Too Sweet to Be Good

by K. M. Jackson

  “Remember what we talked about. You two work together well now. I need you to look at things with open eyes and an open heart. Trust Alex, she knows my vision here as I’m sure you know my heart.”

  Drea could see the slight anguish as it glazed across his features for a moment. This was a man who didn’t do well against words like heart and things like emotions; she could tell that right away. And she could also tell that his grandmother knew exactly which buttons to press with him. It was then that Mrs. Betty’s voice came louder and more chipper over the speaker. “Okay, I must run now. Speak with you dears later. Kellen, I’ll see you at home. And, Drea, I’ll give you a ring later to see how things went. Thank you so much for taking this on. I hope it’s not interfering too much with the schedule.”

  “No, ma’am,” Drea said. “I’m happy to do it. It’s a pleasure.”

  Drea let Mrs. Betty cut the line first and then the two of them were left in silence. One beat and then another and then one more until the feeling was way too weird to be anywhere near comfortable. Kellen finally broke the tension. “Well then, I guess we better get on with it. Since you’re the eyes.” He waved a hand in front of her to indicate she lead the way. “Please start the tour of my family’s theater and show me exactly how my grandmother plans to put us in the red.”

  Drea raised a brow, but forced a smile. He was a tough one. “Of course. Please follow me.”

  Chapter 8

  Beauty and the Suit

  “As you wish.”

  Kellen saw the slight falter in Drea’s step as she preceded him on her way up the stairs toward the storage area of the theater. Though she didn’t quite get his joke, she was indeed surprised by his quick acquiescence and reply of “as you wish” to each of her ideas for the theater.

  She’d been leading him for the past hour and a half, going on and on about her and his grandmother’s plans for the theater. So far they had gone over rough ideas for the theater’s lobby, the expansion of the gaming area, the possibility of adding a couple of craft and party rooms, not to mention how she proposed the concession area needed a practically complete overhaul while still keeping the original fixtures, but restored of course. When he pointed out the fact that restoration in a lot of ways could be just as costly if not more than buying new, she showed an expert propensity for scoffing at that triviality.

  Rather than arguing, Kellen was proud of himself for not getting into a tit-for-tat with her. He’d decided it wouldn’t do any good anyway and made a mental note to schedule a meeting with Archer Jove. Maybe he could talk to Archer and find a way around this problem. If not in scrapping it entirely at least in finding a way of cutting costs and making the reno less daunting in case his grandmother wouldn’t budge. Though in the best-case scenario he could get Archer on his side to convince his grandmother of the hardship of it. Kellen gave himself a mental shake. Who was he kidding? Archer had come up with these plans and he’d surely want this theater as a feather under his cap. Why would he not want to see it through? It would help his reputation and his bottom line too. That was unless Kellen could come up with another enticement to get Archer to see things his way.

  He brought his attention back to Boots as she quickly—but he could tell carefully—went up and down each and every aisle, inspecting the seats and the decorative end columns, making notes as well as sketches in her little notebook, taking pictures and every once in a while shooting a quick video clip.

  She stopped at the end of row P, took a pic of the old stone column, then proceeded to video it top to bottom, taking in the majestic-looking carved-out lion heads. Then she turned her camera toward herself, looked up at the lion, and belted out a quick refrain from “If I Were King of the Forest,” complete with huffs, puffs, and growls.

  She really was an odd one, this Booted wonder. Nothing like any of the women he was used to, but he refused to be swayed. Not by her boots, or her antics. Or by her wide smile, bright eyes, and glowing skin.

  Though Boots was clearly her own woman, Kellen could feel his grandmother’s meddling fingers all over this situation. Nope. No and not gonna happen. He may be in a sticky situation when it came to this theater, but he’d not compound it by getting mixed up with the likes of her. Besides, these were the early stages of the game. It was only day one and he had to get a full lay of the land right now and this preliminary tour was just a means to his most important end.

  Once he got a full picture, he planned on getting real and complete quotes and going to his grandmother again with the cold, hard facts.

