Chapter 9
Cindy busied herself with paperwork and filing and logging receipts and anything else she could do that would keep her out of the conference room. Away from the place where Beau kissed beautiful women who weren’t her.
Her jealous thoughts battled with her rational side.
It’s his job.
Well, he doesn’t have to be so good at it.
You wanted him in this part.
That was before I liked him.
Just like?
Shut up.
At eleven on the dot, she checked on the lunch order. On Drusilla’s movies, Patricia liked to work right through until the script was hashed out. But those were short, one-hour television specials. Stepmother may not need to eat to sustain life, but the rest of the world did. And heaven help her, she knew Beau would be starving by the time lunch arrived.
She just couldn’t get the image of him holding Rubi out of her head. There was no need for that during a first read-through.
Of course it didn’t matter to Beau and Rubi—they’d probably kissed hundreds of actors and actresses. According to Atlanta Entertainment News, Beau’s off-screen stats were better than his onscreen ones. Cindy squeezed her eyes shut.
For all Beau’s reputation as a playboy, she hadn’t seen him like that on Saturday. He was just Beau, all funny and playful. And he was Beau—said with a breathy sigh and a hand over her heart. “Are all men this complicated?” she muttered.
“Most of us are simple creatures,” Tomás answered from the other side of the cubicle wall.
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Just talking to myself.”
“Well, tell yourself there are other people trying to work here.” Tomás stood so he could see over the wall.
Cindy tried to smile but couldn’t get her cheeks to work.
“Sounds like it’s going well in there.” Tomás jerked his head towards the general area of the conference room.
“You think?” Cindy wrenched open a lower file drawer.
“What’s wrong?” Tomás disappeared for a moment and reappeared in her cubicle entrance.
“Nothing.” Cindy slammed the drawer shut. She loved Tomás like the uncle she’d never had, but she wanted to be alone. “Everything is just as it should be.” She’d gotten exactly what she knew was coming. Beau went back to his movie star life, and she was back to getting by. If she knew it was coming, why did it have to hurt so badly?
Daphne beeped through Cindy’s phone. “Cindy, honey, lunch is here.”
“I’ll be right in.” Cindy stood.
Tomás gave her a brief hug. “I’m sorry.”
Cindy bit her lip. “It is what it is.”
“Which is another way of saying ‘it sucks but there’s nothing I can do about it.’”
She chuckled. “Pretty much.”
“I wish I could say life would get better, peanut.” Tomás’s shoulders lifted.
Cindy squeezed his arm. Tomás had real problems. Not I’ve fallen for a guy I can’t have troubles. “How’s Candice?”
“She has scans this week.”
“She’s going to be okay.” Cindy patted his arm. “We’re all praying for her.” The whole office worried about Candice.
“Thanks.” He lifted his chin. “It is what it is.”
Cindy nodded, her perspective shifting. Tomás’s sister was fighting for her life and Tomás carried that weight and he was worried about Cindy’s heart.
She pulled herself together and made her way to the lobby, where the catering company had set up four tables with burgundy linens. The scent of fried chicken, dilly potato salad, and baked beans filled the lobby.
The staff, in their crisp white coats and black pants, bustled about arranging food and paper goods. The manager smiled at Cindy.
She returned his smile. “Roberto, it smells delicious.” Real food was a treat for a Knight. Patricia assumed everyone in the house liked living on a liquid diet, though Cindy had found a stash of chocolate in Natalie’s closet. Oddly, it made her like her stepsister just a hair more than she disliked Drusilla.
“Thanks, chica. I need a signature for the credit card.”
“Sure.” Cindy did not want to go back in the conference room where Beau looked at Rubi like she was his heart’s desire. But Patricia was the only one authorized to sign for expenses. “I’ll just take this …” She trailed off, not really knowing what to say or think or feel.
“Cindy, what’s all this?” Thankfully Patricia appeared right at that moment. Her dark eyes skipped about the room, taking in the beautiful display of actual food.
