And blast and damn, his entire staff was duly impressed with her organizational skills, not to mention smitten by her easy smiles. If he did anything to scare her away, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Where are the rest of my bloody files?”
“In your top drawer.” She skimmed a few pages even as she answered him.
“How am I expected to know that?”
“Because it’s a file drawer.”
Carter opened the drawer and grunted. Tidy rows of files with neat little labels stared back at him. None of which he was really interested in.
“We’re going to need several copies of the manuscript. Send for our usual copying clerk—Bradford something or other. His name and direction are posted backstage.”
“I have a second copy at home that I can give him, unless you’d prefer we make the changes first.”
“Yes. But bring it in anyway. We’ll need extras for the auditions. And while you’re at it, give this to Joseph Kent.” He held out a sealed envelope.
“The man whose wife is doing poorly?”
“That’s the one,” Carter answered.
Mr. Kent was one of the stagehands who’d been working at Drury Lane since before Carter had been hired. Lacking help at home, Kent had had no choice but to limit his time at work.
“If you intend on giving that man the boot, I refuse to be the one to deliver his notice.” Miss Sparrow looked fierce and Carter almost laughed.
“Just give it to him,” he said.
“What is it?”
Carter shook his head and then mumbled. “It’s nothing—a bonus.”
“A bonus?” Her delicate eyebrows shot up. “I—"
Carter cut her off before she made an issue of it. “Kent’s a hard worker.”
Miss Sparrow took the envelope, and then, by God, graced him with a smile that damn near left him speechless.
“You are not as uncaring as you would have us all believe,” she said.
“Believe what you wish.”
And she laughed at him—that laughter that required all his restraint to keep from joining. Cursed woman.
“What else would I believe? Do all directors feed their staff when they stay late working? Or join in to help break down old sets? Not to mention—”
“Yes, yes. I’m the epitome of charity. Now. Can we get some work done?”
“Anything you wish, Mr. Dodd.”
“Be careful what you agree to…” He muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
He stared at the missive he would send his solicitors, reminding him of his father’s recent threats. But his assistant was facing him again, this time with a frown.
“What don’t you like about the fourth scene?”
