Colton's Mistaken Identity. Geri Krotow
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the process, which had been pretty messy when Mara ran it. Her mother was more about keeping guests comfortable and well fed, while Phoebe was far more interested in the operational part of a business. The rest of the year she did the books, but during film fest week she liked to think of herself as a producer.
Not tonight.
Her legs quavered like a brook’s water trickling over craggy rocks as she approached the spot where she’d stand on the landing, microphone in hand, to greet each actor, film VIP and celebrity. Skye had worked out a deal with a major network last year, and the producers had spoken to Phoebe after the press conference. They’d gone over each part of the red carpet, including the opening ceremony, which would include the moment of silence she’d already briefed the press about.
“Hey, Skye.” Remy Colton, Phoebe’s cousin and the Colton empire’s public relations director, stood in front of her. The tall man exuded confidence and calm amid the chaos of pre-event preparation. Next to him was his maternal half-brother, Seth Harris, who had similar hazel-green eyes and brown-blond hair but whose temperament Phoebe had never synced with. Still, they worked well enough together during festival week.
“Hi yourself, Remy. Seth.” She gave Seth a bare glance, opting to keep their interaction minimal, and silently cursed Skye, who was so much friendlier with their extended family.
“Seth’s helping out with the production tonight.” Remy must have seen the question in her eyes. He held her gaze a beat too long and panic swelled in her chest.
“Have you seen Phoebe? I haven’t been able to reach her.” Remy’s concern paralyzed Phoebe, and she wondered if this was Remy’s idea of calling her bluff. Did he know she wasn’t Skye? But after another moment, she decided his concern was genuine.
“Uh, I’m sure she’s around, and her phone battery has been acting up. We had a lot of last-minute reservations, so she’s probably helping my mother in reception.” Lying for her sister was one thing, but now she was defending her own reputation. A swirl of nausea swarmed inside her belly. Phoebe counted integrity as one of her most important values. Having to skirt it was the pits. Skye couldn’t get back soon enough.
Seth nodded knowingly. “Phoebe’s always hiding. She’s shy.” Phoebe fought back a defensive retort, but Remy handled it with aplomb.
Just as Phoebe thought she’d have to literally turn and walk away to avoid either man from figuring out that she wasn’t Skye, a young man with a headset touched her forearm.
“Ready to get wired up?” The tech assistant handed Phoebe a large gold microphone with a rhinestone-studded handle, and an earpiece. “Give me a test, gorgeous.”
She blinked, not used to being spoken to with such familiarity. Her sister was as much a feminist as she was, but Phoebe didn’t encourage the sexy banter that Skye did, and this put her at a disadvantage. A disadvantage she was going to have to conquer right here, right now, in front of her two cousins.
“Um, please call me Ms. Colton, okay? Just to keep it professional!” Grinning like Skye would and batting her eyes at the man, she tapped the top of the mic. “One, two, three.” Nothing.
“Good one, Skye. Now try turning it on and do it again.” Seth’s tone matched his smirk. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Way to toe the professional line when she didn’t even bother to see if the mic was on.
She found the switch on the bottom of the wireless mic and pressed. “Is this better?” She spoke into it, and the techie pressed his hand to his earpiece, listened, then nodded and gave her a thumbs-up before he jogged away.
“Looks like you’ve got this, Skye. Let me know if you need anything else.” Remy turned to walk away and Seth lingered a brief moment, waiting for her to meet his eyes.
“See you, Seth.” She kept it light and kind, as Skye would do.
“Yeah, you too, Skye. Break a leg!” As he walked away, she felt a pang of guilt. Seth wasn’t a bad guy, he’d just had it tough, as Remy’s half sibling, and he’d most likely had always felt like an outsider to the huge, extended Colton family.
Phoebe sucked in a deep breath and pasted a large, wide smile on her face. Tonight she had one job: to play the role of Skye.
Scores of people stood on either side of the red carpet, and the bleachers erected on the south side of the drive were full of fans. They’d all won a ticket lottery, so that they could be prescreened for security. It was a festival standing practice since tonight’s gala was on private property and meant to be a safe haven for the VIPs before the onslaught of premieres and press interviews that made up much of the week, culminating with the huge awards ceremony. But this year it felt more necessary than ever, after word of the Avalanche Killer got out.
And, on top of that, someone in their midst was threatening Phoebe, or Skye, for being around Prescott. At least that’s what both she and the security team had agreed was the motive for the harassing note in her closet. They had assured her he’d have the dead bolt in place before she returned to her room tonight, and that he’d inform the local police. Mara wouldn’t find out until Phoebe planned to tell her about it, tomorrow morning after her run.
Er, after her hike with Prescott.
She had to remember she was Skye, and Skye not only didn’t run, she detested working out unless it was in a yoga studio with the perfect temperature and high-end workout gear that left little to the imagination. Phoebe bit her lower lip, tasting the heavy lip gloss her sister wore. How did Skye deal with all the layers of makeup every day?
At least she only had to do it for tonight, hopefully. At most, a week. Then she could return to her regular ol’ life.
“Skye, the first set of limos are pulling up.” The voice of the television network’s producer filled her ear, and she looked down the steps and out toward the main road. Sure enough, the dozens, if not hundreds, of gala goers were arriving. Reminding herself that she was only interviewing the key actors and VIPs, she straightened her back, squared her shoulders and plastered a wide smile on her Skye-lipsticked mouth. When the first set of actors and actresses climbed up the stairs, and the producer’s voice rang out “Action!” over the wireless sound system, she planted her feet in the thick carpet. Action, indeed.
* * *
Prescott felt the tightening in his stomach that anticipation triggered as the limo approached The Chateau’s red carpet. He thought it was silly to have to arrive in a fancy car when he was staying here, but the cocktail reception his film production company threw had been in downtown Roaring Springs, so he needed a ride back, anyhow.
Focus on the film.
He let a long breath out, remembering how much he’d enjoyed shooting the action drama, and how eager he was for the audience to see the story of a single dad who worked as an FBI agent play out. Prescott had bonded with the five-year-old who’d played his son, and thought the film did a great job of showing how torn his character was between his duty as a parent and his career.
The young actor who’d played his son had tonsillitis and was missing the premier. That left Prescott as the main attraction for the media and fans.
“You ready for the onslaught of babes, Prescott?” Brian Gordon, the film’s director, sat directly across from him in the spacious automobile.
“Not interested.”
“You’re not still letting Ariella bother you, are you? She’s treated every other guy on set the same, trust me. I’ve watched her bad behavior through three of my films.” Brian spoke, but his eyes were on his phone. “Hey, look what my kid just did.” He held up the screen to show a picture of toddler completely covered in something purple.
“What is that stuff all over him?”
Brian grinned with pride. “Shower soap, grape scented for kids. My wife says he grabbed the bottle out of her hand and poured it all over himself.”
“I hope it’s the kind that won’t make