“It’s lunch for the cast and crew.” Cindy smiled, grateful she didn’t have to go back into that horrible place.
Her relief was quickly replaced with concern at the one little line that appeared between Patricia’s eyebrows. “We’re done for the day, and I’m taking the cast out for lunch.” She leaned forward as if confiding in Cindy. “I’ve booked a private booth for Drusilla and Beau.” She winked. “They’re getting along swimmingly.”
The news was a knife to her heart, which brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away. “Wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” Patricia sniffed the delicious air. Her nose scrunched. She probably worried that she’d get fat off the smell of fried chicken.
“If you had bothered to ask me, I would have told you not to order all this.” Patricia flicked her hand towards the tables.
“I—I don’t think we can return it.” Cindy held up the receipt.
Patricia snatched it from her. “Of course you can’t.” She signed with a flourish before checking the total. “Once again, your assumptions have cost this company money we can’t afford to lose. This will have to come from your paycheck.”
Cindy’s mouth fell open. There was almost four hundred dollars’ worth of food here. “You expect me to work for free?”
“Of course not—you’re on leave for the rest of the week.”
“But her birthday’s Friday,” said Daphne. No doubt she’d planned to sneak in baked goods for Cindy.
“Perhaps you’d like to have the day without pay as well so you two can spend it together?” asked Patricia. She’d do it, too. She’d make poor Tomás answer phones and feed the hairless dog and write scripts and answer Drusilla’s texts. Cindy shook her head at Daphne. There was no sense in both of them missing out on good pay. Cindy lived at home and could get by, but Daphne was helping her son through college.
Daphne ducked her chin. “No, ma’am.”
Patricia stared until Daphne sank into her seat. “Very well.” She flipped on Cindy, her favorite target. “I expect your office clean and tidy for your absence, and I will see you at home.”
Biting her tongue, like she had so many times when her father dated Patricia, Cindy nodded and hurried down the hall to hide in her cubicle. Beau wasn’t kissing Rubi in her cubicle. And he wouldn’t be kissing her in Cindy’s house, which was another reason she should probably stay home. And, if she was far away from the studio, she wouldn’t have to witness Drusilla hanging on Beau’s arm. It had been difficult enough to see him with Rubi—and she liked Rubi. She couldn’t imagine the fury Drusilla would bring about.
On her desk she found a strawberry banana doughnut and a sticky note that read “From Beau.”
Groaning, she dropped her head to her desk. The guy sure knew how to make leaving difficult. She’d reconsider and pitch a Drusilla-worthy fit to stay if she thought it would do anyone any good. But maintaining Knight Studios’ reputation as a professional environment was much more important than creating drama over being part of this production.
And despite the embarrassment of being dressed down in front of her coworkers and friends, Cindy wanted to keep the peace with her stepmother. She may not love Cindy like a daughter, but she did feel responsible for her. She could have thrust Cindy out of the house and out of the studios long ago, and yet she continually found a place for her. There wasn’t a lot of love between them, but there was this connec
tion of having both loved Robert Knight. When he passed on, Stepmother took care of everything, allowing Cindy a chance to grieve deeply, and Cindy wouldn’t forget that kindness in her darkest hours.
Chapter 10
Beau suffered through two days without seeing Cindy. He wanted to tell her he had been thinking of her during that stage kiss. That it meant nothing to him. That she did mean something to him. That he could care less if he ever kissed another woman again.
On top of the constant rise of hope that he would see Cindy and dash of disappointment when she didn’t appear, he suffered while at Knight Studios: he had to endure Drusilla’s constant fawning. She wanted every detail of his career recounted and asked embarrassing questions about his past marriages. Those relationships had happened in another lifetime and to another person—or so it seemed. He had the memories, but it was as though the spotlight that had shone so brightly on those decisions had gone out, and a new light flipped on. The memories were there, backstage shadows, but they didn’t define him—or better yet, he didn’t define himself by them anymore.
