He smirks. “Well, the first part isn’t quite so mysterious. We’re just going downstairs to grab a quick bite in the restaurant. The main event doesn’t start until eight.”
I tip my chin toward the magazine. “I, uh… read an article about Madison’s charity,” I say carefully. “As your mentor, does she help you decide what organizations you support?”
Amusement crosses Jake’s face. “Are you asking if I support cancer research because of Madison?”
I shrug, suddenly mortified by my decision to bring it up at all. Jake squats so that our gazes are level, his brown eyes warming as they lock with mine.
“No, I didn’t do it because of Madison. I did it because of you. I knew it was too late to reach out, to make things right. But I still thought about you. All the time. And I wanted to do something to honor that, something just for you.”
THE DINING ROOM ATThe Pierre is as stunning as the rest of the hotel, with striped carpeting in neutral shades and chic white light fixtures. Still, from the moment we step through the doors,Jake’s celebrity status is impossible to ignore. Heads turn, and excited whispers fill the room as we pass through. Jake’s shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly, but otherwise, he ignores the commotion he’s caused.
Once we’re settled, we order a bottle of Malbec, which the waitress returns with almost immediately. I wonder fleetingly if the service is always this great, or if Jake’s celebrity status has afforded us extra-special treatment.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the pirate comment earlier,” I say after taking a long sip of my wine. “That was completely rude. I really don’t know what came over me.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Please do not apologize. Seriously. I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to be around you, to have someone be honest with me, for once.” He lifts his wineglass off the table but doesn’t drink it, staring at its contents contemplatively as he swirls the maroon liquid. “I don’t always know who I can trust, who’s there for the right reasons.”
I run a cloth napkin through my fingers as I mull over his words. “Why do you think that is?”
Jake sighs, his eyes trained on his menu. “When everyone around you is worried about staying on payroll, getting invited to great parties, and becoming famous themselves, it’s hard to find someone who’s willing to take a break from the rat race and just be a friend. People forget I’m still a regular person and not just a cog in a machine. All they’re worried about is clogging the motor.”
He drains his glass in one swig, and then meets my eye across the table. His expression softens as he drinks me in, holding my gaze meaningfully. “People who are genuinely concerned about your well-being are hard to come by, so when you find them, you never want to let them go.”
Our conversation soon transitions to Jake’s interview, and then I tell him about the crazy night we had in the kitchen two days ago, when a food critic popped in unexpectedly. We’re justfinishing up our dinners—chestnut cappelletti for me, a burger for him—when Jake clicks on his phone to check the time.
“Ah, we’d better be heading out.” He dabs his mouth with a cloth napkin, his eyes dancing over the top of the white fabric. The excitement he’s radiating is contagious, and my insides flutter.
By the time Jake’s driver slows to a stop in front of the Imperial Theater on West Forty-Fifth Street, my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. I practically fly out of the car and onto the sidewalk, my knees trembling with elation as I look up at the dangling French flag and familiar letters stamped onto the marquee:Les Misérables.
I whip my head around to beam at Jake, who’s leaning against the car, arms crossed, an enormous grin stretched across his face.
“Seriously?!”
“I made you a promise, didn’t I?”
I’m too overcome with emotion to formulate words, so I merely nod. A small crowd has begun to form near Jake. He pauses to sign autographs and take a couple of selfies, and then we make our way into the theater, where our usher shows us to our seats in the center of the fifth row. Jake’s lips brush against my ear as we settle into our spots.
“I know you wanted to sit in the first row, but then you’d have to arch your neck. These are definitely the best seats in the house.”
“It’s perfect,” I whisper back. And I mean it. My mom loved Broadway, and as a kid, my parents used to take me to see shows all the time. I can still remember the burst of excitement I felt when we sawGuys and Dollsin 2009. I loved the energy that radiated off the stage, the way my dad sang “Sit Down, You’re Rockin’ the Boat” in the shower for an entire week after. But I’ve never had seats like this. A rag-clad member of the ensemble peeks through the wings. I wave at him and he grins, waving back before disappearing again from view.
A few minutes later the lights dim, and the overture begins.Jake slips his hand through mine, and I squeeze it tightly. When the lights go back on after the second act, the skin on the back of his hand is stained with tears and black mascara.
“That was amazing,” I say, dabbing my eyes. “Seriously. Thank you so much.”
Jake beams. “Well, it’s not over yet. Ready to go backstage and meet the cast?”
I blink at him uncomprehendingly. “Are you serious?”
His grin widens as his eyes run over my tear-soaked face. “Hey, there have to be some perks to bunking with a celebrity, right?”
Taking me by the hand, Jake guides me over to the stage doors. He pulls a laminated pass from his back pocket and shows it to the guard, who nods and pushes the doors open so we can step inside.
The crowded backstage area is tighter than I expected and filled to the brim with props. There’s a black bookshelf shoved against one brick wall packed tightly with woven baskets and leather-bound books. Beside it sits a blue rubber tub filled with glass liquor bottles and a baby doll wrapped in a tattered swaddle. Cosette’s mopping bucket rests beside it. Glancing upward, I notice the fronts of Parisian buildings dangling above our heads. Suddenly, a scream rattles through the air.
“Oh my god, you guys! It’s Jake Taylor!” The young actress who plays Éponine rushes toward us. She’s still in costume, a filthy trench coat draped loosely around her shoulders and a leather belt cinching her waist. She twists her head over one shoulder and calls out to her castmates. “Dustin! Tammy! Get over here!” There’s a flurry of movement, as the actors who play Marius and Cosette, as well as several members of the crew, make their way over to us.
“Wonderful show,” Jake tells them. “Congrats to all of you. I wanted to introduce you all to Lexi Berman.”
