The line goes silent, and I chew on my lip. Finally, I let out a long sigh and decide to act myage for once.
“I —” The words immediately die somewhere on my tongue. I clear my throat, smoothing my hand over my face in exasperation, and try again. “I’m sorry,” I say a little more forcefully this time. “It’s none of my business who you’re seeing. It won’t happen again.”
Connie stays quiet for so long that it has me checking my phone to make sure the call hasn’t been dropped.
Finally, she speaks. “Thank you. Apology accepted.” She pauses. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I force a smile, even though she can’t see it.
“Yeah, see you tomorrow, boss.”
Connie snorts a laugh, and my heart skips a beat. I ignore the embarrassing flutters in my stomach and hang up. Dropping my phone beside me, I sit motionless while I stare at nothing, feeling everything.
Eventually, I snap out of it and swipe the bottle of Jameson from the table.
18
CONNIE
It’s my second day as the owner of the Remington, and I’m trying my hardest not to let my nerves get the best of me in a room full of strangers.
With Mary-Beth’s stamp of approval since she already knew the staff, I decided to keep the technical crew as is. I called a pre-production meeting for Tuesday morning so I could officially introduce myself to the director, stage manager, and designers.
I deliberated taking on the role of director for our first production but decided that the role of producer would allow me more freedom as I transitioned into my new life. Technically, the Remington is closed, but I wanted to keep the fast-paced schedule of a regional theatre as intact as possible and settled on a mid-April opening night.
That gives us three months to produce a play.
I know I’m at the top of the hierarchy, even though we’re all sitting at the same table in the rehearsal space, but I feel a lot more like the new kid in school. They all share a past and camaraderie. I’m acutely jealousof that fact.
“So the play will be a modernized twist onThe Taming of the Shrew,” I declare, handing out copies of the play.
I give people time to look through it before speaking again, but Virginia, the director, beats me to the punch.
“Who wrote this?” Her tone is chilly as she flips through the pages, her eyes then flicking back to me. “You?”
Ignacio, the stage manager, coughs, shooting a wary look over to Virginia from the corner of his eye. I had the good sense to ask Mary-Beth to give me background on the major players before the meeting.
Especially Virginia; graduate of the Westmount School of Arts, exceptionally talented, late forties, known to be kind of a bitch.
Luckily, I’ve worked with my fair share of difficult people in my six years in the entertainment business, including Oliver.
I’ve always loved writing just as much as acting. I even wrote a screenplay titledLove Lies Waitingwith some help from my ex last year. But this is my first chance to utilize my talent. I might have a lot more confidence in my acting skills, but I’m not about to show my insecurities to Virginia.
“Yes,” I respond with a saccharine smile. “Problem?”
I hold her pointed stare until finally she relents and gives me a small shake of her head.
“Great,” I say, my tone a lot more cheerful now. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll let Ignacio take the helm.”
Ignacio quickly interrupts. “You can call me Nacho,” he says, followed by a warm smile.
I return the warmth and grin in confirmation. “If you have any questions, just come find me or call. I’ll give Nacho my number so he can update the contact sheet. Sounds good?”
Everyone nods in agreement, even Virginia, and with that, my very first meeting as a theatre owner comes to an end.
The swell of pride blooming in my chest is undeniable.
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