  But for now, he’d endure the designer thrust upon him and go with the flow. And reluctantly, in another circumstance, he’d admit she did have a good eye, great instincts, and knew what she was talking about. Her vision seemed spot on with what he’d heard his grandparents talk about wanting to do with the theater for years. But life and timing just ran out before they were able to make it happen. Like a swift wind, thoughts of his own parents and the dreams he used to hear them giggle and whisper over when he was a young boy blew through his mind. Kellen let them drift out just as fast as they flew in. That’s how life was. It was all about timing. Now was not the time for the new Redheart. Sadly, the dream that his grandmother and grandfather shared had passed away along with his grandfather, and no amount of paint, plaster, or new lighting would change that fact.

  Drea changed her tone, bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand. “Come on, Suit. Show’s over and we still have plenty of ground to cover.”

  As they made their way up the wide stairs from the first to the second floor, then turned to the right past the balcony in the middle of the employee-only area, Kellen flipped the switch to light the stairs that led to the projector room and archives room. It had been so long since he’d been up there that he was surprised he still remembered where all the switches were.

  But Kellen frowned when nothing happened after flipping the lights to illuminate the staircase they needed to take to the archives room. He flipped the switch back and forth, trying again, which he knew was ridiculous, since if they didn’t work the first time, why would they the second? Then he flipped the switch a third time for good measure and heard Boots let out a low snort. With a huff, he turned to the left side of the stair well to try there—also nothing. How long were those overhead lights out? Annoyance grabbed at Kellen. There was no excuse for this. He’d hoped they had not been out long because really, his grandfather should have just gotten them repaired. He paused then, guilt twisting his gut. Was he really admonishing a dead old man for not having lights repaired? He was sure his grandfather had done the best he could with him diverting so much of the family funds to new business ventures, the Atlanta investments, and the new staffing that entailed. As their grandson, perhaps he should have been more hands on.

  Still, Kellen wondered for a moment if his grandfather or grandmother had been navigating the stairs on their own without proper lighting during their date night screenings. It wasn’t safe, and the thought of it made Kellen’s blood heat. What if his grandmother, in all her remodel fervor, tripped in here and took a tumble down the stairs? He pulled out his cell and quickly jotted down a note highlighting this as a top priority. Note 1B, right under changing the marquee sign to closed.

  He looked up the shadowed stairway, then over at Drea. “Listen, I don’t think we should head up there today without proper lighting. I wouldn’t want you to get into an accident.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You really are quite the company man, aren’t you?” she said, a challenge in her eyes and a quirk in her lips. Those lips. They seemed to spark at him. Tempt and tease him while they mocked him. And more than anything, in that moment and quite uncharacteristically, Kellen wanted to kiss the smirk right off her face. Of course, he wouldn’t do it. One: because it just wasn’t done. At least not without permission. And he suspected that once he’d asked, she’d smirk again. And two: Though she didn’t work for him, she was essentially working for his grandmother, w
hich once, twice, or however many times removed made her now one of his employees, and that meant completely off limits. So she could smirk away. He would not be moved.

  Before he could properly get his rebuttal out, Boots and her way-too-quick self had pulled her cell phone out and flipped on the flashlight to high, illuminating the full staircase. With that, she was on her way up, leaving him with no other choice but to follow. Company man or not, Boots was quickly teaching him who was in charge; he had to, even more quickly, find a way to put a stop to it.

  She turned back his way, her smile not challenging, but quirky and as bright as the light she was waving. “Come on, Suit, get a move on. We’ve only got so much daylight left and still plenty to get done.” She frowned. “Funny, you didn’t strike me as the lollygagging type when you were banging on the shop’s door at the crack of dawn. Let’s go.”

  Kellen let out a sigh as he grumbled to himself and headed up the stairs after her. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  When would Drea learn to look before she leapt?

