Free Command Performance by Annabel Joseph Page A

photograph me.”
    He ran his thumb over her hand, squeezing her fingers. “They will tonight. But you’re probably getting used to it.” There’d been paparazzi camped out for days at her little house in suburban L.A. Her father had called to insist he do something about it, but Mason had very little power over them.
    She shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. You deal with it all the time, a thousand times worse than I do.”
    There was that, then, to lessen his guilt. When he let her go, the paparazzi wouldn’t hound her like they were now. That would be a relief to her, surely.
    When they arrived, he got out first. A hundred flashes went off as he reached down to help her from the car. Mr. Chow’s always told the paps which celebrities had reservations, and with Mason and his new date expected, there were droves of press on the curb. He was used to the yelling and jostling, but he fretted over Miri’s little glance of alarm, and the way she tried to hide it behind a forced smile. Inside the restaurant, things weren’t much better. He’d asked for a private table but they were put on display in the center. Lots of stars around them, lots of schmoozing. By the time the food arrived he felt frazzled, and he was sure Miri felt worse. Even though she’d claimed to be starving, Mason noted she ate almost nothing at all.
    Well, the party would be better. More private, less frenetic. An aspiring actress like Miri would be thrilled to hobnob with so many industry people. Not just actors, but directors, producers, big money folks. They sailed into the luxe ballroom together, her sweaty hand clutching his.
    “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered as a photographer swept by to capture a discreet pic. “These are just people. Remember that.”
    She smiled up at him. “I know. I remember when you freaked me out big time. Now you’re just a person. A really wonderful person,” she added with another worshipful gaze.
    Jesus Christ. The guilt. He kissed her, a short, sweet kiss. Was it only because the photog was still there sneaking pictures? No, it was because she was kind and effusive and...authentic. He looked around the room. Jeremy and Nell. Great to see them but he didn’t dare hang out with them. He saw the director of his last film, the one before Revelation . Nice guy. Slightly crazy. Gareth was there too. He came over to greet the two of them and they small talked for a while. Mason could see Gareth trying to ferret out the truth from their body language, their responses. Were they really together? Mason knew everyone suspected it was a stunt. Everyone but the American public—who wanted this fairy tale—and Miri, who thought he was a really wonderful person .
    Well, he did feel like a wonderful person around her, when he wasn’t fantasizing about cuffing her to a rack and forcing his cock into her virgin ass. She made him want to be a wonderful person rather than the oversexed pervert he knew himself to be, so he set about introducing her to any influential people he came across. There was a lot of good shop talk about big projects, even if Miri wasn’t in any of them. Yet. In a very promising powwow, a producer Mason respected very much asked her where she was planning to take her career. Mason hovered like a nervous parent, but she held her own. By the end of the conversation, the producer gave her his card and urged her to contact him. When the man left, Miri grasped Mason’s hand and squeezed it secretly, as if to say, Holy hell .
    He leaned down to give her a quick nuzzle. “He liked you. You’re good at this.”
    She sagged against his side. “I’m freaking out.”
    Mason turned and watched in dread as David Ferris, arrogant producer and all around annoying blowhard, swaggered up to him, extending his hand. When Mason pretended not to see it, David clapped him on the arm instead—and he wasn’t a weak guy. Mason attempted a smile. David was powerful enough in Hollywood that a star of Mason’s