Colton's Mistaken Identity. Geri Krotow
his familiar white-toothed I-leave-hearts-crushed-with-every-footstep grin that she recognized from his film promos and it snapped it out of her sexual trance.
It was nothing like the smile she’d witnessed in her favorite work of his—an historical period piece where he’d played a struggling artist amid the French Revolution. While his smile was part of his trademark good looks, as he looked at her, she was aware that there was more to this man than his celebrity. And he knew how to turn it on and off, not a virtue of many people she’d met who lived in the spotlight.
“Okay, then. Nice to meet you, Prescott.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Skye.” Phoebe didn’t like lying, ever, yet as she stood in the middle of the grand ballroom, her hair and makeup perfectly done in Skye’s signature style, it was surprisingly easy to fall into the role. Save for Skye’s effervescent presence. And extreme comfort around attractive, powerful men.
“You must be very excited for tonight. I’ll be announcing each of you, I mean the VIPs, as you arrive.” She’d watched from the sidelines as her twin had handled actors over the past three years since they’d both left college. Skye made it look so easy, but Phoebe was drained at the mere thought of having to play “happy to meet you” with countless actors.
He shrugged, his tall, muscular frame formidable in measure but his energy anything but. He made her feel as though she were the only person he wanted to be with. No doubt all part of his practiced Hollywood charm.
“It’s a thrill to know the world’s going to finally see something I worked so hard on, but to be frank, I left this film’s set almost a year ago. My mind is on other...projects.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, his flirting was so obvious. “I’ll bet it is.” It seemed silly, but she went ahead and batted her eyes anyway. And immediately felt like Skye. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t really her twin, please forgive her, and would he call her Phoebe?
But she couldn’t. So she smiled, content to soak up his aura of good cheer as pseudo-Skye.
He smiled back, but it wasn’t the predatory grin of a man on the prowl. She’d watched plenty of actors behave poorly over the years, and this wasn’t it. Prescott seemed relaxed, and there was a special light in his eyes that she couldn’t attribute to the chandeliers, as they weren’t fully lit yet. She didn’t know the man, but if she had to name it, she’d say he was happy. A man in his element. Exactly where he wanted to be.
And oddly enough, he appeared a little...nervous?
“Please, Mr.—ah, Prescott, let me know if there’s anything you need while you’re our guest. The Chateau aims to please, and we want to make sure your every need is met to your specifications.” The Chateau’s mission statement rolled off her tongue, and she had to refrain from biting it.
He shook his head, looked away, as if gathering courage. Courage, to speak to her? No, wait—he thought he was talking to Skye. And she looked like Skye. A sad spurt of disappointment blossomed. He’d never know her as herself. Of course, he’d never be interested in Phoebe Colton, so she’d best count her blessings where she could.
“I, ah, know that you’re in the middle of the event planning, but is there any chance you’d have some time for me over the next several days?”
Crap. Playing her sister Skye was one thing, and Skye would definitely jump at the chance to get to know Prescott Reynolds better. But she wasn’t Skye, she was Phoebe and she didn’t want to add guilt to the list of emotions she was dealing with.
Where are you, Skye?
She smiled at Prescott. “Are you in need of a companion for any of the events?” Maybe that’s what he’d meant. The Chateau didn’t usually provide dates for their guests, but she supposed she could take a request for an escort to Mara and have her to worry about it.
“No, no. Nothing at all like that.” He shook it off dismissively. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go on a date with me. Although, in this environment, privacy is hard to come by. I can’t expect you to want to jump into the midst of a horde of paparazzi, and I don’t want that anyhow.” He sighed. “I’m screwing this up so badly. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, and I was wondering, if you’re also single, if you’d like to at least have a cup of coffee together?”
Phoebe couldn’t speak for a full moment. Prescott Reynolds, movie star extraordinaire, was behaving like a sixteen-year-old asking a date to prom. And coffee...he wasn’t trying to impress her with expensive wine or a fancy meal, as she’d watched wealthy men do with Skye. He was asking her to see him as any other guy who’d ask her out.
Which, whether she was Skye or Phoebe, was impossible. There was no question she needed to decline his endearing request.
“Of course. I’d love to spend time with you.” As soon as she spoke, she bit her tongue, hard. This was so not the time for her girl parts to begin calling the shots.
Prescott’s entire countenance lifted.
“Really? That’s great. Really, really great. Want to meet for a walk tomorrow morning? To be honest, I’m glad it was your sister who’s the runner. I’m a hiker. Running is something my knees gave up after I stopped playing rugby in college.”
What had she done? Nerves assaulted her, and she wished she could take her words back. This man thought she was Skye, and he wanted to get to know her. It would mean more than a walk through the woods if Prescott’s tabloid reports were any indication. This would be difficult enough if she were able to be herself, and not have to put on the exuberant act, but considering the circumstances...
It’s only for a week.
And what did Mara say? Coltons do whatever it takes to get the job done. The leading male actor in the film festival wanted to have coffee with her, to go on a hike, maybe more. In less than a week he’d be gone, and she’d be just another woman he’d been with to help while away the time. How much damage could it do to go along with it?
“I’ll meet you in front of the gym’s outside doors at six tomorrow morning.” Her mouth moved of its own volition, and Phoebe could hardly believe what she’d just agreed to.
Was she insane?
He lifted his arms as if he was going to embrace her, and then stopped, his expression unreadable.
“Make it five thirty, if that’s okay. And thank you, Skye.” He tipped his ball cap to her and left the ballroom, his footsteps silent once he stepped onto the plush red carpet.
Unlike her heartbeat, which clanged in her ears.
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