“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 connection 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 saywe’ve been talking about you.
“What?” he asked.
“Tell him, Tomás,” prompted Daphne.
