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Was it exciting? Absolutely. Was it crazy? More than absolutely. What would her mother, her father, God, even Brock think?
They’d think she was irresponsible, silly, reckless, wild.
But what did she think? How about answering that question for once?
Sure, there was a chance this decision would backfire, leaving her without a job and laughed at by her friends and family. But there was a chance that something special was going on here—that she finally had an opportunity to take control of her life, to get out of her cell and make a difference in some way, even if only in her life and Matt’s and the people who supported their families from the Yankee Potato Chip Company.
To do something she wanted to do, something she would be proud of...
But the risk...
There were butterflies in her stomach—just like when she was little and in line for the Ferris wheel at the firemen’s carnival. As the line got shorter and the moment of truth approached, she would nearly sweat with anxiety. Would she do it or would she chicken out?
She would look up at the seemingly shaky structure that would take her on a ride fraught with danger, up to terrifying heights. Then she’d remember the exhilaration of the wind in her hair as she looked way, way down at the little people below and out at the horizon that seemed to stretch on forever.
It had been worth it. It always had been worth it.
She looked at Matt as he shut off the copy machine, as he stapled together the copies he’d made, as he put the original back in the folder, back in the file cabinet.
Where are we going?
Does it matter?
No.
“I’ll take the job,” she told him.
He turned and stared at her. “But you haven’t even read the—”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You offered, I’m taking it.”
Matt laughed. “Since when do you make a decision without forty-eight hours of soul searching?”
“Since right now,” she said.
“Are you sure?” He looked worried.
She felt a twinge of uncertainty. “Are you sure you want me?”
“Absolutely!”
“Then I’m sure.”
Matt just looked at her. With that same disconcerting heat in his eyes. She had to turn away, look out the window at the night.
“I’ve been thinking for some time now about making some changes,” she confessed. “It occurred to me that if I took your offer I wouldn’t have to go back to that horrible office without a window.”
“You don’t have a window?”
She glanced at him. “You’ve got to earn a window at Andersen and Brenden.”
“God.”
“I wouldn’t have to make that awful commute, I wouldn’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes— Would I?”
“No way.” He was grinning at her. “If you work for me, you don’t have to wear shoes at all. Of course, if in three months you won’t be able to afford to buy shoes...”
“Not if I can help it,” she said. “This is a beautiful office. It’s ten minutes from home, inches from the ocean...” She made a face. “Although, telling my dad that I’m leaving A&B isn’t going to be fun....”
His smile had faded. “Maggie,” he said seriously. “I don’t want to pressure you.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you to say yes. I really want you to say yes. But this isn’t going to be easy. Your job will be to help me figure out how to run this business. At this point, I can barely remember how to add or subtract. It’ll mean really long hours. I’ve only got three months, and right now, quite frankly, I couldn’t run a business if my life depended on it. So if you aren’t absolutely sure or if you’re doing this just to help me out of a tough spot or if you’re going to regret this tomorrow...” He looked searchingly into her eyes. “I want you to be really sure.”
She looked back at this man who was half Matt, half her fantasy man and didn’t hesitate. “I’m sure.”
A flood of emotions crossed his face. “Well, all right,” he said and handed her the copy of the will. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow after the auditions. We can start work then.”
Maggie glanced through the will—it was fourteen pages long. “We should forget about the auditions. If we only have three months—”
“No,” Matt said. “I’m not giving up a chance to be in another show with you. And rehearsals are only, what? A couple evenings a week?”
“Except for the last week before it opens,” she chided him. “Then it’s every day. We really can’t—”
“Yes, we can,” he said. “The show won’t open until the end of my fiscal quarter. If we haven’t succeeded by then...” He shrugged. “It’ll be too late.”
“I just don’t think we should take on too much at once,” Maggie told him.
The smile he gave her was beautiful. “You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough,” she countered.
“This is going to work out just perfectly.”
Chapter Four
THE AIR IN the community-theater auditorium was cool compared to the outside warmth of the sunny spring morning. It smelled like sawdust and paint, musty curtains, a little bit of sweat and a whole lot of excitement.
It smelled like a show.
Maggie smiled and waved to friends from past productions as she put her gym bag down on one of the seats in the first row.
There was an audition sign-up sheet posted on the apron of the stage, and she signed in.
“Sign me in, too.”
She looked up to see Matt leaning over her shoulder to look at the list. His hands were on the stage, on either side of her, effectively pinning her in.
His teeth flashed white and perfect as he grinned at her. He was standing so close, Maggie caught a whiff of the spearmint toothpaste he’d used, probably right before leaving his house. He was wearing all black—a snugly fitting T-shirt, sweats and a pair of jazz shoes that had clearly seen a lot of use. Howard Osford, the slightly balding, slightly overweight tenor who usually won the romantic leads out of lack of competition didn’t stand a chance today.
