A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) (8 page)

Max finally remembered to turn off the engine in his car, but he still sat there for a long while, thinking. Remembering . . . Working with her. Playing. Fights. Make ups. Missing her. Wanting her. Hating and loving, wanting to stay, wanting to go. He groaned. "Damn you, Peter."
 

If Peter hadn't brought up all their old drama, Max could have ignored that random, electrifying kiss today. Max was, after all, a master of the let's-pretend-this-never-happened school of life. But now, thinking of the sheer accumulated avalanche of history between himself and Nicola, Max realized his usual go with the flow strategy wouldn't work.
 

He was going to have to break the Code of Manliness.

He was going to have to talk to Nicola.

About his
feelings
.
 

"Shit."

***

The next morning, Nicola showed up to her first day at the RSF bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to storm the castle. She pulled into the theater's parking lot way early for her appointment and heard her phone chime. She dug it out to see a text from Cassie:
How'd it go yesterday? Audition, etc.

Nicola grinned.
I got the part!!! Starting rehearsals today.

Awesome! :D And the Max . . . thing?
Cassie wrote back.

Nicola chewed her lip. Yes, she'd been up half the night worrying about Max, but she'd spent almost as much time worrying about Judith and the company dynamics and starting a new job and –
 

She sucked in a deep breath then blew it out through her teeth. She did not need to get herself worked up right now. She typed back,
Whatever issues the whole Max thing might present, I am totally excited about the acting portion of this job.

OK. Well good. Talk later?

Yeah. :)
Nicola turned off her ringer, sure she would forget to do so if she waited, and dropped the phone in her bag.
 

She rolled out of her car and leaned against the door, beaming at her new place of employment. The RSF buildings and theaters were housed on what had once been the estate of an infamous Hollywood spitfire, the red-headed siren Armina Elton. But the grounds didn't resemble anything like someone's home now. The admin offices were housed over the box office in a tall, narrow building with wood planked walls and a green shingle roof. A boxy staircase zagged up one side with a hand-painted sign saying "Offices".

The top of the main stage poked over the line of trees down the hill, and as Nicola stared at the company's grounds, her insides buzzed with a singsong of
opportunity, opportunity
. If she did well in this show, then she was setting herself up for the chance to do all kinds of things, to play all kinds of parts. The RSF could become a safe haven for her, the sort of home every actor longs for but few ever find. Or keep.
 

A car turned into the space beside Nicola's, and she jumped at the sound of the door opening.
 

I need more coffee
. She wheeled away from the theater to get her rehearsal bag out of her own backseat and came face to face with Isabelle Elton.
 

Nicola swallowed. "Good morning, Ms. Elton."

"Call me Isabelle. Please." Isabelle flashed her a polite, distracted smile. "Pretty view, isn't it?"

"Very pretty." Nicola turned back, drinking in the sights again, admiring the soft gray beauty of the overcast sky, the rustic line of tree and building – mostly so she could avoid looking at Isabelle. The artistic director rubbed Nicola's nerves raw, as if a 7.0 earthquake were trembling beneath the other woman's cool façade – a surplus of feeling which could break at any moment.

Isabelle jerked her chin toward the admin building. "If you follow me into the office we can get your contract signed before you see Tierney for your costume fitting. This way." The artistic director started toward the admin building. Nicola shrugged the strap of her rehearsal bag onto her shoulder and followed Isabelle up the stairs to the offices.

The interior of the admin building was painted a soft champagne color with modern light fixtures and plush leather seats in the waiting area. Framed shots from dozens of the RSF's shows graced the walls, and Nicola had to restrain an urge to linger.
 

"Look around if you want," Isabelle said, poised in her office door.
 

Not needing to be told twice, Nicola dumped her rehearsal bag into one of the guest chairs. The photos were pretty standard fare: record shots from past productions at the RSF showing comical scenes or a stunning tableau, anything that had made a good picture.

She caught a glimpse of Armina Elton's famous face and leaned nearer to that image, surprised to find herself staring at a shot of the movie star and a young Isabelle onstage together. Isabelle sat at a vanity table, staring shakily ahead as she put on lipstick. Her mother stood behind her, arms waving, a manic expression on her face.
 

"
Gypsy
," Isabelle explained. Nicola jumped to find her standing so close. Isabelle nodded toward the frame. "
Gypsy
was the last show Mother did before she retired. The entire run of that show sold out. Only time that's happened in the RSF's history."

"Your parents founded the RSF together, right?"
 

"Yes. After Mama stopped making films she got so bored, waiting for parts to come along. And she had this huge estate. The RSF literally got its start when my parents put together a production of
As You Like It
in the barn with a bunch of friends. Rosalind was always Mama's favorite Shakespeare part. Here." Isabelle pulled one of the pictures off the wall and handed the frame to Nicola.

The picture showed Armina Elton and her third husband, the famous opera singer Bastian DeMarco, clasping each other in the kind of passionate embrace you only ever saw onstage. Or pirate movies. Armina was in some kind of harem girl costume as she tried to twist away. Bastian wore a long and very red cape with a matching mask as he held her close to him. "This is from the RSF's first season ever," Isabelle said. "My dad made her do
The Desert Song
so he could have a chance to sing. Tierney keeps bugging me to put that show in the season again." Isabelle puffed her breath out on a small
hmm
, then lifted the picture from Nicola's hands and stuck the photo back on the wall. "Let's get your contract signed, eh?"

Moment over
, Nicola thought as Isabelle stalked into her office, taking it for granted that Nicola would follow. Shaking her head, Nicola shouldered her bag and marched after her.
 

