But the closer we get to my apartment, the more nervous I get. I want to be in this play. It’s gotten under my skin, and I want it so badly that I know it’s going to hurt if I don’t get it.
I start to go over the audition lines in my head, looking out the window and trying to focus on the words and my motivation.
“You all right?” Malcolm asks.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Nervous.”
It takes me a second to realize that the car is stopped and that we’re in front of my apartment. “Oh. I’m sorry.” I go for the door, and he stops me, coming around and lifting me out of the car.
Malcolm grins. “Shoes, remember? Which number are you?”
“Four.”
I can’t breathe as he carries me up the stairs and then sets me down on the welcome mat. “I suppose I have to let you go now.”
“I really wish that you didn’t.”
He kisses me harder than he should while we’re standing at my door, but I kiss him back just as hard. This entire day and night has felt magical, and I don’t want it to end.
“Call me after,” he says, “and maybe we can pick up where we’ve left off.”
“I’d like that.”
He nods toward my door. “Go get ready. Break a leg.”
I bite my lip to hide how hard I’m smiling, and I watch him all the way back to his car before I head inside. Amy is already in the middle of fixing her hair and make-up, and then I’m right there with her.
Sinking into my own head, I go over everything that I’ve prepared for this role. I touch up my southern accent, curl my hair in fifties waves, and throw on that red lipstick that worked so well on Malcolm.
He’d probably have stayed and driven us to the audition if he knew that Amy also doesn’t have a car. So when I step off the bus at the theater, I’m smiling, imagining his face.
There’s an entire crowd of women dressed up just like us. Fifties beauties ready to smile and read lines, and my heart drops into my stomach. This is the reality of Los Angeles. Every audition has a hundred people that look just like you and are probably just as talented.
“Come on.” Amy tugs on my arm.
Auditions always feel like an eternity and a whirlwind all at once. I’m checked in and wait and wait and wait and in forever and no time at all I’m being called onto the stage.
I breathe out all the tension, and like it always does, my nerves disappear on the actual stage. Kate is so real to me that I entirely disappear, and the monologue flows from me like it was meant to be.
When I’m done, I can’t stop smiling.
“Very nice, Brooke,” the producer says. “Before we let you go, can you read for another part as well?”
Nerves grip me again. “Sure.”
They hand me the sides for the other main character. One of the Southern girls. She’s innocent and beautiful and romantic, and not at all the type that I’m usually cast for. Of course I’m already familiar with the character and the lines because I’ve read the play more times than I can count at this point. But I haven’t internalized her or done the deep work of her character.
“We know this is last minute, so it’s okay,” the producer says. “Just go with your instinct, and we want to see how you do.”
I force a smile. “Sounds good!”
We start the scene, and it’s not good. I feel stiff and uncomfortable and unnatural. That brings on a little more panic, and in my head I can see the entire audition falling apart in front of my eyes.
I inhale a deep breath in between lines and focus on what I’m saying—look toward the back of the theater so I can focus. And he’s there.
Malcolm.
He’s sitting in the back, barely visible in the dim light pouring out from the stage. The shock that he’s here passes in a second, and suddenly it’s all for him. Malcolm believes completely in my talent, and this scene that’s much more intimate is suddenly easy. I relax into the scene, and there. The magic starts to flow again, along with relief.
The producers are smiling when we finish. “Thank you very much, Brooke. We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
I exit the stage, and nearly run to the lobby. He’s already there, and smiling. “You were great.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Malcolm shrugs. “I wanted to see you live. And the play just got a brand-new backer.”
“Wait.” My heart falls. “Did you tell them to cast me?”
He catches me around the waist and pulls me in. “Nope. I told them that I was a businessman with a brand-new interest in theater and that I’d heard about the play and wanted to support it.” A light kiss on my lips. “You’re going to land that role without any help from me.”
“Seeing you helped me. I was struggling when they asked me to switch characters. And then I saw you.”
“I’ll have no problem coming with you to auditions if that’s what it takes to see you act more.”
I’m the one that kisses him then, hard, in front of the people checking in for later auditions. His arms come around me and he practically lifts me off the floor. My lipstick doesn’t last. It’s all over his mouth when we break apart, desperate for air.
“Are you done here?”
“I’m done here.”
“When will you know?”
I shake my head. “Not for a couple of days yet. We’ll see if I get called back.”
Running his hands through my curls, I see the heat already lighting in his eyes. “How about I take you home so you can get whatever you need, and then we make tomorrow the day we don’t leave the bed?”
“Yes,” I say. “Absolutely.”
We walk out of the theater hand in hand.
7
Malcolm
I stroke my fingers down Brooke’s back. She’s sleeping beside me, hair wild and sheets tangled around her body from earlier. It’s been two weeks since her audition, and we still haven’t had enough of each other.
She was called back, and a few days later was offered one of the starring roles. Not the one that she’d audition for, but the one they’d asked her to read for after. Her roommate Amy was cast as well. And seeing the joy on her face when she found out is an expression that I’ll never forget.