On Thursday afternoon, he ducked into the men’s room, avoiding Patricia, who liked to keep them all bunched together like sheep in the conference room. He counted to twenty and then poked his head out of the door. The hallway was clear, so he quickly made his way back to the receptionist who had delivered the doughnut to Cindy.
“Hello, Mr. Mckay,” she said. The many lines in her face lifted with her smile.
“Hi, I’m looking for Cindy.” He floundered for a plausible reason. “I had a question about her script.”
The woman positively puffed with pride at his calling it Cindy’s script. “She’s not in the office today.”
A short man stepped forward. “I’m covering for her today. Can I help you with something?”
Beau dug his hands into his hair. “Not unless you can get me back in her good graces. I seemed to have royally screwed everything up.”
The two exchanged a look which seemed to say we’ve been talking about you.
“What?” he asked.
“Tell him, Tomás,” prompted Daphne.
“Daphne, he doesn’t deserve her,” argued Tomás.
“Did you see the way she looked at him?”
Tomás’s head wagged back and forth as if weighing his options. “Fine.”
Daphne grinned.
“She’s been banished from the office for the week.”
“Banished?” Beau asked.
“Stop being so dramatic, Tomás.” Daphne swatted his arm.
“I’m a writer; it’s in my nature.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Her birthday’s tomorrow. Her favorite cake is the triple layered chocolate hazelnut cake from Cakes by Design on Seventh.”
“You want me to buy her a cake?” Beau wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that sort of a girly thing to do?”
Tomás shook his head. “You really don’t deserve her.”
Beau put up his palms. “No! I’ll do it, I just …”
After a few clicks on her keyboard, Daphne said, “Here. I have the bakery’s information.” Daphne rattled off the phone number for the bakery.
Beau hurriedly put it in his phone. “It’s all good.” He grinned. “If a cake will win her over, then a cake she shall have. Wait—will she be here? How do I get it to her?”
His phone beeped a text. He glanced down to read an address from an unknown number.
Daphne whistled and looked anywhere but at him. Tomás’s face pinched.
Beau laughed. This was going to be beautiful. He’d have the cake delivered tomorrow, while her family was away. Maybe he’d find an excuse to be out tomorrow and stop by. What was he talking about, maybe?
“Beau! There you are.” Drusilla slathered herself against him.
He tucked his phone into his back pocket, scrambling for an excuse to be up here when he should have been back there running lines.
Tomás was quick. “I’ll bring your lemon tea right in.”
“Lemon tea?” asked Drusilla.
Daphne patted her throat.
“For my voice,” Beau replied.
“You poor thing.” She pet his arm like it was a cat. “Hurry up, Tomás.”
He spun away from the desk like he couldn’t wait to be gone. Beau knew the feeling. Drusilla had that effect on men.
“My family’s going to dinner and then to a club later. Would you like to join us?” asked Drusilla, her fake lashes fluttering like hummingbird wings.
Her family? Cindy was family, wasn’t she? Maybe she was only banished from the office. Surely they wouldn’t exclude her from a family gathering. A club would be the perfect place to pull her aside and pronounce his desire to never let her out of his sight again. “Sure.”
Drusilla clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. We’re going to have such a good time.”
Deep in his gut, Beau had a bad feeling about going. He pushed it aside. Any chance to see Cindy was a chance he had to take. She’d gone to great lengths to find him—and the more he thought about it, the more credit he gave her for being brave. He could at least be that much of a man for her and brave her stepfamily for a chance to be with her.
They got back to work, Drusilla fluttering at him across the table. While she droned on about motivation and sexual chemistry, Beau used his phone to order the cake for delivery.
The order form had a spot for a note. He went back and forth, agonizing over every word, and finally hit send. With that taken care of, he focused on learning his lines so he could do his best on this film, because Cindy deserved that—that and so much more.
