Chapter 1

The heels weren’t a problem, but the wig might cause heatstroke—and the entire costume the death of Danny DiMarco’s prospective Hollywood comeback if he didn’t get them off in time. This couldn’t be happening. Trevor couldn’t be here. Pulse pounding, stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor, Danny dodged the crew packing away set-pieces. The sweetness of flowers and faint perfume hung in the hall, stirring in the light breeze from the air conditioner someone had turned up way too high, managing to chill everywhere but his head. Or maybe he was malfunctioning. He ducked into the closest dressing room, slipping behind a rack of plain frocks, which was a relief at least. He was able to breathe a little easier as Ashley Hill, the show’s leading lady, parted the hangers.

Ashley would hide him. She could tell Trevor he’d already gone home. That he’d gotten the flu and Trevor should try again tomorrow. Or next week.

Or never.

“Danny, no one’s going to let him backstage.” Ashley grabbed Danny’s wrist, tugging him out and bringing him to her vanity. She pointed at a small, black, padded chair, nodding with approval when he sat. “He’ll have to wait until you come out.”

Wincing at her word choice, Danny held still as Ashley took off his sleek black wig, setting it aside on one of her empty stands. Then she took out a makeup wipe and began removing the dark red stain from his lips.

Which made talking difficult, but he didn’t have much time. “You don’t know Trevor. He uses his name like a Perma VIP status card. And the director will be so excited to have him here he’ll give him anything he wants.”

That got him a raise of two perfectly styled brows beneath light brown curls still neatly formed despite all the dancing. “He won’t let him in my dressing room, I don’t care how ‘famous’ he is.” She took out another wipe, gently cleaning the powder from his face. Then tapped his nose. “You’re on Broadway, Danny. You don’t need him anymore.”

Not entirely true, but...it didn’t matter. Even if he wasn’t paying off the debts he’d managed to inherit after his father’s death—because he’d been an idiot and co-signed pretty much everything he’d been asked to—saying no to Trevor was impossible. And now that Jamie was considering talks for a Glam Grenade reunion tour?

“I’m doomed. You don’t understand.” Danny closed his eyes as Ashley carefully pulled off his fake eyelashes. “This is Jamie Kent and Trevor Wittes we’re talking about. Also, they’re my friends—well, Jamie was, but now...well, we haven’t talked in three years, but it’s not his fault. Or...I’m sure he was busy. But we practically grew up together. No, we did grow up together. I can’t refuse to do this with them.”

Finished with the wipes, Ashley tossed them in the trash, bright blue eyes contemplative as she straightened, removing her own wig to reveal a spill of soft, light-blond hair that fell midway down her back. “If they’re such good friends, how are you going to introduce me?”

Danny touched his tongue to his bottom lip, still tasting a bit of the makeup remover, which had left it tingling. “As...okay, I’m telling Trevor you’re my girlfriend, but just for now. Depends how he reacts when he sees Jamie with his husband. This is all so new to him, he might...need some time to adjust. Jamie was rarely out with girls, but Trevor saw me with them all the time.”

“You could easily be bisexual.”

“I could.” That would be the perfect solution, actually. Danny smiled up at her hopefully. “Want to help me find out while dating me for real? Then it won’t be a lie.”

The disapproval in her eyes had him sinking back in the chair. She sighed and patted his cheek. “You know I’ll play whatever part you need me to play. My agent likes that we kept this going beyond the photo ops, anyway. We make a cute couple.”

His agent said the same thing. At least Danny’s acting skills were good for more than landing backup roles—not that he was complaining. Being on the stage at all again was amazing, and he’d take Broadway over Hollywood any day of the week. Unfortunately, they’d just finished their last show, which meant he’d be between jobs again and had no excuse not to go to Anniston Falls tomorrow to meet with Jamie. The flat where he stayed in Manhattan was shared by five other singers and dancers, so his absence wouldn’t even be noticed.

Except for the fact that there’d be no one to make the coffee run in the morning.

“Stop looking so miserable. Get those boots off while I go grab your clothes.” She gave him a long look before heading for the door. “Maybe you’ll have fun and it’ll be an amazing experience. You’ll come back with more confidence, land a leading role, and we can finally perform together.”

Technically they had performed together, but that wasn’t what she meant. He carefully unlaced the boots that went straight up over his knees—black, red, and gold leather that got him sweating like crazy under the stage lights, but made his nicely toned thighs look amazing. He might not be the bravest person in the world, and he was fine playing backup to pretty much everyone he’d ever met, but standing up there, in this sexy—albeit heavy—costume, strutting around in six-inch heels, he’d felt powerful for the first time ever.

Ashley had told him about the audition for Kinky Boots eight months ago, hoping he’d get the part of Charlie Price, but instead, he’d been cast as one of the ‘angels’. She’d been disappointed for him, while he’d been absolutely thrilled. He got to be right in the middle of all the most energetic scenes, supporting one of the main characters, Lola, who’d always been his favorite growing up. And the actor who played her was freaking gorgeous. Well-known in theater, Tez Miller had the kind of presence that performers were born with, that charisma that kept all eyes on them, no matter what they did.

Jamie had that. So did Trevor.

Whatever artistic deity handed out qualities that would be useful in the limelight had skipped over him completely with that kind of natural charm and magnetism. He had other talents, being able to use them at all meant everything. But…

The band’s getting...back together.

That...wasn’t something he’d ever really wanted. Usually, when Trevor asked him to head to L.A. it was to help him write some new music. And compose it. And pretty much do all the work. His vocals had even been used for one of Trevor’s recent projects without him knowing until he’d heard himself at the end of a kid’s show that had been playing randomly in the flat. Danny’s agent was furious, which had him scrambling for excuses. He’d been helping out a friend, of course he hadn’t been paid.

Telling his agent about the potential reunion tour got the man off his back for a bit. One of the many reasons Danny couldn’t flake out now. He’d gotten stuck in so many horrible contracts when his father was managing his career that he wouldn’t make a move without his agent’s go-ahead. His father had done his best, but a year after his death and Danny was pretty sure he’d never see a cent of song royalties, and his agent was still trying to untangle the exclusive rights snatched up by different brands when he’d still been a hot commodity. Not that there had been many, but it was still a damn mess. His father had been all about making a quick buck.

He did his best. He was raising you on his own. How about some gratitude?

Guilt hit him as he pushed aside memories of the managers, tutors, and vocal trainers who’d been there for him more and how little he’d actually known his father. His death had still been a shock, more so since it was Danny’s car he’d taken out on the road that night, after drinking too much because the bills were starting to pile up. Months of treatments, transplants that failed, seeing him on life support whenever he visited, and then suddenly...he was gone.

Shrugging off the London Guards-style jacket which had been glammed up for his drag costume, he quietly sang the song he’d gotten to perform only once on stage when he’d auditioned for Charlie Price, Soul of a Man. He connected with it in so many ways, which should have given it the punch it needed to impress the casting director, but he’d shoved down the emotions, not ready to share even a hint of them when the spotlight hit him.

Ashley tore him a new one for that because he’d nailed it practicing in front of her. Either way, at least he’d finally made his debut doing something he truly loved. No one could ruin that for him.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The door opened and Danny spun from where he’d been carefully hanging up the jacket, suddenly aware of how he must look in his tight red Spanx and nylons. Hell, his wavy auburn hair was still plastered against his head under the wig cap.

A sigh of relief escaped him when Ashley stepped in, carrying his rucksack with his clothes.

But then she slammed the door hard behind her, lips pursed as she tossed everything down on the chair. “Martin has him set up in the fucking green room and everyone’s fawning all over him. I was in there for five seconds and I already hate him.”