by Andrea Hurtt
Grace was suddenly very crowded.
What had these people seen on stage? It'd just been an audition, Grace had just been playing a role.
Nothing more.
Even she couldn't deny, Charles was hot, and they had unusual chemistry she'd never experienced during an audition before. However, she'd been there to land a role in a play, not to find a relationship.
That was the last thing she wanted in her life.
The four others in the hot tub were still arguing over who had dibs on Charles. Someone admitted something about a crush for years, but Grace discarded most of the conversation.
She was done.
Physically and emotionally.
Exhaustion had finally won out.
Grace stepped out of the hot tub and wrapped a tiny pool towel around her waist, draping another over her shoulders. She grabbed her room key and cellphone from the small plastic table she'd set it on.
She pushed the up button of the elevator, and the doors opened.
Charles was there, wearing black swimming trunks and a gray shirt. His blond hair was tousled as if he'd dressed in a hurry, and sticking different directions.
It was cute.
He looked like he was freshly…
Grace shook her head to clear the thoughts away she did not want.
He smiled and stepped out.
She moved past him to enter the elevator.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To bed. It's been a long day," Grace said, wishing the doors would close faster to get her away from this distraction.
"But, I was just coming down to see you."
"I'm sorry. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."
The doors finally closed.
After a semi-cold shower, and a large glass of ice water, Grace curled up in her king-sized bed, ready for sleep to take her.
Instead of a restful night, she tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. She was either too cold, or too hot. She flitted from one nightmare to the next.
One dream she kept coming back to, even after forcing herself awake, she'd fall right back into it when her eyes closed.
Grace dreamt about being in hell, the heat overwhelming, her discomfort part of the torment being dished out to her.
Thousands of roses surrounded her, the burning smell of them filling her nostrils and making her ill.
Then there was a tall man, standing over her. She couldn't see his face, only the outline of his lean, hard body. However, she could hear his voice, deep and resonating, saying the same words over and over.
"You will be mine, always."
Chapter Four
Why is this affecting me so badly?
It was just another audition! But Grace… she wasn't just another actress. There was something about her he couldn't resist.
What the hell!
He felt like he'd walked ten miles after leaving the theater, trying to clear his thoughts and calm his body.
I have to have her. She has to be my Maddie. If she doesn't get the role, I don't want Louis. She's the only one that fit.
He knew what he needed to do. Chemistry between actors was the most important thing.
Charles pulled his phone out of his back pocket and searched for Jason's number. There was no answer, so he tried again.
He continued to walk, his pace speeding up with each unanswered try.
After five times getting of Jason's voicemail, he left a message.
"Jason, call me. I need to discuss something important with you about your play."
He disconnected the line and kept strolling the downtown area.
Charles likely wouldn't hear from the man that night, but his agitation was getting the best of him.
He needed to calm down. His older brother was always giving him shit about having a short temper. He was easy to set off. Short fuse, and all that.
Charles took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to get his heart rate back to a normal level.
He contemplated the reasons these things upset him. It really was ridiculous.
I'm mad Grace hadn't felt the same fire on stage I had. But it wasn't her fault. It just might take her a bit longer to see what I see.
Everyone in that auditorium had seen the chemistry between them. They'd make an amazing Louis and Maddie. The show would be a success with them as the lead roles.
I know it.
Charles imagined them on stage; the roar of a thousand fans.
Wait. Was that Grace?
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He quickened his steps, opening the door to a building, and taking in what was before him.
There were three restaurants in the building.
Which one did she go to? If it was Grace I saw, she was alone. And no one should eat alone.
Charles walked into the Melting Pot and asked if a single woman, with Grace's description, had entered their establishment. He turned on all his charm with the young blonde hostess, hoping to get the help he needed. She took the bait, blushing at all his compliments.
It was for naught.
Grace wasn't there.
He went out the door and across the hall to Star Pizza, but again found no sign of her.
Back in the main entryway, he looked at the entrance for the last restaurant, Hell's Kitchen. There was an arrow pointing to a dark stairwell.
Charles loved the red and black walls, the black stairs leading down into the bowels of the building.
The color choice continued down into the reception area. Blood red walls and black furniture. Even the host stand had men that looked like they belonged in Hell.
His charm wouldn't help him this time. There was no young, pretty blonde to semi-seduce into getting information. He had to play things a bit differently. "Hi, I'm looking for my sister, cute brunette, about my height, alone."
The host, a man named Sam—according to his name tag—looked at him with disdain, before glancing back down at his table layout. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any single ladies sitting at tables."
"Maybe she's at the bar," Charles prompted, clenching his teeth.
"I'm sorry. Can't help you."