Isabelle insinuated herself into her chair and placed the contract on the desk in front of Nicola. Someone knocked on Isabelle's door just as Nicola finished dotting her 'i' and adding the flourish on the 's' in 'Charles'. When Nicola glanced up, Judith O'Fallon stood in the doorway.

Nicola forced herself to smile and not fidget. "Nice to see you, Ms. O'Fallon."

"Oh, call me Judith. Were you two done? Shall I walk Nicola out?"

Please don't
. But Nicola kept beaming until her cheeks hurt. Isabelle waved them off and expelled a long, wistful sigh as she stared at the mountains of paperwork stacked on her desk, ringing her round like an ambush.
 

In the reception room, Judith glanced at Isabelle's closed door then lowered her voice. "Did Isabelle give you any trouble?"

Nicola frowned. "No . . . "

"Oh good.
Rita
thinks very highly of you. She's a strong ally to have in your corner."

"The feeling's mutual."

"Yes." Judith graced this remark with a stiff, polite smile. "I only wanted you to understand: this is the big leagues. I've done shows with the RSF before, and I want to make sure we maintain a high standard of quality this season under my tenure."

"All right – "

"The RSF is one of the largest non-profit theaters in the nation. And we're regarded as one of the best, if not
the
best, classical theater company on the west coast. Audiences come here and expect a certain level of talent. Professionalism." Judith raised her eyebrow at Nicola, a haughty challenge. "You were a little unpolished yesterday, dear. Amateurish. You'll want to work on that with Rita. Shakespeare isn't a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical."

"I know that – "

"We need a little bit more depth from our actors."

Nicola's cheeks burned, and she squeezed her hands into fists to keep from slapping the artistic director.
Let's see
you
dance and sing for three hours straight while living out of a suitcase and eating nothing but bad hotel food day in and day out
.
 

Having a cat fight with Judith O'Fallon probably wouldn't be the best way to start here, but –
Professional my
ass
. Nicola took a slow breath then released it.
 

Judith continued, "What I'm saying is: we expect a lot from our actors. There isn't any hand-holding. Or coddling. It's sink or swim around here." Judith
tsk
ed, running her gaze over Nicola. "And, dear, you might want to lose just a few pounds. I understand the fairies won't be wearing very much, and we don't want to horrify our audience with a chunky Titania, do we?" Judith gave a sharp little titter.
 

As her body vibrated with suppressed anger, Nicola managed a small nod.
You evil, presumptuous, arrogant
–
 

"Oh, I just remembered I need to speak to Isabelle. Can you find your own way out, dear?" Judith's eyes were slitted with pleasure like a cat's.

"Of course."
Get away from me
. Nicola waved goodbye, her mind popping with disquiet, and she turned into one of the empty hallways, wanting as much space between her and Judith O'Fallon as possible.
 

What is with that lady?
Like most women, Nicola had some issues with her body, but her weight wasn't one of them.
She stopped, realizing she'd wandered and managed to get herself lost in the office suite. It was paranoid, but she wondered if maybe Judith had abandoned her on purpose, hoping she'd get lost. She shook her head at herself and started backtracking. Next moment she caught a glimpse of a blurred human figure walking past in the hallway. "Excuse me?" she called, hustling in the direction the person had disappeared.

Footsteps shuffled in the hall and a man poked his head around the corner, his hair a shock of red against the soft color of the walls. "Well, hullo." He grinned and the effect of his smile nearly floored Nicola – all gleaming teeth and impish dimples and laughing blue,
blue
eyes. It was a smile of charm and mischief, the sort of smile a siren might use to tempt a sailor to his doom.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Cou – could you point me toward the costume shop?"

He stepped forward, and she found herself startled again, blinking as he towered over her. She'd never met anyone as tall as the Fiesengerke brothers before, but this man had to be as tall, maybe even a half inch taller than Max. This guy was more wiry, though, lean muscle instead of ripped bulk like Max.

The stranger ran a thumb down the line of his chiseled cheekbone, scratching against the red hair of his goatee. "Searching for Tierney, were you?"
 

Oh
swoo-oon
. He had a clipped, beautiful upper class British accent, which matched the rich baritone of his voice. Nicola wondered if the accent was real or if he were putting it on to be more Shakespearean, but then he spoke again and, yup, the accent was real.
Score
. "I was about to make my own way to the costume shop," he said. "You can follow me."

"Great."

"You must be our new Titania," he said, his long, long legs eating up the ground. "Max's . . . friend."

Nicola grimaced to herself. That minor hesitation said all kinds of things about what information was already circulating through the company grapevine about her and Max. What if anyone from the company had seen them kissing yesterday? For a moment, she wanted to drop her head into her hands and weep with frustration.

But the two of them were already standing outside the costume shop, and her escort tugged the door open, holding it for her. "After you."

She beamed at him, feeling kind of fluttery. He was
very
cute.

The costume shop was a claustrophobic little room with a long table at the center and cabinets lining every wall. A maze of doors seemed to have bred like bunnies in the room. Nicola frowned, wondering where all the doors could possibly lead.
 

"Oh good,
actors
," Tierney said by way of greeting as they entered her shop, her voice dripping contempt.
 

"Yes, quite shocking to find actors in a theater. Hello, my petal, had your caffeine yet?" Nicola's new friend swung around Tierney's work table to kiss the costume mistress on the cheek.
 

Tierney batted him away and returned her attention to the pattern she was laying out. "Nicola, I see you've met Lachlan."

"Not officially." The man, Lachlan, turned to Nicola, a smirk curling his gorgeous mouth. He clicked his heels together and bowed at the waist. "Lachlan Stuart."