“What are you singing?” she asked as he watched her add his name to the list.
Matt shrugged, straightening up and freeing her. He followed her back to her gym bag, throwing himself casually into the seat next to it. “Want to do a duet?” He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and looked up at her, a glint in his eyes.
Maggie stopped taking off her street shoes to glare at him. “That always really pissed me off.”
“What?” He grinned, knowing darn well what she was talking about.
“The way you could come into an audition totally unprepared and walk away with the lead.”
Matt tried not to be obvious about watching her as she pulled off her T-shirt and adjusted her sports bra. She was wearing tight black pants that flared and a colorful dance top that left her midriff bare.
“You should get a belly-button ring,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Ouch. No thanks.”
“You know, it’s been more than three years since I’ve gone on an audition,” he said. The room was filled with dozens of hopeful singers and dancers. It didn’t matter the town or the state—the hope that hung in the air at an audition was always the same.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
Matt tried to look frightened. “I won’t be if you sing a duet with me.”
She just laughed. “Not a chance. I, for one, worked hard to prepare a song.”
“Then let me use you as a prop.”
Maggie crossed her arms. “Come again?”
Ooh, he loved it when she put on a little attitude. Sweet Maggie had a backbone beneath that soft outer layer. “A prop,” he repeated, working hard not to smile. “You know, a warm body to sing to. I always do much better when I’m not up onstage all alone.”
She laughed in his face. “Tough luck. That’s what an audition is all about—being onstage all by your little old self. You can sing to me all you want, but I’m going to be right down here.” She shook her head in disgust. “Prop.”
“Okay,” Matt said.
“That’s it? No fussing? No begging? No whining? Just, okay?”
He tipped his head back and smiled up at her. “It’s only an audition.”
“I hate you,” she said, and walked away.
Ten minutes later, the first trembling victim stepped onto the stage, and Matt joined Maggie at the back of the room.
“I’m up twentieth,” she whispered. “You’re twenty-first. Have you decided what to sing?”
He nodded yes. “I’m doing something from my favorite show.”
“What is your favorite show?”
“West Side Story. It was the most fun I’ve had onstage in my entire life.”
Maggie looked at him, perplexed. “You mean, back in high school?”
“Yup.”
He looked up at the stage, watching as the director cut the singer off midsong. Maggie studied his profile, remembering the turmoil of his senior year.
Another singer mounted the stage and made it through about sixteen bars before being stopped and thanked for coming.
“Sheesh.” Matt glanced at her. “This director is brutal. They’re dropping like flies. He doesn’t give anyone time to warm up. At this rate, you’re going to be up there in less than a minute.”
“He is pretty harsh,” Maggie agreed, then asked, “How could West Side Story be your favorite show? You were miserable the entire time. You had that big fight with Angie....”
“As Matthew I was miserable,” he told her. “But I sure loved being Tony.”
He had a funny little half smile on his face and a look in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.
He looked back at the stage, and Maggie watched him watch the auditions.
“Maria was a great part,” she told him softly. “But it was very hard each night to watch you die.”
He glanced at her, and the look on his face was one she absolutely couldn’t read.
“Maggie Stanton,” a stout woman with cat-eyed glasses and a clipboard finally called. “You’re next.”
Yikes.
Matt caught her arm as she started for the stage, pulling her into his arms for a hug. “Break a leg, Mags.”
She looked up at him and the realization hit her hard, leaving her feeling weak. She wanted him to kiss her.
He was handsome and vibrant and so very alive and she wanted him to kiss her.
He wasn’t Angie’s boyfriend anymore and she wanted him to kiss her.
And he did.
On the cheek.
She swallowed her disappointment as she walked down the theater aisle toward the stage. Those sparks she’d thought were flying all over the place must’ve been only in her mind.
Or else he would have really kissed her, wouldn’t he?
He saw her as a friend, a buddy to hang with.
Which was a good thing. Matt had never been cut out for anything but short-term, intensely passionate flings. True, they wouldn’t leave his bedroom for a week, but after that week, it would probably be over. Any kind of romance with him would definitely be a mistake—particularly since she was going to be working with him.
She was going to work with him.
She’d called her boss at A&B this morning and he’d accepted her resignation gracefully. In fact, he’d told her he didn’t even need the usual two-weeks’ notice. Times were tough all over, Maggie knew, and business had been off lately, even at the big law firms.
She just had to go in some time next week, clean out her desk and drop off the company cell phone.