Ever since then, we haven’t spent a night apart. The thought of her not being here in my bed fills me with a dread that I can’t explain. Even with our nights and sleeping tangled together, I wish that we had more time. Her schedule is now taken up with rehearsals in the evenings, and the weekends, too.
I tried to make her leave the job as my secretary, but she wouldn’t. Not yet. I understand. Brooke’s tried to hide the fact that she’s not well off from me, but I see it. I’ve been to her apartment, and I’ve seen the way she never wastes anything. The play won’t last forever, and neither will that income.
What she doesn’t know is that I’m halfway in love with her, and as far as I’m concerned, she never has to worry about money again. Brooke can do whatever the hell she wants. Audition. Don’t. Decide to go help the Oteros make their barbecue better. Whatever. I just want her.
Always.
My hand stills on her back.
Holy fuck.
That thought should utterly terrify me, but it doesn’t. I know that I want Brooke on a level that is so deep I think it’s embedded in my cells. There’s simply no part of me that doesn’t know her and crave her and want her.
I lean down and kiss the skin between her shoulder blades before dragging them up to the back of her neck. She moans, stirring. “I don’t think I can again. You’ve completely worn me out.”
Slipping my arm under her stomach, I roll her over gently. The sheet covers almost nothing, and I get a gorgeous view of her body. Breasts that fit in my hands perfectly, lips swollen from my kisses, and the entirety of her relaxed from the orgasms I gave her.
“You don’t have to do any work if my head is between your legs.”
Brooke laughs slee
pily and pulls my mouth down to hers. And after a slow, languorous few minutes she runs her fingers through my hair. “I like your tongue in my mouth, too.”
“Whatever you want. Though I’m already missing you. I’d like to see you outside of my bed, too.”
“You’ll just have to share me.”
I hold her tighter against my body. “What if I don’t want to share you?”
“Feeling a little possessive, Sir?”
Tilting her head back, I kiss her neck. Nibble her collarbone. “More than a little.”
“Mmm.” She tilts her head away so that I have more skin to taste. “Well, Mr. Investor, I’m sure that no one would complain about you coming to rehearsals and watching, if you want. You can steal kisses when we have five-minute breaks.”
“I might take you up on that,” I say. I’m not lying. I am feeling possessive. Plus, watching her act will be no hardship whatsoever. “But I don’t want to do that if it will distract you.”
“On the contrary, I find the idea of you watching me pretty hot.”
“In that case,” I say, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Her happy smile as she closes her eyes burrows into my chest. That’s the look I always want to see on her face.
Brooke curls deeper into my chest, eyes closing again. She is exhausted with the new schedule and the lack of sleep because we’re both insatiable. I could have her again right now—my body wouldn’t complain—but this…holding her while she sleeps, is satisfaction in an entirely different way.
The next evening, I make my way to the theater. I already cleared my presence with the director and producers. They were ready to bend over backwards for me. Definitely a benefit of throwing my money at something. I have too much of it anyway, and right now this seems like a good use for it. Especially if it makes Brooke’s show that much better.
The theater looks very different without the lights up in the auditorium. Less dramatic. The actors are up on the stage being addressed by the director, but Brooke waves her fingers when she sees me. I wave back and find a seat about half-way back in the audience.
Turning, the director clocks my presence as well. I don’t think Brooke has told them who I am to her, and I haven’t said anything either—I know she wouldn’t want that. It’s important for her to succeed based on her own merit instead of my money.
And she is absolutely brilliant. In the scenes they run, Brooke is refreshing and vibrant. Her southern accent is perfect and rolling, her smile bright, and I have no questions about why she was cast. Amy, her roommate, is great too, in a role that’s nearly the opposite of Brooke’s. Watching her, I experience what it’s like to be completely entranced.
“Okay, take five,” the director says. “When we’re back, we’re going to do some improv stuff.”
Brooke comes down from the stage and jogs over to me. She jumps into my arms and kisses me. That’s that, then. They know. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know we’re together.”
“I don’t care,” she says, kissing me again. Then she pulls back and grins. “That’s the first time that either of us have said that, by the way. That we’re together.”
“Well, we are.”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “We are.”
I wrap my arms around her, enjoying the way her head fits right under my chin. Five minutes goes fast, and she’s heading back to the stage with a smile over her shoulder.
That look is everything.
“Okay. I want to do some work on some scenes that aren’t in the script but have obviously happened. I have a list that I’d like to work through. If we don’t get to all of them, we’ll do some another day. First up is Tood and Tommy, the proposal.”
Brooke brightens up, and she moves to the center of the stage with the only man in the cast. There’s a stirring of jealousy in my gut that I shove down.
It’s a sweet scene. A little awkward, as it should be with where the characters are. But you can also feel the joy and excitement leaking out of them. And when the actor gets down on one knee and proposes, there are tears in Brooke’s eyes.
