Method Acting: An opposites attract, found family romance (Center Stage Book 2) by Adele Buck (web based ebook reader txt) 📕

Alicia could see something of Mrs. Lloyd-Hudson in her delicate cheekbones. A deep purple silk evening gown hugged her curvy figure. Colin’s tuxedo fit smoothly across his shoulders, not a hair too tight as it had been the night of the gala. They looked polished and cultured. The text underneath made Alicia’s stomach wrench even harder. Tressa Lloyd-Hudson and Colin St. Cyr at the Pediatric Cancer Society Ball.

She should stop here. Knowing more was only going to hurt more.

Alicia opened a new tab and ran another search.

Colin was putting some final touches on the marketing pitch to the potential new client when an incoming Skype alert popped and purred on his computer screen. Sighing when he saw who it was, he clicked to answer it, and his sister’s face filled the screen.

“Evening, Gemma. Why are you up so late?”

“Why are you still at work?” she said.

“It’s only six here. Which makes it midnight for you.”

“As if that’s late for me. It’s Friday. Simon tells me you have a lady friend. Why aren’t you getting ready to take her out?”

He was going to tear his older brother a new one. “Had. Past tense. She broke up with me over a week ago.”

Gemma’s large, dark eyes narrowed. “So not the same trouble as the last one, then?”

“It’s good to know you haven’t learned tact. Never change, Gem.”

His sister waved a hand, bracelets chiming as they slid down her wrist. “Tact is for strangers, not family.”

“Speaking of strangers, why are you calling me now?”

“Dad says he hasn’t been able to get you on the phone. I wanted to check in…and because, unlike him, I use modern technology, I can see when you’re online.”

“Sneaky. What a very good daughter you are.”

“I’m serious. He gets lonely. He wants you to come home—and I know, you’re not moving back.” Her hand flew up again, obscuring most of her face as she held it in front of her computer’s camera. She peeked around her fingers. “But it’s been a long time since you’ve been home. I think it’s past time for a visit. Besides. This came in the post.” She waggled a wrapped parcel at the camera. “Turns out you’re a good brother after all.”

Colin suppressed a smile. “As if I would forget your birthday, Gem.”

Gemma had the package unwrapped in an instant, and her face went slack with shock. “A first edition?”

Heat crawled up Colin’s neck. “I saw it in the window of a shop. I thought you would appreciate it.”

His sister’s eyes, large and liquid, swiveled to meet his, an ocean away. She petted the cover of the book. “You’re officially the best brother ever.”

“I know I am. Simon doesn’t have a chance.”

“I wasn’t finished. You’re the best if you come home for a visit.”

Colin leaned back, the leather of his office chair squeaking. Gemma was on her sofa. He could see the corner of an unfamiliar painting on the wall behind her. “Did you get some new art?”

She scowled, her chin-length hair swinging forward as she ducked her face at the screen. “Don’t change the subject. Are you this obvious when you’re trying to get those American parliamentarians to do the things you want them to do?”

Rubbing his face, Colin shook his head. “No, I have a far easier time with them. You know me too well.”

Gemma inhaled sharply. “Anyway. A visit. Think about it. Dad misses you. He’s not getting any younger.”

“Feel free to bring out the heavy guilt artillery.” He considered the congressional calendar. Maybe he could get away for a week or so. It would be nice to get out of the heat for once.

“I’ll do whatever I please.”

He suppressed the desire to stick his tongue out at her. “Still the same sister who sat on my head.”

“You were a pill.”

“I was five.”

“So, by definition, a pill. A visit. Think about it.”

“I will.”

It wasn’t like there was anything—or anyone—keeping him from doing exactly what he wanted to do. If he really wanted to visit home. And now that he was thinking about it, the idea of going home—for a visit only—sounded oddly comforting.

The thought sat like lead in his brain.

Enough. Alicia put her iPad on the coffee table and lay back on the couch. Society photographs had led to Facebook posts and Tressa Lloyd-Hudson’s LinkedIn page and other media mentions of her.

She was a high-end professional party planner. Her father was Colin’s boss. She was a Southern belle who had attended finishing schools and gone to cotillions and had been in a sorority at an Ivy League college.

Of course she had.

With each new bit of information, a slow, throbbing ache grew in Alicia’s head. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Her phone buzzed with a text message. Alicia groaned and picked it up.

When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? The text from Kathleen was accompanied by a selfie of her and Wendy, apparently in a bar. They snarled, lips curled and eyes distorted, pointing to the space between them as if to indicate that Alicia should be there, the absent third of Macbeth’s witches.

While Alicia tried to think of a response, another message popped up. Girl. We miss you. Celebrating my new gig. How’s the glamorous life? There was another selfie attached—Kathleen was typically, well, Kathleen. Her eyes were fixed on the camera, but her tongue was sticking sideways as if she was about to put it in Wendy’s ear. Wendy’s eyes were closed tight, grimacing as if she knew what Kathleen was up to and couldn’t bear to look.

Alicia’s thumbs tapped the screen. Glamorous? The shoes are hell. Do you know a nice foot doctor? One who makes house calls?

A pause, then three dots pulsing. What happened to Mr. Sexy Lobbyist? Doesn’t he make house calls to give you foot rubs?

The headache tightened its grip, a band of pain around her forehead.

That’s over. She laid the phone on her belly and stared up at the ceiling of her apartment.