Page 135 of Broken Romeo
That fact alone gives me the courage I need to cross the lobby, heading to the security desk. My flip flops smack against the white marble floors and the sound echoes off the thirty-foot ceilings.
The man sitting behind the desk looks up from his computer, smiling broadly at me.
“Good morning,” he says.
I do my best to smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes out as a grimace. “Morning. I’m here to see Holden James—”
Before I even finish, his fingers are flying across the keyboard. “Oh, I’m sorry. There’s a ‘Do Not Disturb’ flag on his room. With only a couple of exceptions. Do you have any ID?”
My heart plummets to my stomach, and I swallow the screams of frustration at the idea of having to wait until rehearsal to talk with Holden.
It’s only a little after nine. Late enough to be a respectful time, not barging in at the crack of dawn.
“Um, sure,” I say and dig out my driver’s license that has gone relatively unused for the years that I’ve lived in New York. I slide it across the counter, a hopeless despair settling in my chest.
I’m going to have to talk to him at rehearsal. In front of everyone.
The man behind the desk slides my ID back to me, his grin widening. “Oh, Ms. Harris! Great—he’s been expecting you.”
It takes a moment to register what he’s said and I pause, having already turned to leave. “I’m sorry… he’s what?”
“You’re on the list of exceptions for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ flag. He’s been expecting you.Let me just call up and let him know you’re here.”
How in the hell is that even possible? I didn’t even realize I was coming over until about forty minutes ago.
The guard hangs up the phone and points to a plush seating area in the corner of the lobby. “He’ll be right down if you want to have a seat.”
Everything around me becomes white noise as I fall into a leather loveseat in the corner. He’ll be down. But all I hear is: I can’t go up.
What in the damn hell is going on? I stare out the massive floor to ceiling windows as people hurry by, some with their eyes cast down at their phones. Others sip coffee. Every one of them lost in their own little world. Soft instrumental music croons quietly in the lobby and I find myself lost in the melody. Lost in my thoughts.
Behind me, the elevator dings and quiet, confident footsteps grow louder, the closer they come. I don’t need to turn to know it’s him.
His touch is soft against my elbow, and the cushion beside me dips as he takes a seat.
“I was hoping you’d come,” Holden says, his voice low and calm in a practiced way.
“Is it true?” I ask, fighting the urge to turn and look at him. But I know the moment I do, it’s over. The tears will fall. I’ll ache to touch him. To kiss him. To hold onto him. Right now, more than anything, I need strength and willpower.
He blows out a quiet sigh before answering. “I did text my dad that stuff when you first took the role. But I swear on my mother’s grave, Katherine, that’s not why I offered it to you.”
That wasn’t exactly the question I was referring to when I asked if it was true. But I’ll take every explanation I can get right now. “And what about Reid Bradley? He never really wanted me in this show, did he?”
I can’t fight it anymore. I slide my gaze to peer at him.
After last night, I only got a few hours of sleep. But Holden looks like he got two… Tops. His hair is wild, wavy and falling into his weary eyes.
Almost reading my thoughts, he rakes a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his face. “He did want you to audition. I had no idea my dad paid him to step down in order to give me this shot. So, before I knew Reid was leaving the production, I took him to your Fringe show. That’s it. Everything else was true. Reid loved your performance and wanted you to read for the part. Simon, Amy, and the other producers were obsessed with your audition. I may have cracked the window of opportunity, but everything else was your talent that got you here.”
I snort a laugh. “My talent. You really had no idea your dad was a silent producer?”
His eyes flash a golden color against the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. “I had no clue. I thought for once I’d done something on my own. But as usual, I’m a joke. Dad purchased this job for me, just like he’s always done.”
I pull the magazine from my purse and drop it on the couch between us. “And what about this? Is this true?”
I hold my breath, heat buzzing in my sinuses, awaiting his answer. His reaction.
He stares at the open page before dropping his head into his hands. With his elbows pressing into his knees and his face buried, he says, “I was hoping to talk to you before you saw that.”