are very kind, madam.” He turned to go.
    â€œWait,” I said. “Is there any new help here at Dune House?