He tried to keep his temper in check. "Fine. I'll just check with her later." He whirled away, his hands in tight fists.
Seriously, though, is it that hard to let me know if she's here?
He had to try something different if he wanted to get what he needed. He headed back up the stairs, his step a little lighter.
As he had walked around downtown earlier, he'd seen a woman selling roses, just trying to make a few dollars.
If Charles could remember where she'd been, what block he had been on when he'd seen her, he'd buy a few flowers.
It took him about twenty minutes of running up streets and around corners until he finally found her.
"A rose for your lady?"
The woman had seen better days. Her clothing was ragged, her skin was dirty, and her shoes were worn down.
The roses she held were perfect.
"I only ask for a small donation," she pleaded as she held one rose out.
"I'll give you twenty if you give them all to me."
"Oh, thank you, thank you!"
He pulled his wallet out and watched her hungry eyes as he flipped through the wad of bills he'd tucked away. It was likely more money than she'd see in a lifetime.
Charles slipped out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it over. "Get something to eat. And maybe a place to sleep tonight."
The woman stood still, unable to form words, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
Charles walked away carrying the last of her precious roses.
He waited patiently outside the building for a small group of people to head down to the restaurant.
They would occupy Sam and he could slip around into the main dining room. He got back down to the bottom and watched the two hosts working.
One took a group to be seated, but headed off to the left.
>
Damn it! There's another dining room!
Charles hoped Grace was on the right side; it was the only one he could slip over to.
He stood off to the side watching, waiting until Sam took the new group to their table.
They also went off to the left dining room. That allowed him to move into the room on the right where he could search for Grace.
Why can't I find her?
He scanned the room a third time, and he finally saw her.
Tucked in a corner and almost hidden from view.
Grace was waiting for her check, ready to leave.
This isn't the time to approach.
The moment was lost.
A bright-smiled female server touched his shoulder. "Can I help you find someone?"
"Actually." Charles turned on his charm. "There's a beautiful lady sitting over there, alone. I want to pay for her meal and leave her this." He handed the rose to the girl.
"Oh! How sweet! That's my table, too. I can get the bill for you." She sauntered away, a bounce in her step.
He kept an eye on Grace as she put away her laptop and folders.
When the server returned, she held out the bill.
Without looking at the total, he handed her a fifty-dollar bill. "Keep the change. But don't tell her about me. It's our secret."
She smiled and nodded, then took off to present Grace with her rose.
Charles wanted to stay and watch but was afraid she'd see him and the game would be over. He headed back up the black steps and into the chilly April air.
He wasn't ready to embrace the solitude his hotel room offered, so he headed back over to the convention center. It was a short walk. Not more than ten blocks from the restaurant.
The doors were still unlocked—which surprised him—but he headed straight back for the auditorium.
Charles strode up the stairs like he owned the place. He stopped at center stage, staring out into the empty auditorium.
Charles! Charles! Charles!
He could hear the sound of thousands of girls screaming his name. It was something he still hadn't gotten used to.
He'd been a pop star since he was a kid, but the sound filled his head often. He shook the memories away. That wasn't what he wanted to hear.
I want to hear my name on her lips.
He danced across the stage, recreating the moves he'd shared with Grace, just hours before. Her sweet shampoo seemed to linger in the air.
Why do I want this? Why do I want you?
He'd done a handful of plays, worked with dozens of women, yet there was something about her, something about Grace.
"Hey! What're you doing? You can't be in here!" A loud masculine voice boomed from the back of the dark auditorium.
"Sorry," Charles called back. "I was finishing up from our auditions. But I'm heading out now."
The security guard watched him with suspicion as he made his way out of the auditorium.
He felt like the man was following him as he walked down the long hallway to exit the building.
His hotel was just across the street. It was nothing fancy; he just needed a bed to sleep on.
Sleep? Will I get any sleep if I can't get her off my mind?
Charles ran his hands through his hair, sending it in all directions.
What am I going to do? This isn't like me.
Sure, chemistry was important, but not enough that he should follow her around town. No, he wasn't following her.
We just happened to both be on the same street at the same time.
He continued to argue with himself, as he came up to the east side of the hotel. The bright lights from the pool room illuminated the sidewalk.
Charles heard the laughter from the other side and looked in.
Grace!
His heart raced. He waved but felt stupid as he did so.
One minute. Just wait for me!
He held up one finger, hoping she'd catch on. He had to keep himself in check and not sprint the distance to the front of the hotel.
Stay cool, man.
Charles fumbled with his keycard trying to get the door open in a hurry. All he wanted to do was get downstairs to see her, talk with her.
He tossed the remaining roses on the desk and rushed to change into swimwear.
