TWO
MR. QUINN
Three Weeks Later
Pier 23 Rehearsal Rooms
New York City
I hear a barrage of screams. Either Liam and Angel have just arrived, or hundreds of people are being tortured right outside the building.
My pulse kicks into overdrive, and I take a deep breath as I remind myself to stay cool. I just need to detach my emotions. Compartmentalize. It’s usually my specialty.
Not today.
Knowing he’s near, my dormant romantic fantasies spark like half-lit fireworks, threatening to ignite all over again.
The screams downstairs get louder. They do nothing to help my state of mind.
I cross the rehearsal room and look out the window onto the street below. Sure enough, down on the pavement is a huge crowd of salivating women, and a few men. Climbing out of a black Escalade in front of them is the object of millions of sexual fantasies. My heart rate speeds up as the tall man with the perfect physique smiles and waves at his fans. He looks good. Better than he has any right to.
His sandy-brown hair is artfully tousled, and although a lot of men spend ages trying to emulate the look, what they don’t realize is that Liam rolls out of bed like that. It only adds to his sex appeal. Any man who naturally looks like he’s just gone ten rounds in the sack gets top spot on the hotness meter. His high cheekbones and square jaw bump him up even higher, and that’s before we even make it to his lips and eyes. I thank the gods his crazy-beautiful blue-green eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, and that I’m too far away to get the full effect of the rest of his face.
Pity I can’t say the same thing about his body.
I’ve never met anyone with a body like Liam’s. It’s my definition of perfection. Every muscle is defined and sculpted but not huge or bulky. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist. The best butt I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I didn’t know I had a thing for muscles before I met Liam, but boy, I know now.
His T-shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he reaches into the Escalade and helps a statuesque redhead out of the car.
Angel Bell. Beauty queen, socialite, fashion maven, and Hollywood princess. Daughter of Senator Cyrus Bell, and sister of award-winning journalist Tori Bell.
Josh appears beside me. “Angeeeeeeel,” he whispers in a reverent tone. “Leave that muscled loser and let me love you. We’d make beautiful babies.”
“Oh, ew,” I say.
Josh leans closer to the windows to get a better look. “So you’re allowed to lust after Mr. Tall-and-Ripped but I can’t have an innocent crush on lovely Leggy McRedhead?”
“Josh, none of your crushes are innocent.”
He chuckles. “Okay, fine. I want to do bad things to her. But can you blame me? I want to wrap those long legs around me and make her mewl like a kitten.”
“Isn’t she a bit vanilla for your tastes?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. She seems like a perfectly nice girl.”
“Exactly. You don’t date nice girls.”
Josh has a thing for actresses. More specifically, wildly ambitious actresses who are two neuroses short of batshit crazy. His girlfriends tend to have a lot in common with Broadway shows: They’re always high maintenance and filled with drama.
“You’re right,” he says. “I usually prefer girls who challenge me.”
“You say ‘challenge,’ and I hear ‘scare the crap out of.’ ”
“That reminds me—tell me again why you and I have never dated?”
“Because we made out that one time in sophomore year and both thought it was weird as hell.”
“Well, you thought that. I was into it.”
“Oh, please.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Elissa, I don’t know whether you realize this, but you are a smoking-hot female specimen. Yes, I’m your best friend, but I’m also a man. Kissing a chick who looks like Scarlett Johansson’s younger sister is going to give me masculine stirrings. Have no doubt.”
I laugh. I really don’t want to hear about his stirrings, masculine or otherwise. Josh is like my brother. Well, a brother I get along with.
I pat his arm. “Okay, let’s drop the subject. We’re on the clock now. Professional faces, please.”
He nods. “But just to be clear, I can tell you my pornographic fantasies when we get home, right?”
“If you must.”
I turn back to the windows to see Angel stumble in her heels. When Liam pulls her tight against him with a look of concern, the whole crowd “awwws” before getting back to their dedicated screaming.
“I love you, Liam!”
“Sign my arm!”
