Colton's Mistaken Identity, page 3
“Just make sure you keep up with your security detail.” Jon’s reminder was warranted—some strange things had happened over the past several months, from weird packages being mailed to his home to random scathing voice mails from Ariella herself. But Prescott still didn’t like to dwell on it.
“The team’s here, and we’re talking. I won’t go anywhere without them, save for my room.” Which, as it was located in The Chateau, was surrounded by the top security in the business. “I am grateful to stay here this year, away from the throngs. Thanks for setting it up for me.”
“You’ve earned it, and it’s a nice break from being in downtown Roaring Springs. As small as that town is, it explodes into a mini–New York City for the film festival.”
Prescott agreed. “Jon, I’m sorry if I’m coming off like a dick. I’d hoped that Ariella and our breakup would be far behind me by now.”
“Sometimes the media can’t let go of it, Prescott. Either way, anything you can do to be seen with other single women this week would be a plus.”
Prescott ended the call and any thoughts of finding another actress to connect with. He’d carefully avoided any romantic commitments this entire year, keeping dates to one-night events and eschewing the Hollywood social scene. His ex had done the exact opposite, including getting herself kicked out of bars and fired from her last film set. No wonder she’d amped up her attempts to get his attention—he’d only ever been a celebrity ticket to her.
If he were to ever get involved with another woman again, as more than a sexual interest, it wouldn’t be with a celebrity.
That had to be why the image of the redheaded runner kept flitting through his mind. She’d been attractive, mysterious, and he hadn’t recognized her as anyone involved in the industry.
Prescott didn’t believe in fate.
He looked around the view of the resort property from his balcony and absorbed as much of the good nature vibes as he could. A small movement in one of the trees caught his eye and he set his mug down, intent to spy a bear or large raptor. It was impossible to tell what he’d noticed from this far away, though, as the tree line began a full half mile from the The Chateau.
Who was he kidding? The tight knot of apprehension in his gut hadn’t loosened since Ariella had begun her constant attempts to reconnect with him. Now he was getting paranoid, feeling as though she was around every corner, in each dark shadow that crossed his path. She didn’t have the money to travel here, much less stay in Roaring Springs during the film festival.
No matter how much he tried to approach his anxiety with logic, it never left. Ariella had done more than scar his heart—she’d taught him that you never really knew a person even after you’d lived with them.
Chapter 3
The rest of Phoebe’s morning went as planned, with several short meetings with the event staff and regular team to ensure everyone knew what was expected of them. She’d gotten through the ballroom meeting with Mara and told her mother that Skye had texted her back. But she didn’t tell her mother exactly what her twin had said, hoping to delay Mara’s descent into festival madness.
At ten minutes past noon, however, there was no more stalling. Skye still hadn’t answered back and was nowhere in sight. So she’d been forced to spill the beans to her mom.
Phoebe gritted her teeth. She was going to make Skye pay the next time she saw her. Maybe for that nice pair of leather-strap sandals she’d been eyeing in The Chateau’s boutique. They were still expensive with their employee discount, but since Skye’s departure at the worst time for the festival meant maximum distress for Phoebe, she figured it was the least her sister could do.
However, for now, she had to survive her mother’s attempts at making her look like her twin.
“Hold still.” Mara waved a pair of very sharp shears too close to Phoebe’s eyes.
“Please, Mom, let Amber do it.” They were in The Chateau’s spa, and Mara had actually canceled a regular client’s standing appointment so that Amber could fit Phoebe in. Mara’s dismissal of a client’s needs underscored the absolute necessity for the festival to go off without a hitch.
