The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,43
TV shows rather than waste my time doing he-man stunts.”
In the past, Rory wouldn’t bother responding. But as he caught sight of Samira staring at them with curiosity, he had to shut this dickhead up once and for all.
“Some of us aren’t built for stunt work,” he drawled, sending a pointed glare at Benedict’s biceps. The guy obviously worked out—he had to, in order to keep landing hosting gigs—but his muscle definition had nothing on Rory’s. “And from what I hear, the producers of Renegades are looking for someone with an impressive physique.”
This time, when Rory laughed in obvious dismissal of Benedict as a threat, he flushed a furious puce. “Brains will always trump brawn.”
“So I’m guessing my economics degree might come in handy after all?”
Surprise glinted in Benedict’s eyes, before they narrowed with malice. “You’re a smart-ass.”
“And you’re just an ass.”
“Fuck you,” Benedict muttered under his breath, making Rory’s hands curl into fists.
He’d never forgotten their first run-in four years ago, when Rory had plucked up the courage to audition for a speaking part in a local sitcom. He’d avoided speaking roles until then, but Amelia had encouraged him, and not wanting to disappoint her, he’d stepped up.
It had been an unmitigated disaster. His nerves had got the better of him, and every technique Amelia had ever taught him to manage his stutter had flown out the window, leaving him a blathering mess. His humiliation had been witnessed by Benedict, who’d thought it hilarious to mimic him as he’d stridden off the stage, his cheeks burning, his pride shattered.
He’d hated him ever since.
As if nailing the Renegades audition hadn’t been important enough for the housing commission kids, the moment he’d learned Benedict Dixon would be up for the same role, it had become imperative he land it.
Not that he could tell Samira any of that, and he’d stupidly taken his foul mood out on her. The shock of learning she was Benedict Dixon’s dialect coach had shaken him, and he’d behaved like an idiot.
“So there’s an us?” had been the dumbest response, designed to hurt her as much as her cool indifference had hurt him.
But hers had been based in professionalism. What was his excuse?
Yesterday afternoon at her place had been phenomenal, and they’d confirmed they were dating. And what had he done? Flung it back in her face like a jerk. He’d been so tempted to go after her and apologize earlier but had needed time to cool down. Bad enough he had a meeting scheduled with his agent to get the latest update on the Renegades role hot on the heels of running into his rival; he couldn’t afford to show up rattled. So he let her go, giving them both time to cool it before he reached out.
For now, he had to focus and get the lowdown on the biggest role of his career.
He entered the café on South Wharf and spotted Chris, talking on his phone. Chris caught sight of him and waved him over, and as Rory made his way to the table, he wondered how far he could push for information.
He liked Chris, despite them being opposites. Chris was flashy, confident, and garrulous, the perfect pushy agent. He’d intimidated Rory at first, but he’d soon learned in this industry an agent was essential to getting regular work, and he’d appreciated Chris’s enthusiasm and dedication to his clients.
When Rory reached the table, Chris hung up and stuck out his hand. “Hey, mate, how’s it going?”
“Good.”
Rory sat, and a waitress instantly appeared to take their order: a short black for him, a skinny almond latte for Chris. His agent always ordered the weirdest drinks.
“How are the dialect coaching sessions coming along?”
“Great.”
Chris chuckled. “You’re a man of few words. I hope you’re going to say more at the Renegades audition.”
“Of course.”
Rory would recite the alphabet backward a hundred times to guarantee he got the gig.
“You know how I mentioned Benedict Dixon is your biggest rival for the role?”
Rory immediately tensed at the mention. “Yeah.”
“Turns out he’s not so popular with some of the channel executives at the moment. Something to do with chatting up one of their daughters.” He shook his head and wrinkled his nose like he’d smelled something bad. “Anyway, he’s going all out to land this gig as a bit of a comeback for him, so just thought I’d warn you to put in as many hours as you can with the dialect coach to get up to scratch.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
Great, that