“Marry me! Pleeeeease!”
“Angel, you’re beautiful!”
They’re right about that. She really is beautiful. While I’m five-three and curvy, she’s tall, svelte, and elegant. My hair is blond and shoulder-length, hers is long, auburn, and looks like she should be appearing in a shampoo commercial. My eyes are basic blue, hers are a striking green. The only thing I have over her is my boobs. Hers may defy gravity, but mine are real.
I grudgingly admit I understand what Liam sees in her. She’s far more in his league than I ever was. Their children will be so genetically blessed they’ll probably develop superpowers.
I watch as Liam and Angel continue to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Every action is accompanied by frenzied squeals. I wonder what it must be like to star in something as huge as Rageheart and have millions of fans all over the world. Liam’s portrayal of the passionate, mostly shirtless demon Zan, who leads a slave uprising and falls in love with the seraph king’s daughter, has ignited countless pairs of panties. I think it’s safe to say he’s the biggest movie star in the world right now.
“Dammit,” Josh says. “Does the chiseled Adonis really have to taint my wife-to-be’s lips like that? It’s gross.”
He’s referring to Liam’s planting of a soft kiss on Angel’s mouth as she leans against him. The bunch of paparazzi that were already snapping up a storm go into a frenzy. Nothing sells more magazines or gets more Web site clicks than pictures of Liam and Angel demonstrating their Epic Love. No doubt an explosion of dollar signs just flashed before the paps’ eyes.
Marco comes to my other side and peers down. “That ‘grossness,’ dear Joshua, is what we’re banking on. Liam and Angel’s rabid fan base will make sure our production is the hottest ticket on Broadway for months. Mark my words.”
Josh nods. “Unless, of course, she recognizes her overwhelming attraction to me during rehearsals, and breaks up with him before we open.”
Marco looks like a vampire who’s been burnt by holy water. “Don’t even joke about that. Any rift between these two would mean disaster for our sales, which is why we must handle both of them with kid gloves. Remember, they’re used to everyone kissing their backsides, so pucker up, kids.”
I sigh. I remember a night when I kissed Liam’s backside. And his front side. And all the parts in between. The memories are so vivid, it’s as if it happened yesterday.
I seriously consider if it’s too late to resign.
Marco puts his arms around me. “Can you feel it, Elissa?”
Yes. Nausea. Anxiety. An overwhelming urge to rush out and buy a one-way ticket to Nepal.
I give him a wan smile. “Oh, I feel it.”
“Theatrical greatness, dear girl. We’re about to create it. Thank you for being my right-hand woman. I couldn’t do this without you.”
So, that’s a no to Nepal, I guess.
I give him a squeeze and then go back to the production desk. My section is impeccably laid out. Script. Pencils. A rainbow of high-lighter pens.
I’m ready.
I’m ready.
I’m ready.
I put my hands on my hips and sigh.
Nope. Not buying it. Screw you, positive thinking. Of all the days to let me down.
When I hear chatter in the hallway, I tense up. Liam’s deep voice carries through the walls and vibrates into my body.
“Lissa?” I turn to find Josh looking at me with concern. “You know that not breathing is bad for your health, right? Please chill.”
I blow out a breath and nod. “Sure.” I roll my neck and it cracks. “I’m good. Bring it on.”
“ ‘Atta girl.”
As our tiny tall-haired publicist, Mary, sweeps into the room with the stars, I half hide myself behind Josh. Subjecting only part of my body to the full force of Liam’s presence seems like the sensible thing to do.
“And this is our production team,” Mary says. “Of course, you know our director, Marco. I believe he’s spoken to you on the phone.”
Marco smiles and shakes their hands. “Delighted to meet you both in person. Welcome.”
Mary points to the quivering black girl by the windows. “Over there is our production intern, Denise.” Denise melts into the floorboards when Liam smiles at her. I think her crush on him rivals my own.
“And here’s our choreographer, Martin.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Martin says, barely sparing Angel a glance before holding on to Liam’s hand for several seconds too long for it to be anything but creepy.
