Free Bound To Him: Three Dates with a Billionaire by Emma Lyn Wild

blacks were hung on an open rail, and the wigs she would wear were ranged along one long shelf, like the heads in Madame Tussaud’s in London’s Chamber of Horrors. The room reeked of femininity, perfume and makeup.
    Once we were alone, she turned to me. “Do you think I should shave my head?” she said.
    I almost choked on my coffee. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I put my coffee on the nearest flat surface.
    “The ancient Egyptians shaved their heads. Since I’m wearing wigs it might be easier for me. And in the last scene, I can let it slip. The wig, that is.”
    “You’d do that?”
    She shrugged. “It grows back.” Finding a chair to sit on, she motioned me to the other, a rickety wooden affair covered in splatters of paint. “What is wrong with you?”
    “Pardon me?” Now she was scaring me even more. Was she psychic or something?
    “You were getting there, and now you’re as cold as yesterday’s pancakes. You even let your accent slip a few times, and you have one of the best English accents I’ve heard in an American.”
    “Sorry,” I mumbled. Just my luck that the director had decided to play this piece straight. We were stuck with togas, wigs and British accents. I couldn’t see us lasting long. Only the cognoscenti would want to see this. “I’ll get the accent right.”
    “Fuck the accent, darling. You’re acting like you have a stick up your arse. It might be a pretty arse, but the public are paying to see if you can pull it off. The play I mean,” she added as I burst into laughter.
    “Thanks for the compliment. At least I think that’s what it was. But the rest of it...” I shrugged. I should have known I couldn’t hide anything from her. We’d spent the morning being passionately in love and plotting against Julius Caesar and Pompey. “I can’t get into the love scenes, I know. Do you mind if we just block them today?”
    “I do mind. We’re opening in a week. You’re word perfect, but that’s about all. I’m having to act for two here.”
    I decided to get some of my own back for the arse crack. So to speak. “You’re pregnant?”
    “I might as well be.” She had a daughter in her late teens, so it was hardly likely. I’d only said it to rile her, and get her off my case. “I’d get better reaction from a baby. Look, Troy, you’re almost there. I don’t know what you want to do, but if you need to change a few things around to get into the part, I’ll help. Understand?”
    I frowned. Was she hitting on me? When we’d been here for weeks and she hadn’t tried a thing? I didn’t flatter myself, sometimes acting love on stage found its way behind the scenes, but I wasn’t even feeling that. I folded my arms. “What are you talking about?”
    “Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
    “You might say that.” I pulled my phone from my pocket. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I needed to know. Had the news broken yet?
    “So now you’re shutting me out?” she demanded. “You’re a box office draw. The public are salivating at the thought of us onstage together.” She put her hands on her slender hips. “Put that fucking thing away and concentrate.”
    Ah fuck. The whole world would know soon enough, so I should really tell her. “Here it is., then. I fucked up last night. I mean really fucked up.”
    She tilted her head to one side, her dark eyes gleaming. “Go on.”
    “I took a girl back to my hotel. I know, I haven’t done it all the time I’ve been here, I swear. I’m not a complete idiot, I know what trouble I’m in. But she — Cassie — was sweet and gorgeous and she was in trouble. She was with an old lecher, a colleague of my father’s. My dad despises him, so I was ready for trouble. Cassie shouldn’t have been with him, and she was out of her depth. So I rescued her, claimed she was with me and took her to my hotel. I thought I’d get her a cab and send her home. My good deed for the day. But one thing led to another,