Page 18 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

CONNIE

I t’s my second day as the owner of the Remington, and I’m trying my hardest not to let my nerves get the best of me in a room full of strangers.

With Mary-Beth’s stamp of approval since she already knew the staff, I decided to keep the technical crew as is. I called a pre-production meeting for Tuesday morning so I could officially introduce myself to the director, stage manager, and designers.

I deliberated taking on the role of director for our first production but decided that the role of producer would allow me more freedom as I transitioned into my new life.

Technically, the Remington is closed, but I wanted to keep the fast-paced schedule of a regional theatre as intact as possible and settled on a mid-April opening night.

That gives us three months to produce a play.

I know I’m at the top of the hierarchy, even though we’re all sitting at the same table in the rehearsal space, but I feel a lot more like the new kid in school. They all share a past and camaraderie. I’m acutely jealous of that fact.

“So the play will be a modernized twist on The Taming of the Shrew,” I declare, handing out copies of the play.

I give people time to look through it before speaking again, but Virginia, the director, beats me to the punch.

“Who wrote this?” Her tone is chilly as she flips through the pages, her eyes then flicking back to me. “You?”

Ignacio, the stage manager, coughs, shooting a wary look over to Virginia from the corner of his eye. I had the good sense to ask Mary-Beth to give me background on the major players before the meeting.

Especially Virginia; graduate of the Westmount School of Arts, exceptionally talented, late forties, known to be kind of a bitch.

Luckily, I’ve worked with my fair share of difficult people in my six years in the entertainment business, including Oliver.

I’ve always loved writing just as much as acting. I even wrote a screenplay titled Love Lies Waiting with some help from my ex last year. But this is my first chance to utilize my talent. I might have a lot more confidence in my acting skills, but I’m not about to show my insecurities to Virginia.

“Yes,” I respond with a saccharine smile. “Problem?”

I hold her pointed stare until finally she relents and gives me a small shake of her head.

“Great,” I say, my tone a lot more cheerful now. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll let Ignacio take the helm.”

Ignacio quickly interrupts. “You can call me Nacho,” he says, followed by a warm smile.

I return the warmth and grin in confirmation. “If you have any questions, just come find me or call. I’ll give Nacho my number so he can update the contact sheet. Sounds good?”

Everyone nods in agreement, even Virginia, and with that, my very first meeting as a theatre owner comes to an end.

The swell of pride blooming in my chest is undeniable.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

By mid-week, both the technical crew and the renovation team have found their stride, and my sense of accomplishment only grows in size.

I might have never majored in business, but having a tech mogul as a father has certainly rubbed off on me; particularly the valuable lesson of knowing when to take a step back and delegate.

Pushing the lobby door with my backside while wrapping my scarf around my neck, I step into the January air. It’s barely five p.m., but it’s pitch black outside. I might not miss LA much, but I do miss the warmth and sunny blue skies on winter days like these.

I stop in my tracks when I find Huxley standing near the curb, cursing at his phone.

“You okay?” I ask casually.

Since I called him two days ago, it feels like we’ve finally turned a corner in our platonic relationship. I can tell he’s been making an effort, and I am too.

Huxley whirls around when he hears my voice, his thick brows lifted as if surprised to see me standing there.

“Yeah,” he answers. He stops as if that was enough information, but then, as if remembering himself, he adds, “Soph was supposed to pick me up, but something came up — she just canceled.”

“I’ll drive you,” I say without much thought.

Huxley reacts as if I just told him that we’re moving in together. He dismissively waves his hand in front of him as a way to decline my offer. “All good. I’ll just take the bus or something.”

“Huxley.” My tone is slightly scolding as I look at him with a deadpan expression.

He returns my stare until finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he relents.

“Okay. Sure, thanks.”

“Great,” I chirp. “I’m just across the street,” I say as I unlock the car doors from a distance.

Huxley whistles as we cross the deserted street. It’s a similar tone to the one he made the first time he saw the theatre, and something about it sends a shiver down my spine.

“A red Mercedes,” he says slowly as he rounds the car. “I would have pegged you as a Porsche girl myself.”

“Oh yeah?” I say with a laugh as we step into the car. “It’s just a lease anyway — until I figure out what to do with my car back in LA.”

Huxley settles in the passenger seat, his arms flung over his backpack on his lap. “And what’s your car in LA?”

Pulling into the street, I shoot Huxley a wry grin, quickly looking over before my gaze lands back on the road. “I’m not telling you.” My tone is playful, which is a stark relief from the tension plaguing our conversations as of late.

Huxley returns my smile, and his expression makes me unreasonably happy to witness.

“Don’t tell me it’s a Porsche,” he quips.

I burst out laughing. “Maybe.”

Huxley chuckles warmly, then falls silent, looking straight ahead until he says, “I can’t believe you left California for this.”

I’m not sure if he meant it so seriously, so I try to keep the conversation light. “LA isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Mostly smoke and mirrors. I’m happy to be back, I love it here.”

It takes Huxley a few seconds to respond. “Can’t relate.”

“You don’t like Marsford Bay?” I ask innocently but realize quickly that it might be a loaded question for him. “You don’t have to answer that. ”

The silence returns, and I chew on my inner cheek, hoping the mood hasn’t already been ruined.

“So, The Taming of the Shrew, huh?”

I smile as I glance over. His gaze is fixed on mine, and my heart skips a beat at the sight. I ignore my wayward reaction.

“You heard?”

“Yeah,” he says casually. “I had lunch with Nacho yesterday, seems like a cool guy.”

I hum in agreement as I turn on Fairview, entering Huxley’s neighborhood.

“You ever read the play?”

I catch Huxley smirking from the corner of my eye.

He doesn’t answer my question immediately, as if thinking about what to say next.

Finally, he speaks. “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart. Or else my heart, concealing it, will break.”

My breath catches in my throat, and I almost veer off the road. Hearing Huxley quote Shakespeare has unexpectedly turned me on, heat pooling low in my stomach.

Fucking. Hell. That was hot.

I try to conceal my physical reaction with a surprised laugh, my knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

“Well, well, well,” I tease, desperately trying to shake it off. “Huxley McKenna, the secret thespian.”

He scoffs with humor. “There wasn’t much else to read in prison. Had to pass the time somehow.”

Another one of his dismissive remarks.

I crave to continue our conversation and dig deeper into this softer side of him, but to my disappointment, I turn onto his street, his apartment just a couple of blocks away.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

The words rush out of me as I park in front of his building.

“No, you won’t,” Huxley says as he unbuckles his belt .

I sigh a little too loudly just to have him look at me. His green eyes flick up suspiciously.

“I want to. Just accept the offer, dumbass.”

Huxley’s lip quirks up when he hears me calling him a dumbass. He stares at me for a few seconds, then nods.

“Okay, fine.” He pauses, his hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.” His smile is shy but genuine.

I smile back. “My pleasure.”