“I’ve got it.” Amber, the spa’s most congenial employee, took the scissors from Mara and motioned for Mara to stand back. She smiled at Phoebe, her white teeth stunning against her dark skin. “We’ll have you Skye-a-fied in no time.” They’d let Amber in on what had to happen. It would be bad PR for word to get out that Skye was out of the area for any reason, and most importantly, Mara didn’t want it to be discovered that Skye had been dumped in such a shoddy manner. To avoid in-depth explanations, it was easiest to let Phoebe play Skye for the immediate future. With so little time and such huge stakes at hand, there was no choice. Although Phoebe would have preferred to keep Mara’s shenanigans on the covert side. If she was going to commit a huge deception, she didn’t want everyone to know about it.
“This is crazy. It’ll never work. And Skye’s going to show up at any minute.” Her voice sounded a lot more confident than she felt.
“We can’t count on that, Phoebe.” Mara spoke as Amber snipped away at her crimson locks, the same shade as her twin’s but much longer and straighter. Phoebe wore her hair long and sleek and couldn’t be bothered to blow-dry and curl it for the time it took Skye to get her perfectly natural-looking hairdo to fan perfectly around her face and shoulders. She watched her sodden locks drop onto the protective salon cape that draped from her shoulders and she wanted to scream.
“It’s official. I’m going to kill my sister.”
“This isn’t the time to talk like that.” Mara’s quick admonishment made Phoebe cringe. Her mother had been through enough and had the weight of the festival launch event on her shoulders. “It’s only the first day of the festival, and after you cover the press conference and gala red carpet, Skye will no doubt come waltzing in and take over the rest of the week.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, Mom. Ow!” Sharp pains ran from her skull to her nape as Amber used a wide-tooth comb on the back of her hair.
“Sorry, hon, but you’ve got a snag back here.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just cut away. As long as we got the long ponytail in one piece to donate for children’s wigs, I don’t care what you have to do now.” Phoebe had been meaning to cut her hair for the last several months and she’d found a charity that accepted long lengths to make wigs that helped out kids going through chemo treatments.
“You’re a champ for doing this for us on such short notice, Amber.” Mara at least had the decency to look apologetic to the hairstylist. As if reading Phoebe’s thoughts, she turned her gaze back to her in the mirror. “You, too, sweetheart. I know you’re already swamped with all the extra business this month.”
“You’re the one who trained me, Mom. Stepping up is what a Colton does.” Besides, most of what she did was via financial software. Once she set up an event, the invoices usually tracked pretty seamlessly. Automatically. Unlike today, so far.
“We can’t afford to make a public mistake. Not with the reservations down and the bad news trying to stomp out the good PR we planned for the festival.”
“I understand, I really do. It’ll work out, Mom. It always does.” Phoebe tried to reconcile the image that emerged with each cut of Amber’s shears to her response. Skye was naturally upbeat and would have sat here laughing at their mom’s concerns, cheering her up in a flash, unlike Phoebe, who considered herself more like a quiet strength in the family.
Maybe being Skye for a bit wouldn’t be so bad. It might break her out of the social and dating rut she’d been in over the past few months.
“Are the biggest actors here yet?” Phoebe didn’t think she’d be able to pull a real Skye move and personally introduce herself to the key players ahead of the gala, but she did want to be prepared.
“Not officially.” Mara watched as Phoebe transformed into Skye. Amber had started to blow-dry her hair using a ridiculously huge round brush, and both Mara and Phoebe were shouting over the dryer’s roar.
“But?”
Mara shrugged as she watched Amber brush out a long length of hair close to Phoebe’s temple and curl it backward, aiming the dryer nozzle to set the curl. “Several have checked in under their assumed names.”
“Do we have Mr. Sherlock Holmes or Ms. Elizabeth Bennett here?”
“No, nothing that obvious.”
“Mom? Who is it?” It wasn’t like Mara to be cagey or without information she could trust Phoebe with.
“The lead.”
“Prescott Reynolds?” Immediately the image of two aquamarine-blue eyes flashed in front of her mind’s eye. They drew her attention every time she saw a photo of the actor, or caught one of his movies. Tall, with dark hair and a cut body that he’d partially bared in more than one romantic scene, he fit the description of “tall, dark and handsome” but she sensed something else there, maybe true depth to his personality that so far, many of the men she’d dated had lacked. Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. Phoebe wasn’t one for celebrity culture and gossip—that was more Skye’s department. But he had starred in several historical dramas that she’d adored, not only for the beautiful settings and superb cinematography.
