Page 33 of The Actor and His Secret

Really could have used some honey with my tea this morning.

The message is simple, discreet, meaningless if anyone looked at it. No one would know it was meant for me.

But I do.

I hover my thumbs over the keyboard to start typing a reply, but my phone rings instead. It’s from a blocked number, and I roll my eyes. Sometimes journalists insist on using them, and it makes it hard to know whether I want to take the call or not. I sigh and answer.

‘Hello?’ I put on my consummate professional voice. ‘Oliver Cane speaking.’

For a moment, there’s only raspy, heavy breathing on the other end of the line. I almost hang up, considering it a wrong number or one of those annoying spam calls, but then the caller starts speaking.

‘I know what you did with him.’

My blood freezes instantly. ‘What?’

‘With Nikos Ridge. You kissed him in the elevator.’

I feel like I’m going to be sick. Who could have possibly known that? The voice doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever spoken to, so it’s not someone in the office. I know them all. We’re not a big team. And we were alone in the elevator too.

‘I have the pictures,’ the voice continues when I don’t say a word. ‘And I’ll show them to everyone, unless you get something for me.’

‘What?’’ I manage to croak out. I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like I’m going to vomit. I’m actually full-on shaking.

‘The watch that he wore to the movie premier,’ the caller says. ‘I need it by the end of the weekend. Leave it at your special place along the river, in a coffee cup, by 9am on Monday. Or those pictures are being sent to the Daily Mail. Tell anyone about this and the same thing happens. I’ll know. Trust me. If you tell Nikos, the photos will be plastered across every news site by next week. I’m not fucking around, Oliver.’

Today is Friday. That’s less than three days from now. Are we being stalked? He must be following us, because how else would he know that spot? How else would he know that Nikos and I had been there?

Before I can ask any questions to try and get answers, there’s a click on the other end of the line and the call ends. I toss my phone on my desk like it’s made of spiders and wrap my arms around myself.

This has to be some insane fan. I know that actors sometimes struggle with stalkers, with fans who take things way too far. This person has to want some memento of the premier, or they’re going to try to sell it at some auction for a load of money. And they’re going to ruin Nikos’ life unless I steal from him.

Nothing bad is going to happen to me if those pictures are revealed. They must be from the security camera and it’s not like people don’t know I’m gay. No one at work will care if I snogged someone in the elevator. They’d all clap me on the back, probably.

But it would ruin Nikos’ career. And he’s been very clear that he’s not out and doesn’t want to be. It’s why I’m his secret.

It’s why whatever this is between us has a two-week expiry date.

I can’t tell Nikos. I just have to do what the caller says. It’s not like he’s going to notice a missing watch. He’s probably got a million watches. And I’d be doing this to protect him.

‘Oli?’

I blink at the sound of my name. I look up, and Megan is standing there, a cup of coffee in her hands and a wrinkle between her eyebrows.

‘Are you alright? I said your name like three times.’

I wonder if I can speak without throwing up. ‘I must’ve eaten something bad. I’m not feeling good.’

‘Poor thing,’ Megan murmurs, but I don’t stop to talk to her. Instead, I get up and dash to the bathrooms, where I lock myself into a stall and proceed to throw up my breakfast - the breakfast I’d eaten in bed with Nikos. I’m a sweaty, dishevelled mess when I emerge, but I have to act like everything is alright. If I don’t, I’m putting Nikos at risk.

Megan is still sitting on my desk when I come back, and she takes one look at me and mother hens all over, pulling me into her office and then going to fetch a bag of ice from the fridge and a cup of peppermint tea.

‘Here.’ She shoves the tea at me and I grasp the mug in my clammy hands. She sits down on the couch next to me and puts the ice on the back of my neck.

‘Food poisoning is the worst,’ she says as she motions for me to drink the tea. ‘Hopefully it’s out of your system now. Do you need to go home?’

I shake my head, miserable. I’m not going home to my empty apartment to stew over the shit I’ve gotten us into. The ways in which I might hurt Nikos despite desperately not wanting to.

‘No,’ I sigh. ‘I’m good.’

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