Chapter 11
Cindy’s birthday dawned the same as any other day in Atlanta—muggy and hot, with a cloud of humidity. She was out of bed at six to make protein smoothies for Patricia and her stepsisters. Once they were on the treadmills, she made their beds and vacuumed their rooms. While they showered, she started a load of laundry and emptied the dishwasher. When they came down the stairs, dressed, glossed, and bright-eyed, she ran upstairs to eke out any remaining hot water for a shower.
As she was wrapping a towel around her, the bathroom door creaked open. Startled, she jumped. “Stepmother! You startled me.”
Patricia laughed. “Who did you think it would be?” All traces of laughter disappeared. “Beau Mckay?”
“Of course not!” Cindy was properly scandalized at the thought. Beau may be a player, but she wasn’t that kind of a girl. Besides their first encounter, he’d been nothing but a gentleman, his hands staying in all the proper places when they kissed.
“That’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up.”
The steam sucked out the open door, and a draft chilled Cindy’s exposed shoulders. She shivered and tucked her towel tighter around her chest. “Why do you say that?” Patricia’s attempts at intimidation were wearing on her—especially where Beau was concerned.
He’d kissed her. That may not mean much to Patricia and the film world, but it meant something to the two of them.
Patricia offered her phone to Cindy. She scrolled through image after image of Beau and Drusilla on the dance floor, their bodies too close to be more than casual. In the last one, Beau’s hands were on Drusilla’s bony hips.
“What you thought you had with him—whatever that was—you don’t.” Patricia yanked her phone away. “This is the real thing.”
“I, I hardly know him,” replied Cindy, hating that the words felt true. She thought she’d known the real Beau Mckay. The man behind the playboy image. But pictures don’t lie. Anger and spite bittered her tongue. “Drusilla can have him, as long as she doesn’t care if she’s ex-wife number three.”
Patricia laughed. “Oh, honey—that’s the plan.”
Cindy bent forward as if she’d been sucker punched. “What?”
“It’s not about love.” Patricia said love like it was a child’s toy to leave behind when you grew into your training bra. “It’s about conquest. Beau is
just the beginning for Drusilla.”
Cindy shook her head, her wet hair sending cold droplets down her back. “It won’t work. Beau’s too smart to fall for someone who doesn’t really love him.”
“Oh honey, your daddy did—and he was the smartest man I’d ever met.”
Cindy jerked back and slipped on the wet tile. She managed to catch herself on the counter by sheer luck. The adrenaline bursting through her veins burned away at Cindy’s resolve to absorb her stepmother’s venom. Patricia never loved Robert Knight. The knowledge was colder than the icy droplets falling from Cindy’s wet hair.
Did Daddy know?
There’s never an ever after, her father had said. She ached for him, that his final years were spent with an ice queen. He’d been the most caring father, a loving man who lavished her with all the important things in life—love, nurturing, and teaching—and he’d been shackled to this witch, too noble to abandon her and her daughters.
Cindy’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t deserve you, Patricia. He deserved so much better.”
Patricia’s chin jerked back at Cindy’s use of her given name. Cindy didn’t care. She was done pandering to this awful woman. For just over two years, she’d hung on, thinking that even though they may not share love or friendship, they shared grief for someone they both loved deeply. With her cutting remarks and the revelation that she’d never loved Robert Knight, Patricia sliced the slim thread holding Cindy to the Knight home.
She vowed, as of this moment, to wash her hands of the vile woman. With her chin held high, she brushed past Patricia, who stumbled backward to avoid being knocked over.
“Where are you going?” Patricia asked in a panic.
“I don’t know.” Cindy smiled. “But it’s my birthday, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
“You can’t come into work—I won’t pay you.”
“Don’t worry, Patricia—I don’t want to be within ten miles of y’all today.” It was time to step out from under Patricia’s thumb. After all, she was thirty. The year she was supposed to put young fancies behind and make her statement to the world. According to her father, she was old enough to move into management. She still had contacts in the business, and despite what Patricia had done with Knight Studios, her father’s name held sway. She’d start her own production company, and she’d take the Knight Studios family with her.
Reforming Atlanta’s Rouge: The Trouble with Dating an Actor Page 7