“And last but not least, our illustrious stage management team, Joshua Kane and—”
“Elissa Holt.” Liam says my name as if I’m some sort of mythical being he never expected to encounter. I try to keep my smile steady as he blinks in surprise. “You’re our stage manager?”
I nod. “Yes. Hello, Mr. Quinn. Good to see you again. And it’s nice to meet you, Miss Bell.” I hold my hand out to Angel. “Please let either me or Josh know if you need anything.”
Angel takes my hand and tilts her head at me. “You and Liam know each other?”
Her suspicion is clear. I go into evasive maneuvers. “Not really. Josh and I worked on Mr. Quinn’s first Broadway show, many years ago. He just has a good memory.”
She relaxes a little and gives me a smile. “He does. Sometimes I envy it. Especially his ability to learn lines.”
I glance at Liam to find him staring at me. I can’t decipher his expression. Anger? Bewilderment? A bit of both? There’s a heat in his gaze that makes me think he’s not entirely unhappy to see me, and I fluctuate in deciding whether or not that’s a good thing.
Josh steps up beside me. “Hi, Mr. Quinn,” he says as he clasps Liam’s hand. “Welcome back to New York.”
Liam gives him a quick smile. “Josh. Hey. How’ve you been, man?”
“Not as good as you, Mr. Hollywood. Congrats on all the stardom and adulation, dude.”
A wry grin lifts Liam’s lips. “Yeah, well, it’s not as much fun as it seems. Believe me.”
Liam glances at me, and when Josh moves over to talk to Angel, I offer my hand. Liam looks at me for a moment before he grasps it. Then he steps forward and towers over me as his fingers curl around mine, warm and electric. I try to hide the shudder that runs through me. No one needs to know what a single touch from this man can do to me. Especially not him.
I plaster on a smile as the heat of his skin sinks into my bones. “We’re thrilled to have you and your fiancée starring in our show, Mr. Quinn. I’m sure it’s going to be a huge hit.”
“God, Elissa, I . . .” His fingers tighten, and I shiver as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles. He looks down at our hands and then back up to my face. “I’m a bit lost for words here. Seeing you again is . . .”
I wait for him to finish the sentence, but he seems to be struggling to express himself.
By now, my hand is burning, so I pull it back and try to swallow around my too-thick tongue. “It must be nice to be back in New York. I understand you haven’t been home for a while.”
He fixes me with those incredible aqua eyes. His expression seems way too intimate, considering how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, not to mention that his fiancée is standing right next to him. He catches himself staring and clears his throat. “Uh . . . no. I haven’t been home for a long time. Too long. Every day I’ve been away, I’ve missed it.”
He looks like he’s about to say something else when the rest of the cast starts arriving.
Thank God.
I use the distraction to move away. It’s not easy. I feel like a spaceship escaping the inexorable pull of a black hole.
As people fill the room, I go on autopilot. I sign people in, hand out information sheets and rehearsal schedules, and busy myself dealing with anyone who isn’t Liam.
It doesn’t escape my attention that an hour later when we’re ready to begin rehearsals, Liam still seems shell-shocked by my presence.
There’s an air of excitement in the room as Marco talks the cast through his ideas for the show. Everyone listens and nods, and most people jot notes onto their scripts. Liam, however, isn’t holding a script, but leaning forward and frowning in concentration.
He has an energy about him these days that’s new. Sort of an aggressive simmer, like there’s a dark cloud following him around, drawing down his brows and putting tension in his jaw. I know it’s become part of his sex appeal, but I’m intrigued to know what’s causing it.
He sits next to Angel without touching her. In fact, when she leans over to whisper something in his ear, a flash of irritation passes over his face before he pulls away. Angel looks around to see if anyone noticed. When she glances in my direction, I diplomatically go back to tapping notes into my laptop.
It’s heartening to know they’re not always as blissful as they seem in their pictures. It makes them seem more human.
