Page 133 of Broken Romeo
Fighting position.
And she was talking to my mother.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I stare at the peeling paint in the corners of the ceiling of our café. I’ve always thought this place was spotless and that I knew every inch of it, yet I’ve never noticed that before. Staring at that peeling paint is like looking in a mirror. On the surface, I look clean and put together. Strong. Resilient. But if anyone takes the extra moment to look closer, they can see my peeling paint. The rough parts around the edges.
The cracks in the veneer.
Holden always saw it. He saw me. For better or worse, he saw it all.
Even though I have a signed contract from Holden for the show, I can’t help the itchy feeling that something is wrong. That Holden’s dad has gotten to him and somehow changed his mind about casting me. Could he rescind that contract if he wanted to? I don’t think so; if I sign it, it’s legally binding. End of story… right?
Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye as Keith lifts his teapot, pouring more of the steeped Jasmine Dragonpearl tea into his cup.
“You didn’t have to buy my tea, you know.” He smirks, setting the teapot gingerly back to its saucer.
I take a sip of my lemon ginger tea. I’m not sure if I’ll be expected to sing at today’s rehearsal, but I’m not taking any chances on dairy.
“If by ‘buy’ you mean ‘sneak behind the counter while Curt wasn’t looking and steal a couple teabags’ … sure.” I chuckle and give a self-deprecating shrug. “I still work here. And one of the perks of being a coffee shop employee is all the tea and coffee I can drink.”
Keith grins and adjusts the exact same black rectangle glasses which are a good ten years out of style. If he waits another few years, they may come back. “Well, I’m pretty sure I should be treating you to coffee.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Keith takes a breath. Leaning forward, he wraps his hands around his cup. Every hair on my body stands on end.
Oh, god. Why is he staring at me like that?
“Because,” he starts, his voice serious and intensely quiet, “it’s customary for a producer and playwright to wine and dine an actor before they offer her a part in a Broadway show.”
Offer her a part. Me? Is Keith offering me a part? I shake my head, trying to escape the water-logged feeling. I didn’t hear that right. I couldn’t have. There’s no way after several years of struggling as a professional actress that I get not one, but two Broadway offers in less than a month. And from two people who had essentially crushed my career before it even began?
No. I’ve definitely misheard him. Between my hammering heart, gaping jaw, and narrowed gaze, my don’t-fuck-with-me vibes are strong. “I’m sorry… what?”
“As I mentioned last night, Remy and Julie is doing really well in workshops and Off-Broadway. There’s only one hitch with our Julie…”
His pause triggers my question. “What’s that?”
“She’s not you.”
The whir of the air conditioner kicks on and a manufactured cold breeze kisses the back of my neck.
“Funny,” I whisper. “I recall the only hitch with your first production was me as Julie.”
His light gray eyes flash with regret. “You were a scapegoat. It’s the biggest regret of my life that I went along with that plan. But I was stupid, and I thought I was in love—”
“And it didn’t hurt that McCay made sure you and your career were taken care of for going along with their little plan.”
Leaning his elbows on the table, he kneads the back of his neck, not meeting my gaze. “It was less about her making my career… and more about her not breaking it.”
“Like she broke mine.”
Slowly, his eyes lift to mine and he nods. “I’m sorry. And I finally have power to offer you the role that should have been yours in the first place. Come work with me, Kate. Come be my Julie and you won’t have to see Holden or Nolan or Missy every day at work—”
“Missy?” I ask. “Why would I have to see Missy every day?”
Just the sound of her name makes my insides curl in on themselves.