“Just a bit, and I not-so-secretly liked every bit of it.” He reaches down and lazily traces his hand on the curve of my cheek as I go on. “So, now that we’ve slept together, does that mean you’re done chasing after me?”
A sly smile crosses his face. “I’m only just getting started,” he whispers, inching down to brush his mouth across my neck.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back just enough to allow him better access. “On second thought, I’m starting to think that I’m the one who’s really in trouble.”
16
Know how you know you’re in the field you’re meant to be in? When you’re halfway through the day and you’re already getting disappointed that you’ll eventually have to go home. As in, you’re genuinely upset. That’s how I feel right now—borderline heartbroken because in four hours, we’ll be calling it a night, and I want this experience every day for the rest of my life.
Today is our final day of rehearsal, a full run-through of the play in its entirety from cue to cue. There’s no rehearsal tomorrow—so the actors will stay fresh—and then the next day, it’s showtime. Usually, this would have been what’s known as a technical rehearsal where we’d be at the venue, perfecting the lighting and sounds, but as we’re only going to be at the pop-up for one night, this is the best we can do.
We’re at the halfway point now, having our faux intermission as everyone eats a quick bite and reenergizes. I like to think that this is how I’ll feel for the majority of the time if I end up getting the job at West Lane. I spoke to Professor Jack about the position for over two hours the other night, and I’m scheduled to have a Zoom interview with Suzanne, the executive director, tomorrow. I’m not quite positive what to expect from it, but I’m entirely ready to fake it till I make it. And after working with Juliette for so long, I feel like I can make anything work.
Thinking of Juliette, I look up and find her sitting off to the side with a magazine reporter who arrived a couple of minutes ago to interview her. I was going to check in and make sure everything was all set between them, but with me being wrapped up as I was, I figured they could handle it on their own. I’m subtly watching them out of the corner of my eye now and munching on a bag of chips when Ellie appears beside me, drinking an abnormally large cup of coffee.
“Hi there,” she chirps.
“Hey,” I answer back happily. “I’ve been meaning to tell you: I really love the song you have Zachary playing after the big argument scene. It’s haunting but so sweet, too. I’ve never heard it before.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments, because Chloe wrote it.”
“Did she really?” I ask.
“She did. She’s an amazing songwriter and has played guitar since she was ten. I actually met her at a café open mic night. It was love at first sight.”
My heart explodes just from picturing it. “That’s amazing. And now her song will be inThe Lights of Trafalgar.”
“Yes, it’s our first artistic collaboration, as it were. She’s pretty nervous about it, but I can’t wait.”
“Maybe this will be her big break.”
“Might be,” she agrees with a smile. “What about you? You’re a playwright, aren’t you? Are you still waiting for your big break?”
“That I am. Hopefully something will pan out soon. I have a project I’m nearly finished with, but we’ll see what happens there.”
A sudden crash causes us both to jump, our eyes whipping to the front of the space, where we see that one of the metal folding chairs has fallen to the floor. We both sigh, and Ellie takes a soothing sip of coffee. “Well, hey, if you’d ever like me to look at your work, I’d be more than happy to.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, taken aback. I’ve practically been begging Juliette to read my work for years, and here Ellie is willing to do it after only knowing me for two weeks.
“Of course,” she answers. “We’re all in the playwriting trenches together.”
Once again struck by Ellie’s kindness, I shake my head a bit as a massive smile spreads across my face. “Yes, that would be amazing. I can email it to you tonight if that would be okay?”
“Perfect,” Ellie answers.
“Honestly, though, please don’t feel obligated to read it. I’m sure you have a million things going on with the play.”
“Oh no, send away. I barely sleep as it is. And if I can’t get to it now, I’ll make sure to carve out time the minute the show is over.” Her eyes trail over my shoulder then, something catching her eye that causes an inquisitive crinkle to appear between her brows. “Who is that that Juliette is talking to?” she asks.
I quickly turn around to follow her gaze. “That’s Michael Quinton, a journalist from theHerald.He’s interviewing her about the pop-up.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him,” she says dryly. “How about you and I just go introduce ourselves, shall we?” She starts walking towards them before I even answer, and I have to jog a bit to catch up with her. The closer we get, the clearer I can see Juliette’s face, and it gives me pause. Her typical media-friendly expression is strangely absent, replaced instead with a surprised kind of blankness. She’s distracted enough that she doesn’t even see us approaching, her gaze focused entirely on the reporter. We’re nearly there and I’m about to step to Juliette’s side when Ellie holds out an arm to stop, halting us a few feet behind Michael but within earshot.
“I think it’s worth noting that you’ve been linked to some pretty famous men in the entertainment industry,” he says, his voice nasal and confident. “Producers, actors, fellow visionaries such as yourself. What do you think was the catalyst for each of those relationships’ eventual demises?”
Juliette’s eyes glaze over with a coldness that she only reserves for people she truly can’t stand. “Would you like me to come up with some sort of a list?”
“Let me rephrase that—do you feel like you value your career or your craft over personal fulfillment? And if so, do you stand by that decision?”
