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A few moments later, she flung open the door, fully clothed. It hadn’t taken her long to slip on her little black dress, sans underwear, and slinky, high-heeled sandals. ‘You’re nothing like Fergus MacGregor,’ she said.
Callum rolled his eyes. ‘Well, of course I’m not. That’s a character on a television show. I’m not really a Scottish laird.’
‘Why have you suddenly slipped into character?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your accent.’
‘That is my accent. I am actually Scottish.’
She stared at him. ‘So, what was with the American accent last night?’
‘Really?’ He frowned at her. ‘I have no idea. I was drunk.’
‘God, you really are pathetic. Anyway your American accent is terrible. I’m not surprised you can’t get any more parts.’
‘Pardon me?’
I heard you on the phone to your agent.’
‘I’m still on the phone to him, so will you keep it down?’
‘I will not.’
‘Look, at least stay for breakfast.’
‘I can’t. I’ve got an audition.’
Callum dropped the phone from his ear. ‘You’ve got an audition?’
‘Yeah – for a part in a movie. I told you that last night too.’
Callum looked at her, wide-eyed.
‘I thought you could give me some pointers, tips for my audition. Help me out to get the part.’
‘Is that why you singled me out in the bar?’ Callum had been minding his own business, which never really worked out if he went out. Even now, three months on from the end of the show he’d starred in, he was still recognised and called Fergus MacGregor.
When the show had first started airing nine years earlier, it had won awards. He had walked the red carpet with his co-stars at events and had attended conventions. He had loved the attention back then and hadn’t mind being called by the name of his character. He had been earning incredible money and living the Hollywood dream; had been under the impression that it would never end. But end it did, and with the demise of the show – it had not been renewed for a tenth season – went all his earnings too.
Now he could see how much money he had wasted on people he barely knew – and in some cases didn’t know at all, on buying his Beverley Hills home and throwing lavish parties, on buying expensive cars, and on buying his so-called friends cars and gifts and helping them out whenever they needed money. Now those friends were gone, along with the money, the lifestyle, and probably any chance of landing another high-profile, long-lasting role ever again.
Of course he’d remembered the advice his agent had given him almost ten years earlier when he’d landed a part in a show that had the makings of a winner and the chance of longevity that was unusual in Hollywood.
He'd taken his advice – well, some of it, at least – and had bought himself a property, but had stupidly thought that after nine seasons, the show would just go on. The writers not only had the tenth season all planned out, but the next five seasons after that. A whole story arc. But that meant absolutely nothing. The show’s ratings dropped as it competed with new shows starring much younger casts, and it was cancelled before the final episodes of the last season had even aired.
Callum had been shocked, but his agent had been philosophical.You’ve had quite a run, he’d said.Why don’t you go back to Scotland and buy a castle for real?he’d joked.
What with?Callum had thought of throwing back, but he had stopped himself. He had been too embarrassed to tell him that all the money was gone. He was back to square one, but not as the fresh-faced twenty-one-year-old he’d been when he’d first started acting.
Now, if someone called him Fergus MacGregor, it just got on his nerves. And if ever he was approached and asked whether he was the guy inThe Scottish Laird, he always vehemently shook his head and said no. Always, that was, except for the previous night. He’d been sitting on his own in the bar, deserted by all his so-called friends, when a cute young woman had approached. For the first time in an age, he’d answered the usual question with, ‘Aye, I am.’
She’d laughed when he’d spoken in his native Scottish accent. ‘You really are, aren’t you?’ she’d responded. Although it had turned out she’d thought he was putting it on. He couldn’t remember what had been going through his mind when he’d decided to use an American accent for the rest of the evening.
He hadn’t intended to take her back to his place and sleep with her. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually did. But he had been lonely, and too drunk to think rationally, and she’d reminded him of his long-term girlfriend, who had recently dumped him.
His ex-girlfriend’s career was still on an upward trajectory. She hadn’t left him because of his failure to land another role straight after the demise of the show, but they had been drifting apart anyway, and his loss of the mansion had not been what she was expecting. Rather than helping him out, she’d taken her stuff, and her money, and had just left. The golden Hollywood couple were no longer.
