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I rub my thumbs against the grain of my corduroy skirt, my fists balled. Chewing the inside of my lip, I remind myself I can handle anything for the sake of the playhouse.
“I’m ready to go!” I flash a smile, hoping some of my lipstick in my signature rum-raisin shade hasn’t gotten on my teeth with all the stress of finding out my new boss is the guy I behaved so bizarrely with two days before.
“In general, I need you to be here from eight until six, Monday through Friday. With two fifteen-minute breaks and one hour-long lunch.” His gaze flies down to the computer screen and he starts scrolling madly. “Except this first little while, you’ll need to be here longer so you can get used to everything.”
I offer a polite smile, pulling on my blonde, spiral-perm-gone-wrong hair.
“Uh, what’s wrong with the old, typical nine to five deal? Sounds like the right working hours for corporate America.”
“Not at this time.” His voice is gruff, his eyes blazing. “We’re under some tight deadlines. We can revisit your hours in a few months, January maybe. We might be able to cut things back then.”
“Okay,” I say and now my heart is rioting in my chest. What I really want to say is that I don’t think long hours are very healthy, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.
“Things have been challenging since my assistant retired.” He scratches at his chin again, and I realize it’s probably a habit for him. So I’d better get used to it fast so I don’t react every time. “We have to make up for lost time and there are some hefty goals to meet. I expect you to pay attention and learn the ropes quickly. I’ll email you some protocols and things that I want you to go over on your free time tonight.”
Well, then it wouldn’t be free time, now would it? I have unpacking to do and people to contact. I’ve gotten several texts and phone calls from my friends in Dana Point, wondering how I’m doing in my new life. Some of them are even asking me to come back already so I can help out withTwelfth Night—unpaid, unfortunately. I have things to do. I’m in demand.
I don’t say any of this, but at my scowl, he sighs. “I know it might be challenging for you to go from . . .” his gaze darts down at his computer and scans the screen. “. . . being a live-in caregiver for an elderly woman to working as an assistant to a founder and CEO, but as Ethan’s sister, I’m assuming you’re up to the challenge?” His voice is full of doubt.
He must have my resume pulled up. The HR rep told me to send it over as a formality. “Oh, I’m up for the challenge. And hey, that caregiver thing is no walk in the park.” I relax my fists and rotate my wrists in my lap. “All my jobs have taught me valuable skills that I promise will be an asset to this job.”
“Even your position as dramaturg for The Capistrano Players? What is a dramaturg anyway?” Now he’s fighting back a smile, the first real one that I’ve seen. Except he’s making fun of me, and that just won’t do.
My cheeks grow hot, and I fight back a withering glance. In my mind’s eye, I see the historical theater on Capistrano Beach. Its pink and mint green exterior, the outdoor theater behind it, the old seats that smell like plastic, the nooks and crannies backstage where props and costumes are stored. I can do this for the theater. I have to.
“A dramaturg is an expert on plays and musicals. I’m hired on as part of the production staff to provide research on, and interpretation of, theatrical works.”
He only nods, and his glower subdues.
“My years working in theater will serve you well, Sebastian,” I continue. “In fact, I’m using those skills right now, even as we speak.” I smile, and my voice is cherry-rich. Both acidic and cloying. My back is straight as a rod.
I can play this role. I can act the part.
Sebastian Tate will never know what hit him.
Chapter 4
Sebastian
“Let’s get started,” I say to Elianna, the reality of my fate sinking in.
I don’t like this. And she certainly doesn’t like me.
She’s going to need a lot of babysitting at first, and I don’t have the time or patience for that.
If I hadn’t given my word, I would probably assign her to something else in the company and call it good. That way, Ethan couldn’t be too upset with me because his little sister would still have a job. But there aren’t any other open positions that she’s qualified for, except maybe housekeeping, and she doesnotseem suited for that. Too fussy. Too quirky.
I’m not saying she seems like a diva—yet.
She is beautiful, with her blonde coloring and brilliant blue eyes. I don’t understand what she’s wearing—it’s odd for a job like this. So that’s another thing I’ll have to talk to her about. All in all, not a stellar start.
We stand and leave the sitting room, and I show her around the open concept office, pointing out Britta’s desk area across from mine by the windows. I guess it’s not Britta’s desk, it’s Elianna’s now.
“What would you like me to do first?” Her smile feels artificial—a very good attempt but one I can see through.
Maybe. I’m not great at reading people, so I could be off-base.
Britta rarely had to ask me what she should do. She knew my schedule, my routines, my preferences. I don’t like that I have to sift through all the things that have been left undone these past few weeks and figure out where to start.