“Yummy.” Amber didn’t hide her opinion of the Oscar-nominated star.
“Yes.” Mara spoke so quietly it was only the movement of her lips that conveyed her response over the hair dryer’s noise. She looked at her with the same eyes Phoebe and Skye had. “Prescott is here already, but I haven’t seen him.”
“Well, we’ll meet him tonight.” Which was soon enough for her. Skye was going to show up, wasn’t she?
Not if Phoebe went by her twin’s last text.
Amber clicked off the dryer. “Okay, close your eyes while I spray.”
She closed her eyes and tried to relax as Amber doled out what felt like half a container of hairspray onto her “Skye” coif. After she was done, her mother and Amber fussed over her makeup application, matching her style exactly to Skye’s. While they were indeed identical twins, their personalities reflected in clothing styles as well as hair and makeup preferences. Skye loved more sparkling shades of eye shadow and lipstick, while Phoebe gravitated toward a more natural, polished look. And while Phoebe had intended to cut her hair after the festival, her cut would have been a fun chin-length bob, not the longish layers that required hot rollers and half a paycheck’s worth of hairspray.
It didn’t matter, though, as she’d peeked at the finished style and figured cutting off several more inches to attain the bob wouldn’t be a problem. She’d just have to wait until either Skye returned or the festival ended.
Annoyance flashed in her gut. Why was she so agreeable all the time?
“Here, let’s use Skye’s favorite perfume on you.” Her mother plucked a round glass bottle from the spa’s vanity.
Phoebe held up her hands, causing Amber to freeze midair with the mascara wand. “No. I am not going to smell like Skye. Look like her, act like her, fine. Please hand me the clear bottle, that one.” She pointed at her favorite scent, a very light floral with tones of linen. Skye’s signature scent was musky and overtly sensual. Phoebe liked it, too—on Skye.
For the next hour Phoebe could pretend that the worst thing facing The Chateau and the Coltons was her having to pose as her twin. It was impossible to forget the ever-present fear that smothered her positive ideas whenever she wondered why Skye hadn’t texted back again. Her thoughts kept jumping to the horrible conclusion that the Avalanche Killer had somehow found Skye and harmed her.
Stop it. She texted back, she’s fine.
Yeah, staying present by helping Mara and Amber pick out the makeup Skye would wear was a much better place to stay in.
* * *
Prescott liked his private time but could only stay in his hotel room for so long. He’d checked in to The Chateau last night under an assumed name, as he didn’t want the staff fussing over him before the big premiere. The staff knew their jobs well and never blinked when he’d presented his credit card. He’d noticed a few extra glances here and there, but no one had approached him for a selfie, and no camera phones had been aimed at him. None that he could see, anyway.
The hotel was remarkable. Unlike so many high-end places he’d stayed in around the world, The Chateau wasn’t just a catchy name. The entire building was styled like a French countryside manor, only larger. The huge fieldstone hearth in the entrance lobby looked like the perfect place to relax après ski, and it proved a good space to hunker down on an overstuffed leather chair, his baseball cap pulled low to hide his face. The coffee was excellent, and he’d enjoyed an espresso this morning but now was sipping a freshly made iced tea. He’d have to go upstairs to his room in a few minutes and get ready for the gala tonight, but right now he was enjoying people watching.
Prescott liked people, and he gained tremendous satisfaction from playing different characters on film and stage. His film career had soared over the past five years, but given his druthers he’d take a stage production any day.
The dream he’d nurtured for the past year or so was to open a summer theater back in his Iowa hometown. A place for young kids like he’d been to go and find themselves amid the rich stories playwrights provided, from Greek tragedy to contemporary, avant-garde works.
