I lean back in the chair slowly. “This is depressing.” For so many reasons.
Daphne nods solemnly. “Reminds me of my love life.”
“That bad?”
“Oh, worse. At least the theater gets repeat customers.”
A surprised laugh barks out of me. “We’ll think of ways to save this place.” I already have ideas swirling in my head.
We can bring back special events. Themed movie nights that allow people to dress up, like Rocky Horror. Seasonal showings. Halloween horror. Feel-good Christmas movies to bring in families with kids. We could do new things too, like a membership option for movie buffs, merch with The Palace logo and funny movie quotes, private events, film festivals, the options are really limitless.
“Except.” I bite my lip. “I might have to wait until I can take full legal possession of the theater to do anything major. Right now, I only have the authority to run it. I should probably check with Spencer to see if that will prevent me from implementing any big changes, legally.”
“What do you mean? Beverly left you the theater, right? That’s why you’re here.”
“Not exactly.” Should I tell her? Can I trust her? We just met. Spencer said she could help me. I have to tell her something. I need someone to help me. “Spencer didn’t mention anything to you about the specifics of the inheritance?” Maybe he would have told her some of the rough details, since she’s been running the theater.
She snorts. “Spencer wouldn’t tell anyone anything. The man is like a vault. But like, a massive vault with forty-five locks and three doors that open in different and impossible ways.”
I hesitate.
Secrets are currency in my life, and trust is something you hand out carefully. Not that I think Daphne would spill secrets to the press. I’m more worried about Mother. If she thinks the theater is worth anything, she’ll try to get her hands on it or ruin it for me somehow, all in the name of “caring.”
But I don’t want to sell it. I want to fix it.
And to do all that, I need help.
More than that, I haven’t had a real friend in . . . well, ever.
Daphne is waiting, practically vibrating in her seat.
I make an executive decision. “First you have to swear you won’t tell anyone.”
Her eyes widen with delight. “I love secrets,” she whispers.
“I’m serious.”
“I can be serious.”
“Can you?”
She immediately raises one hand like she’s being sworn in at court. “I solemnly swear,” she says gravely, “to never tell a soul anything you tell me in this room, lest turtles devour my innards, I hit every red light for the rest of my life, my coffee is always weak, and I have period cramps and the urge to pee with no bathroom in sight for as long as I live, amen.”
I choke on a laugh. “Okay, that’s sufficiently horrifying.”
“Thank you,” she says. “I take my oaths very seriously.”
I blow out a breath. “All right. Here’s the situation. In order to get the title to The Palace, I have to complete some tasks.”
Her eyes light up. “Oh, exciting. What are these tasks? Oh wait. We should call them missions. That has so much more pizzaz.”
I give her the rundown of Beverly’s letter and what Spencer told me so far. How in order to officially claim the inheritance, I have to matchmake myself with someone and complete a series of tasks to ensure I’m moving toward that goal.
“You have to matchmake yourself? With who?”
“Graham Deadwyler.”
Her mouth drops in shock, and then laughter erupts from her body with so much force, she almost falls out of the chair.
