Free Masquerade by Janette Rallison

good that the old saying is true then. ‘There’s more than one fish in the sea.’”
    She reached out and put a hand on his arm . Her pale pink lips parted slightly, seductively. “It’s also true you always remember the fish that got away.”
    And then Slade recalled the other thing about Natalie. Back when they were working on Mermaid Island , she made passes at him on a daily basis. He considered it harmless flirting at first. Then one day she showed up in his trailer wearing nothing but seashells. He’d had to emphasize, strenuously, that he was happily married. Back then he still believed it was a happy marriage.
    Natalie leaned toward Slade and ran a finger across his arm. “I was sorry when I heard that you and Evelyn split up. All that fidelity for nothing.”
    “Well, sometimes that’s how it goes.” Slade glanced around to see if the other prop people were watching them. They had all disappeared except for one guy across the room. He was pulling assault rifles from a box, looking them over, and then putting them back.
    “Fidelity is overrated in my opinion,” Natalie purred.
    “And underrated in mine.”
    She took her hand from his arm and slowly pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her long fingernails were gold, matching the rings she wore on her fingers. “The cast is having a luau tonight at the resort. You’ll come, won’t you? There will be dancing.”
    Instead of answering her, he fingered a nearby police hat . “What are you doing here with the cast, anyway? Are you guest starring?”
    Casually, she leaned up against one of the crates and watched him. The pose was calculated. Alluring. “No. Actually, I’m here with my boyfriend.”
    “Really? Does he share your views about fidelity?”
    She laughed, a soft tinkling sound like water falling. “Drinks are at five thirty. Roasted pig is at six. AJ is hosting. Is he the one you want to pitch your script to?”
    Slade nodded. “He’s the man.”
    “I can help you with it then.”
    Somehow Slade knew, before he even asked, what the answer to his next question would be. “And how would you do that?”
    “I’ll get you a seat at our table. AJ’s and mine.”
    “He’s your boyfriend ?” It was more of a statement than a question.
    “I don’t mind helping you out, Slade. I want to do it.” She flashed him a smile that lit up the blue in her eyes. “Shall I put you on the guest list? The security is going to be tight.”
    “Having trouble with fans?”
    “No, with the press.”
    “You didn’t seem to have problems with them last night.” He tapped his thumb against the crate and cringed at the memory. “It looked like you invited every reporter on this side of the Pacific to come out and meet you.”
    “It’s not the local press that’s giving us grief. It’s the tabloids. Ever hear of Sylvia Stanfield?”
    The name rang a bell —and not a smooth, melodic bell, but the shrill clanging of an alarm clock. “Sylvia Stanfield?” he repeated.
    “ The Scoop magazine.” Natalie overpronounced each word, as though the syllables themselves were sharp.
    “Ah, yes, The Scoop.” One of those horrible tell-alls that only told enough to fuel its readers’ imagination. “I’ve always wondered what exactly it was scooping out.”
    “N ot only is Sylvia producing fiction for it, she’s also started one of those TV gossip bits. It’s called the Hollywood Dish, and lately the Undercover Agents cast has been the main course. It’s driving us crazy.”
    Now Slade remembered Sylvia. He could picture her sitting behind her news desk, her shoulder-length, dark hair pulled back into a bun, a full set of shiny white teeth set in the middle of wide cheeks. The cheeks were wide because she was on the plump side, but also because she smiled so continually that her cheek muscles had probably grown to be the strongest in her body.
    That was the thing about Sylvia. She smiled in a calm , regal manner as she sat on TV devouring