I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be engaged to the world’s most lusted-after man. It’s no secret that Angel regularly receives death threats and abuse on social media from Liam’s more rabid admirers. If I were her, I’d be paranoid as hell, but she always seems perky and upbeat. It must be exhausting to stay as positive and put-together as she does. Even when she’s caught exiting a spin class, she looks like she’s just stepped out of the pages of a glamorous fitness magazine.
Fitness is just one more thing she and Liam have in common. I know they’re in the business of looking good, but really, no one needs to exercise as much as they do. It’s wrong and unnatural. My idea of working out involves yoga pants without the actual yoga. In fact, my yoga pants should be called “sitting around eating cheese pants.” A longer title, sure, but more accurate.
“My final point is this,” says Marco. “Even though Taming of the Shrew is a play which can easily be seen as chauvinistic, we’re aiming to dispel that perception. Angel will portray a Katherine whose bitterness stems from her unwillingness to conform to society’s definition of a woman’s role, as well as a reaction to her father’s blatant favoritism toward her sister. Petruchio will not be her tamer as much as her partner in crime. My goal is to show our audience a couple who brings out the best in each other, who feeds upon each other’s unusual sexual desires, and who manages to poke fun at those who are trying to make them something they’re not.”
He clasps his hands together and smiles. “So, with all that in mind, let’s see what we can create together. Let’s work through the first scene. Places!”
Over the next few hours, we block out the first three scenes in the first act.
At first, Angel is way too nice as Kate. After Marco asks her to be stronger, she goes too far in the other direction and plays Kate’s scenes with her sister and father like a screaming banshee who’s likely to hack them to pieces, Lizzie Borden style.
I’m no director, but I think Marco’s going to insist on a little more subtlety.
Liam, on the other hand, is excellent right off the bat. His Petruchio is passionate and charismatic, and he has great chemistry with the actors playing his servant and friends.
Being in the rehearsal room with him again reminds me how mesmerizing he is up close. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve watched the Rageheart series too many times to count. But as powerful and intense as Liam is on-screen, he’s even more so in the flesh. It’s refreshing to see him play a character so different from that brooding and violent demon. His version of Petruchio is a lovable rogue, and I’d almost forgotten how stunning he is when he smiles. He didn’t do it much while he was massacring all those sadistic angel overlords.
As I look around, I notice that every single person has their eyes glued to him, and this is why he’s a star. Liam is one of those actors who just has it. It’s part talent, and part confidence, and just enough raw vulnerability to make you want to fuck him and hug him at the same time. At least, that’s how he affects most women.
Despite being a six-foot-three wall of rippling muscle who could no doubt beat anyone who messed with him into a bloody pulp, he makes you want to take care of him.
“Did you know he was this talented?” Marco asks when I release the cast for a coffee break.
“He was excellent as Romeo,” I say. “I wasn’t sure how he’d handle this role, but it fits him like a glove.”
Marco nods. “I only wish Angel were as good. I’d hoped she’d bring some level of complexity to Katherine. But she’s playing her as a two-dimensional screamer.”
“Art imitating life,” our production intern, Denise, mumbles beside me.
“Watch how you talk about my woman,” Josh says. “Hating her just because she’s beautiful and rich is not the least bit cool.”
“Oh, please,” Denise says. “Even if she ate someone alive, you’d defend her because she gives you a boner, right, Josh?”
Josh opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “I decline to answer.”
Denise snorts. “Josh, I love you, but look at you and then look at Liam Quinn. Who do you think she’s going to pick to have babies with?”
When Josh sneezes “Fuck you” and flips her the bird, I have to laugh. It’s not that he’s not attractive, because he totally is, in a hot-geek sort of way. Six foot tall, brown, wavy hair, brown eyes, handsome face. He’s broad-shouldered enough to look great in clothes without needing to work out, and girls seem to find his hipster horn-rim glasses sexy. But the harsh reality is, if he and Liam were cast in a movie together, Liam would be the superhero, and Josh would be the sidekick.