  Looking at the dusty, overcrowded, and unorganized archives storeroom and knowing that there was another one probably identical to this, if not worse, made her think that running up the stairs instead of down was probably not the best idea. Wow. This job was going to be more than she’d anticipated. With her experiences with many a whacky audition in New York she should have known to expect the unexpected, but this chaotic mess was beyond her imagination, she thought as she attempted to climb over boxes that reached her midthigh. They were full of what appeared to be piles and piles of old film reels in various stages of distress. Though most were intact, there were quite a few with nicks and dings that showed their long, hard service in the industry.

  “How in the world?” Drea breathed out, looking around.

  The Suit let out a long sound that came out like a sigh mixed with a growl, with a bit of a moan for good measure. She turned to look at him and noticed he was staring at the room with an expression that could only be described as bewilderment. “That’s what I want to know.” He picked up his phone and Drea watched as he swiped before holding his phone up and appeared to be filming the room. Occasionally, he tapped the screen, she assumed capturing stills of the chaos all around them.

  Drea let out another long breath, then relaxed her shoulders as she took in the room again. Trying her best to see it in a new light. Finally, she spoke, purposefully brightened, thinking about what Mrs. Betty would want her to do next. “Really, this is not so bad—well, not horrendous, let me just say,” she said, looking over the shelves on the back wall and the far left. “Look, there appears to be some sort of filing system already started over here.” She pointed out the few orderly stacks of film canisters that were labeled on the shelves. And then on the other side of the room she pointed to the rows of boxes labeled by year, though clearly not in any chronological order. “See right here, it looks like there’s already a bit of a system started. The 1930s, 40s, 70s, 50s,” Then she turned over to the back wall, her voice fighting to stay convincing. “And here you can see that the canisters are all neatly labeled.”

  Oh boy, she hoped she was selling this.

  As Drea started forward toward the canisters, she found it hard to control her burgeoning glee. She sucked in a breath and let it out. “Oh my goodness! Casablanca, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, My Fair Lady, West Side Story, it just goes on and on.” She turned back to Kellen. “This room is like a treasure chest. I feel like one of those kids in The Goonies who just found the pirate ship. This could be the best job ever!”

  Wait a minute. Why wasn’t he as excited as she was? Just standing there and continuing to film? “What is wrong with you, Suit? How can you not get excited by all of this? Put the phone down and get over here and give all this a look.”

  But he just answered her with an infuriating head shake as he put the phone back in his pocket. “Okay, I think we’ve seen enough for today. Neither of us are dressed or equipped to begin to tackle this room right now. It will take cleaning supplies and boxes, an organizing system carefully planned out.” He ran a hand over his closely shaved head. “I don’t know, maybe a Dumpster or two out back.”

  Drea felt her hackles start to rise. Was he ever going to get behind this project, even if this room was already organized and meticulous? And maybe if the lighting wasn’t busted or if half the other things on Mrs. Betty’s wish list were magically eliminated. As Drea watched his retreating back heading toward the door, she doubted it. “Wait,” she called, stopping him. “You are going to come up with a plan of attack, right? Or at least hear mine out. This isn’t just some sort of ruse on your part to throw your grandmother off the scent. Maybe toy with her while you come up with a way to get her to see things your way.”

  He turned back toward her, his eyes tinged with annoyance or, she didn’t know, maybe it was guilt. Drea tilted her head to the side and gave him a hard stare.

  Suit tried to throw her then and gave her what she was sure he thought would pass for a smile, but she knew it wasn’t. She’d seen his real smile and this sure as heck wasn’t it. “You’re quite suspicious, aren’t you, city girl?”

  “I’d rather think of it as cautious, and I thought we’d agreed on the name Boots. If we’re coming up with new names on the fly, please run them through approvals first. I answer to nothing with girl attached; city woman is fine though I still prefer Boots. Now, are we going to get to work in here or not?”

  “Not,” he countered back.

  Drea blinked. Surprised by his quick and unexpected response.

  “The workday is over. It’s close to after six. I’m not going to have my grandmother chew me out for keeping you here past proper hours. Besides, haven’t you put in a long enough day yet? You must be starving. I know I am.”