Damn it! Stupid jeans! Shoes off first, idiot.
He almost fell when he tried to get out of his pants before taking off his shoes. He was half-way out the door, but something was missing.
A shirt. I'm walking through the lobby.
He grabbed a gray tee from his suitcase and pulled it over his head as he ran down the hallway to the elevator.
Hurry up, hurry up. It shouldn't take this long!
He kept pushing the down button as if it would make the elevator move faster.
The hotel was only three floors, but it was taking far too long. Charles was about to find the stairs when the door opened.
Patience wasn't one of his virtues and pressing buttons over and over wasn't helping.
It was just causing him more frustration. Trying to get himself in check, Charles began something his therapist recommended.
Breathe in… one, two, three, four. Hold. Breathe out… one, two, three, four.
The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. Before him stood a vision, of an exhausted, cold, and damp woman.
She was still beautiful.
He stepped out, expecting her to follow, but instead, she entered the elevator and pressed a button.
"Where are you going?" Charles tilted his head to one side.
"To bed. It's been a long day," Grace replied.
No!
"But I was just coming down to see you," he complained; Admittedly, he'd sounded like a small child who was being sent to bed without dessert.
"I'm sorry. I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow."
The doors closed, leaving him standing there, staring at the space where she'd been.
Chapter Five
Grace woke with a splitting headache. Could've been from the alcohol or the nightmares, but it was wicked. She grumbled and pulled herself out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom.
She dug for a bottle of ibuprofen that was ever-present in her makeup case. She never left home without it.
Grace filled a cup with cold water and took three, wishing the effects didn't take so long to kick in. When she headed back to the bed, her cellphone rang.
Since she didn't recognize the number, normally she'd send the call to email.
However, she was hoping for a call back, so she hit the green accept button.
"Ms. Harrison?"
"Yes, this is Grace Harrison."
"This is Anne-Marie with Shockside Players. It's my pleasure to announce you've made it to first call back. We would appreciate if you could please meet at the theater at noon today. Thank you." The woman hung up, without giving Grace a chance to say anything more.
She sat there a moment, shock rolling over her.
I made the first cut.
Grace stepped into the small dining area of the hotel, expecting to see many happy faces; that callbacks had happened for many people.
Unfortunately, the opposite was true. Surly and heartbroken actors mixed it with the occasional normal hotel guest.
They must've gotten the 'you didn't make the cut' call.
She stayed quiet, feeling guilty, as she filled her plate with scrambled eggs, a cinnamon roll, and a banana, made a cup of coffee. It was best to go eat alone in her room.
When she got out of the elevator and down the hall, there was something lying on the floor in front of her door.
A single red rose.
The rest of the hallway was empty, so there was no spotting the culprit. No sign of anyone.
She didn't have a free hand to grab the flower; she struggled to open the door with what she already held. Once inside, she set her food and coffee down and returned to grab the rose.
Grace got a glass of water and broke the stem so
it'd fit in the cup, then set it beside the TV. She stared at the rose as she finished her breakfast.
Where did it come from? Why was it there?
It was very disconcerting.
The first rose, last night, was odd enough.
Because it arrived at the restaurant, it could've come from anyone.
But to find another in front of my hotel room door?
She gasped.
Someone's been watching me, following me!"
She'd left the rose from the night before at her table in Hell's Kitchen. She didn't know where it'd come from and was ashamed to admit, she hated roses.
With a passion.
She continued to stare at the rose, recalling the summer she was eight years old.
Grace had developed a horrible case of heat exhaustion. The house they'd lived in on-base had no air conditioning or a way to cool down the house.
She could remember few details. She'd been only in her underwear alone in her room, with her mother bringing her a cold washcloth every so often.
Grace recalled the feeling of being utterly alone and had been scared of dying, as she could hear other children playing happily outside.
The worst detail; she could smell the neighbor's rose garden through the open window.
From then on, the smell of roses always filled her with fear and dread.
Now, a single rose was doing just that.
Fear was climbing up her spine.
Someone had been following her last night.
Someone knew where she was staying.
It made her throat close up.
She was in a large metropolis where she knew no one, and had no family to come looking for her if she never came back.
Grace had even lost contact with her best friend over the last few years.
She felt so alone.
The more she looked at the rose, the more panicked she became.
Finally, she stood and snatched up the offensive flower, dropping it in the trash where she didn't have to look at it anymore.
"If I can't see it, it's not there," she said to calm herself.
It was barely ten a.m., but she had to get out of her room for some fresh air. Grace grabbed her jacket, handbag, and cellphone then headed out the door.
The day before, she'd seen a small cafe inside the huge convention center and figured it'd be a good place to start.