“Doubt all you like,” Josh says with a shrug. “But that woman is going to be all over me in a few weeks. Mark my words.”
“Sure she is.” I pat his shoulder and then head out into the hallway to round up the cast from their break. When I find Liam at the water cooler, I try not to look directly into his eyes. “We’re starting again, Mr. Quinn.”
He mutters a quiet “Thanks, Liss,” and I walk away before he can say anything else.
Once everyone’s back, we continue where we left off, and apart from Angel’s screeching her lines like a medieval fish merchant, we’re all pleased with how things are shaping up by the time lunch rolls around.
As usual, I eat at my desk.
I have a small office down the corridor from the rehearsal room. It’s not the Ritz, but it suits me fine. When I’m not rehearsing, I’m usually in here, catching up on paperwork while everyone else is relaxing.
Ah, the glamorous life of a stage manager.
I’m working on adjustments to the rehearsal schedule when Josh rushes in. His cheeks and ears are bright pink. That only happens when he’s really angry or really turned on.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I need money. Angel needs something else to eat.”
We’ve turned our conference room into a private dining area so Angel and Liam don’t have to push through the fans and paps to eat lunch. Some of New York’s finest restaurants deliver their meals, but it’s Josh and Denise who have the pleasure of being their waiters.
I smile. “Why are you blushing? What did Angel do?”
“Nothing. She’s fine.” I raise my brow at him and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She used this sort of flirty, sexy tone to explain she’s gluten-free this week, and then, at the end, she stroked my arm and smiled.”
“That bitch.”
“Don’t give me shit. Seriously, I’m not in the mood. This woman could flirt me into committing murder, I have no doubt. Now, give me cash. I’ll get her a different lunch.” He holds out his hand.
I pull out the petty-cash tin and hand him a fifty. Surely that’s enough to cover whatever Angel wants. Josh grabs a second fifty and shoves the money in his pocket. “Back soon.”
Dammit, our budget is so screwed.
I put the cash tin away, and I’m about to go back to my rehearsal schedule when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
The door swings open to reveal Liam. Within seconds, my palms are wet.
I stand to face him. “Mr. Quinn. Do you need something? Is your lunch acceptable? If not, I’d be happy to get you something else.”
He lingers in the doorway before moving into the cramped office and closing the door behind him. He looks too big for the small room. His shoulders seem broader than I remember, and traces of ink peek out from the right sleeve of his T-shirt. That’s something he didn’t have last time I saw him up close and shirtless.
He glances around the room before coming back to my face.
He just stares for a few seconds, and dammit, I can’t believe the years haven’t diminished his effect on me. Time’s supposed to heal everything, right? Well, it hasn’t educated my heart to stop wanting a man who doesn’t want it back.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Quinn?”
He takes a step forward, and I have a moment of panic because in this enclosed space, my usual tactic to avoid and ignore is impossible.
“Elissa—”
“Mr. Quinn, if there’s something you need—”
“Stop calling me that.”
“It’s your name, sir.”
“God, Liss.” He sighs and looks me up and down. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“It’s my office. Not that hard to believe.”
“I meant on the show.”
“Marco asked me to run it.”
“I would have thought that as soon as you heard my name, you would have run a million miles.”
I don’t mention I’ve considered it. “When I accepted the job, I didn’t know you would be the star.”
The muscles in his jaw tense. “Of course you didn’t. That makes sense.” He lets out a bitter laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have taken it, would you?”
I try to find a nice way of saying it, but there really isn’t one. “No.”
He nods. I’d say he looks hurt, but why would he? He’s been living the Hollywood high life without any contact from me. I doubt he’s even spared me two thoughts over the past six years.
“Well, however you got here, I’m grateful.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ve missed you. More than you know.”
I almost laugh. Of course you have. In between making megabuck movies, earning millions of dollars, and banging one of the most desired women on the planet, you’ve had plenty of time to pine for the short, cheese-obsessed stage manager you once had a thing for. That makes perfect sense.