  Drea was both embarrassed and shocked. Did the afternoon really get away from them that quickly? She had expected it to be much earlier. Honestly, despite some hiccups of awkwardness and discomfort, in reality it all went by much faster and much more pleasantly than she thought it would. But it was late. She needed to get a move on and, now that he’d pointed out the time, she was hungry too. And in answer to her thinking it, her stomach suddenly cosigned. Loudly.

  She looked up at him, refusing to let herself blush. “Well, I guess it is late. Sorry to keep us both from dinner.”

  “Let’s fix it then. Join me at the diner. That way at least we won’t both go home hungry.”

  Drea tripped; she didn’t know if it was the wayward box in her path or his words that put her completely off her step. She told herself it was the box, but either way the result was still the same. Right at the end of the sentence she was left suddenly pressed chest to chest, Boots to Suit, in the arms of her reluctant boss.

  Chapter 9

  Somewhere in Time

  “It’s only to come up with a game plan on what we’re going to tell my grandmother.”

  Drea let Kellen’s words flip over in her mind one more time before she turned the lock on the front door and let herself in. The fact that he felt they needed a game plan didn’t sit quite right with her.

  “There you are, Drea. We were starting to think you’d gotten lost over there in that big old theater. Or maybe it was that you were lost in your own thoughts?” her Aunt Joyce yelled by way of greeting from where she was in the kitchen.

  Little did she know how close she was to correct on both fronts. Drea was starting to feel lost all right. Lost, tangled, muddled, and a whole host of things that she needed to get under control. But she wouldn’t tell her aunt any of that, she vowed as she squared her shoulders and followed the delicious smell of fried chicken and baked yams, making her way to the kitchen in the back of the house.

  “Of course I didn’t get lost, Aunt Joyce, though it is easy enough to do so in that big old theater. Not to mention it looks like it’s going to be quite the job now that I’ve really gotten a close look at things.”

  “Now, you’re not g
oing to let that scare you away, are you?” Aunt Joyce looked at her with slight shock and horror from where she sat at the old Formica table that had been in the family for as long as Drea remembered. Though the house had had a few updates over the years, namely Aunt Joyce’s pride and joy of a den with a big-screen TV, many touches remained from their grandparents’ and great grandparents’ days in the old rambling lake house.

  Suddenly Kellen’s face appeared in Drea’s mind’s eye. Brooding, challenging, and gorgeous. She took a moment to wonder over why his eyes seemed so piercing behind those glasses he wore. Darn it, weren’t glasses supposed to make a person more inconspicuous? Not him. With him it was like a reverse Superman thing going on. Drea sighed, then looked at her aunt again, catching her now staring, her eyes full of concern over her cat-eye glasses. She cleared her throat. “No way. I’d never,” she said. “But it does concern me a bit. The fact that it seems like it’s going to be a big job that may take me away from the bakeshop for more hours than I anticipated.”

  Her aunt smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart. I knew what a state that old Redheart was in when you talked about the position with me after speaking with Betty. Though Betty and Henry had done some improvements in the past, I knew once you got behind the surface cover-ups, it was probably a right old mess. If what Betty really wants done is going to get done right, it’s gonna take quite a bit of your attention and that’s perfectly fine with me.”

  Drea pulled a face and put her hand to her throat pretending to clutch imaginary pearls. She gasped. “Wow, don’t act like you’ll miss me much, Aunt Joyce. Now, I know I’m not the best in the kitchen, but you don’t have to go and boot me out, pawning me off on your friend. I’m not that sad a case. I can always just grab a Greyhound and make my way back to New York.”

  Aunt Joyce rolled her eyes skyward. “Cut it with the dramatics, gal. You know it’s nothing like that. Betty wouldn’t have offered you the job if she didn’t think you were extremely talented. And I wouldn’t have vouched for you if I didn’t think the same. Besides, for the record, I’m not letting you completely out of your shop duties that easily. I’m gonna still need you a few mornings a week for the rush, just like normal until Rena can get in after dealing with them chaps of hers. After that, you are all Betty’s. Is that good enough for you? Looks like it’s going to be more of a haul for you when it comes to long days. You don’t need to worry over us though. We will adjust if you can.”