A flash of red, the distinct shade he’d first laid eyes on this morning in the copse of aspen trees, caught his attention. The same woman he’d seen on the trail walked past him and began to climb the stairs to the grand ballroom. He knew where the impressive stairs led, as he’d already memorized the layout of the hotel. His privacy had necessitated he know every nook and cranny to escape to if the paparazzi became rabid.
She wasn’t in running clothes any longer, and her hair was styled to show off the unique hue. From her profile he saw that she was wearing makeup, a little much for his taste, but he was used to being around women who enjoyed dolling themselves up. It was all part of being an actor.
This woman intrigued him when she shouldn’t. And yet as she’d walked by, oblivious to him, he’d caught a whiff of floral perfume that captured him like a trout in a net. The sight of her profile again, this time with makeup on and offset by the backdrop of the luxurious resort, struck a chord deep inside him. Prescott wasn’t a stranger to immediate attraction but this took it to a new place for him. Besides the obvious physical pull of her beauty, he sensed the potential for something deeper, more meaningful, between them.
What the heck was going on with him?
She wasn’t wearing anything exciting, and her business suit didn’t show off her curves as well as her workout clothing had. Still, in the view he had of her backside, there was no denying her very feminine shape under the jacket and dress pants. Insta-lust made him pause, not wanting to get an erection in public.
You’ve been alone too long.
After what he’d been through with his ex, he knew better than to even look twice at this stunning woman. But he couldn’t help himself. Truth be told, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Nor how relieved he’d felt when he’d realized she wasn’t trailing him. It was always in the back of his mind that Ariella could show up again, and her penchant for ugliness wasn’t something he relished. He’d been drawn to Ariella’s intelligence and quick wit. And it had worked for a while, until her true nature of career-climbing at the expense of the men in her life reappeared. Or maybe he’d simply come out of his denial about her dark side. Either way, it had been a rough go of it for his dating life ever since.
But the redhead... His gut told him to go after her.
He didn’t entertain the rational side of his brain that told him he was out of his league. That not everyone was impressed by actors, not that he ever consciously used his job or status to seduce a woman. He believed more in allowing an attraction to grow organically.
This inexplicable urge to talk to the stranger, the only redhead he’d seen at The Chateau, was definitely organic on his part. But would she think he was odd?
What if she wasn’t available? Preston stopped midway up the staircase. He hadn’t even considered that she might be with someone already. Hell, she could even be married.
Chill, dude.
Prescott hadn’t had to go after a woman in years. And he missed it. The constant attention from the opposite sex had been heady when he’d arrived in Hollywood and been cast in his first roles ten, twelve years ago. But it quickly grew old, and he didn’t want to spend time with someone who only saw him as an actor. The redhead clearly worked here or had a role to play in the film fest, so she was probably used to celebrities. Would she see past the Caribbean-blue eyes that had become his trademark? Not that he’d ever expected to be known for his eyes. His dream wasn’t even so much to be recognized for his acting as to be give the opportunities to bring meaningful roles to life. He wasn’t a fan of the celebrity culture that came with it but he understood it was all part of the gig. Except when he wanted a woman to see him as more than a contender for a tabloid’s annual sexiest man.
He walked through open, massive carved oak doors and into the hotel’s pièce de résistance—the grand ballroom. The floor was entirely parquet but covered with a huge red carpet that ran into its center, where the area delineated for dancing remained clear. Hundreds if not a full thousand round tables framed the open area, the crystal chandeliers catching the fading sunlight, their bulbs still dim. Soon they’d be bright and the room a cacophony of press, actors, studio executives and the teams of people it took to make it all happen.
It was that rare quiet moment before a major event launched. Right now it was hushed as workers rapidly set tables and moved last-minute lighting equipment into place. A DJ set up in a far corner of the room, her control panel as large as any he’d ever seen in a concert. But in another hour and a half, it would burst to life with an entirely different personality.
