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“Come on now.” Rahim puts a hand on my shoulder. “We have a show to do. Don’t worry about the poster. We’ll get it back.”
“But what if we don’t?” I ask. “It’s an expensive poster. And it was good for business. People could see it from the outside. We had walk-ins because of it.”
We’re already at a point of disadvantage, with virtually no budget, without losing the poster.
“Don’t think about it now,” Rahim says. “There’s nothing we can do but kill it onstage.”
And so we do. The show is explosive. I feel like a different person onstage. Maybe because I am a different person once the bright lights hit my face. I’m the old Winnie. The one I left behind in Mulberry Creek. She takes over every night and saves the day.
As soon as I step down from the stage, reality catches up with me, and I feel worn out. The last couple of weeks have been rough. I’m still adjusting to the knowledge that Paul had a secret life, and not one he’d have been proud of. Four days ago, I finally washed his pillowcases. Shoved his running shoes in the shoe rack. Being reminded every second of the day of the man who romanced his colleague doesn’t comfort me as it used to, knowing what I know now.
I step out through the back door of the theater. There are still a few theatergoers lingering, hoping to get an autograph. I smile, take pictures, and sign tickets and postcards.
After the crowd disperses, I make my way to the end of the alley to catch a taxi. I’m almost at the curb when a hand grabs my arm and tugs me up a small flight of stairs leading to the back of a restaurant.
Gasping, I yank myself away and start for the street. Firm hands wrap around my waist before I’m able to take off. They jerk me backward, and my back slams into a firm, muscular torso.
“Bumpkin,” Arsène taunts into my ear. The small hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, but it’s not just fear I’m feeling. It is a thrill.
I recognize him like an old lullaby. His smell. His height. The firmness of his body. Gosh, I’m beyond screwed. “You’re a hard woman to pin down.”
“Pinning me down shouldn’t be on your to-do list,” I grind out. “This is sexual harassment.”
“My apologies.” He takes a generous step back, allowing me the space to turn around and give him the stink eye. “Been waiting to hear from you about our little information exchange.”
Right. Why else would he seek me out? To ask how I’ve been? Pay attention to Calypso Hall, heaven forbid?
“Actually, it’s good that you’re here.” I straighten my spine. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
He cocks his head. I have his full attention now.
“Someone stole The Seagull’s poster from the lobby.” I park my hands on my waist. “It’s gone.”
“That’s what security’s for. Did management pull out the surveillance videos?”
“Lucas is working on it right now. In the meantime, I know you’re not a fan of spending any money on the theater, but we need a new one.”
“Talk to accounting.” He leans against a metal banister, looking bored and put off. “I’ve no direct involvement with the theater, and now that I’m hell bent on selling it, you’re lucky I still pay the electricity bill.”
“They’re gonna jerk us around.” I shake my head. “No poster, no deal.”
His mocking chuckle reverberates inside me, dark and demeaning. “Why, Winnifred, this sounds a lot like extortion. Have you sprouted another inch of that spine I’ve been recommending you grow?”
How is this man still alive? How did no one kill him?
“Spare me the third-grade taunts.” I lift a hand. “We both know you want in Paul’s office more than I want my hands on that file.”
His dusky eyes glitter in the dark. “This is very decadent and improper. Did you ever do this to Paul?”
No. I’ve never done this to anyone. He is the only person who makes me feel emboldened.
“How dare you?” I bark out. “Don’t even compare yourself to him. He was—”
“The patron saint of fidelity and refinement. I know, I know.” He pushes off, striding down the stairs with a provocative yawn. “If you ask me, every self-respecting millionaire should be blackmailed by the woman he loves, at least once. It’s very thrilling for a powerful man of his position. The idea of handing over control.”
I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. Paul would have been horrified if I ever pulled this kind of thing on him.
“Are you getting us another poster or not?” I bite out impatiently, following him.
He glances behind his shoulder, throwing me a grin. “Yes. But this time, with the entire cast on it. You haven’t proved yourself to be a resourceful ally. You don’t deserve the perks.”
