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Blake had been looking at Tara with a slight frown. He erased it with a smile that seemed a bit forced when he glanced at his sister. “I like her, too.”
Stephanie glanced at her watch. “Almost show time. Everyone else is already dressed and waiting backstage. Any last questions, Tara?”
Tara shook her head. “I think I’m ready.”
Stephanie looked at Blake again. “Jeremy would love to hire her full-time. He told me she’s one of the hardest workers and quickest learners he’s ever worked with. I might have gotten my feelings hurt, except that I happened to agree with him.”
Tara felt her cheeks warm. “Jeremy’s a tough boss,” she said lightly. “I don’t dare make a mistake.”
Stephanie laughed. “He’s a major perfectionist when it comes to the act—but that’s why he’s the best. And under all that tough talk, he’s a sweetheart.”
Blake scowled. “Saint Jeremy,” he muttered.
Grinning, Stephanie patted his cheek. “Jealous?”
“Stuff it, Steph.”
Tara tried to smile at their nonsense, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach.
They’d driven through the massive gates of Willfort’s estate an hour earlier. Blake had come in one of the prop trucks with Jeremy’s road crew. Tara had ridden in a limousine with Paula, Monica and Stephanie. Jeremy would arrive in a celebrity limo with some of the other honored guests of the evening.
Jeremy had utterly forbidden Noelle to join them that evening, though Tara had been told Noelle usually coordinated things backstage before a performance. He’d put Stephanie in charge of Noelle’s usual tasks.
Stephanie glanced at her watch. “I’d better go check on everything. Blake, you’re sure everything’s okay?”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
She kissed his cheek as she passed him on the way out. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes skeptically, and then left Blake and Tara alone in the dressing room.
Tara turned back to the mirror. Her reflection still startled her. The red hair. The overly dramatic makeup. The costume that was little more than a sequined bathing suit. Her legs looking longer than usual in dark stockings and spiked heels.
“I look like a tart,” she said wryly, trying to imagine her parents’ expressions if they could see her like this. Or, worse, her brothers’.
“You look stunning,” Blake corrected her. “How are you feeling?”
“A little nervous. Stage fright, I guess.”
“Perfectly understandable. But you’ll do fine. And, most importantly, you’ll be safe with Jeremy.”
Tara turned away from the mirror. “Can you believe this place? I’ve never known anyone who had a theater in his backyard.”
“Willfort likes to consider himself a connoisseur, of the arts. He stages summer stock and musical performances here, as well as other charity fund-raisers like this one tonight. He had this theater built about ten years ago.”
“He sounds like quite a pillar of society.”
“Does he?”
Blake crossed his arms and Tara couldn’t help noticing the bulge of muscle beneath the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He usually wore long sleeves, she realized. The loose-fitting clothes he generally preferred camouflaged the sheer strength of his slender body.
Tara, for one, would never underestimate him again.
“Blake.” She reached out to place a hand on his arm. “Promise me you’ll be careful tonight. I’m worried about you. What if you get caught looking for...well, you know.”
“I won’t get caught. Don’t worry.”