He stands and sweeps her into his arms before he dips her back and kisses her.
I feel like a knife has been shoved into my gut. Pain that’s never completely healed. I’m not standing in a theater anymore—I’m standing in a doorway, watching who I thought was the love of my life tangled with someone else. It feels like fire.
He’s still kissing Brooke, and I want to kill him. The way she’s melting into him—I know exactly how it feels to have her do that. I can’t look at it. Can’t see it. Watching it is like being electrocuted, and if I keep seeing it, I’m going to put my hands on that man. Through the red haze over my eyes, I know that I need to leave.
I’m on my feet, letting the seat slam up and back. From somewhere I hear gasps, but all I focus on are the doors to the lobby. Beyond those doors is air that I need to breathe. I can’t be here.
The doors snap open under my hands.
“Malcolm.” Her voice is a faint echo. I keep walking. “Malcolm.”
“I need to go.”
“Wait a second. What’s going on?” Brooke looks confused and concerned.
“The director let you come after me?”
She crosses her arms. “The angel investor in the play suddenly and loudly gets up and storms out? Yeah, he wants to know what’s going on.”
That red tint comes back to my vision. “I don’t want to watch you kiss someone else. That’s what’s going on.”
Brooke goes entirely still. “What?”
“You heard me. I didn’t come to watch you make out with another man.”
“That’s not fair,” she says, eyes hard. “You know that it’s not real. Malcolm, I kissed you not even ten minutes before that. It’s not even a scene in the actual play. What’s really going on here?”
I snap. “If I’d known that’s what I would see, then I wouldn’t have come in the first place.”
Anger fills her face. Her entire stance. “You encouraged this. You wanted me to get the part. And now you don’t want me to do what’s necessary for it? This is my dream, and it means everything to me. And one kiss doesn’t mean anything. What’s really going on?”
“Maybe I didn’t understand what it really meant. And I’ve seen relationships dissolve over less.”
“So that means that ours has to? I lo—” she cuts herself off. “I don’t want to give up what we have. And I don’t want to give this up. Why can’t we have both?”
“Because I don’t want to share you.” My voice fills the lobby. I don’t want it to be so harsh and so loud, but I can’t stop what’s coming out of me. “I don’t want to be at home wondering if you’re doing more improv when you’re not on the stage.”
Brooke takes a step back like I’ve hit her. “You really think that I would do that?”
I don’t say anything. I can’t. And I hear her footsteps as she walks away. When I look up, she’s gone. I push open the door to the lobby and charge down the sidewalk towards my car. I can’t stay here. Can’t look at her, at the theater, or think about what it means.
But the farther I walk away, the worse I feel. I can’t stop the pull backward and toward Brooke. Because she’s not Ella.
God, I’m a fucking idiot.
Of course Brooke isn’t Ella. And of course that one kiss doesn’t mean that she’s cheating or that she will cheat on me. But all I could think about when I saw her was Ella and the way everything ended.
I thought that I’d moved on from that. I knew that it still hurt, but…fuck.
Turning around, I walk back to the theater at double my pace. I can fix this. I want to fix it. Brooke is worth everything, including owning up to the fact that I still haven’t recovered from the damage that Ella did, no matter how hard I try to hide it.
The lobby is still empty when I go in, and the whole cast is milling around, not rehearsing, when I enter the auditorium. Amy storms toward me. “What the he
ll did you do?”
“I’m Malcolm.”
She looks me up and down. “I know who you are. What the hell did you do?”
“It was…a small misunderstanding. I came back to fix it. Where’s Brooke?”
“She quit. After running after you, she came back in here practically in tears and said she couldn’t do the play. And she left. She’s not answering her phone, and I have no idea where she is. So whatever kind of misunderstanding it is, it isn’t so small to her.”
“I—”
Amy’s not done. “I swear, Malcolm, if you hurt her more, I will kick your ass.”
I smile at that. “I don’t want to hurt her. I promise.”
She glares at me. “We’ll see.”
She will see. First, I just have to find Brooke.
8
Malcolm
Amy was right. Brooke isn’t answering her phone, and she’s not at my apartment. Or at hers. I feel sick, knowing that she’s somewhere imagining the worst of me. Because I told her I thought the worst of her.
I decide to go to my office because the thought of being in my apartment without her is unbearable now. She belongs there. With me. I don’t know if I can bear to live there if she doesn’t forgive me. That’s how deeply I’ve fallen in love with her.
I stop in the lobby of the building, stock still.
Brooke.
I’m in love with her. Wholly and completely.
The fact that I didn’t see that before…holy fuck, I’m more of an idiot than I thought.
God, I need a drink. It’s getting late. Hopefully tomorrow Brooke will come home, or she’ll go to her apartment. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop calling her, or looking. Because I need to know that she’s okay and to get on my knees and fucking apologize.
I’m not even looking where I’m walking, and the gasp makes me snap my head up. She’s here. Sitting at her desk, face stained with tears.
The New Boss Page 5