He reads something on my face and frowns. “What’s that look?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t dare question you, Mr. Quinn. That would be very unprofessional.”
There’s that look again. Hurt or disappointment—I can’t decide which. “I guess I haven’t given you much reason to have faith in what I say, have I? Just one more thing I regret about us.” There’s laughter out in the hallway, and he looks over his shoulder before coming back to me. “Speaking of us, does anyone here know about our . . . history?”
“No.”
“Not even Josh?”
“He knows we’ve been . . . intimate. That’s it.”
“Intimate.” He says it like it’s funny. “Doesn’t really do justice to what we had, does it?”
This conversation is veering off into uncomfortable areas. “Mr. Quinn—”
“Mr. Quinn is my father.”
“Your agent requested we address both yourself and Miss Bell in a formal way.”
“My agent likes to make people think we’re more important than we are. That’s his job. Don’t listen to him about anything. Especially not about me and Angel.”
God, just hearing him say that phrase ties my stomach in knots. “Me and Angel.”
“Liss, about Angel—”
“If you’re concerned that our past will cause you any discomfort, in either a professional or personal capacity, I’d like to assure you that I’m going to do everything in my power to make this experience as stress-free as possible. For both you and your . . . fiancée.”
I nearly choke on the word. Finding out he was engaged didn’t snuff out the tiny flame of hope that we’d somehow be together one day. It just stifled it, in the most painful way. “I realize this situation isn’t ideal,” I continue. “And if you tell me your concerns, I’ll be sure to address them.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Could you please stop talking to me like you’re my bank manager? Like we don’t even know each other?”
“I don’t know you anymore.”
“You’re the only one who’s ever known me. Fuck, Liss—”
“I’d rather you call me Elissa.” He’s the only person in the world who calls me Liss, and it feels way too intimate for our current situation.
He walks forward, and I have no room left to retreat. He stands so close, I can smell him. The entire space fills with an intense energy that makes my heart pound erratically against my rib cage.
“Elissa, I’m sorry. That day . . . the last time I saw you. I hurt you, and I hate that.”
I can’t cope with him being so close, but I clench my jaw and force myself to sound calmer than I feel. “There were faults on both sides. We weren’t even in a relationship.”
“We both know that’s not true. What we shared—”
“Was a long time ago. We were young and stupid. Everything seems epic at that age, and we got carried away. I knew it at the time, and I know it now. I’m over it.”
His eyes bore into me. “It?”
I straighten my spine. “You.” He blinks a few times, and I ignore his conflicted expression. “Now you’re engaged to one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I . . .” Come on, Elissa, say it. Even if you don’t mean it. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”
If I were Pinocchio, my nose would be poking his eye out right about now. Well, okay, I’m too short for the eye, but his chest would be getting a bruising. “No matter how it happened, I’m glad you two found each other. It’s obvious you love her.” I risk looking at his face. “Right?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Do I seriously expect him to say “no” and take me in his arms? As usual, my unrealistic romantic expectations are way off.
“Yes, I love her,” he says quietly. “I’m lucky to be marrying my best friend. Not everyone gets that chance.”
A knot of tension coils in my stomach. I really wasn’t prepared for how much those words would hurt.
“And what about you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Are you . . . with anyone?”
It sounds like he’s asking if I have a terminal illness. I guess if stubborn singleness were a disease, I could be said to have a chronic case.
What do I tell him? That since our time together, I never go out with a man for more than a couple of weeks? In general, men disappoint me. Yet another thing for which I blame Liam Quinn.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” I say. Several someones, really. None worth mentioning.
His stare is intense. Like he’s trying to see straight into my soul. “Does he treat you well?”
I almost cave and tell him the truth, but my pride takes over my mouth. “Like a queen.”
The tension in him gives way to something else. Relief, perhaps. “Good. You deserve happiness. You deserve . . . everything.” When he looks back at me, there’s such raw longing there that all the air in the room disappears, and for the first time in my life, I feel claustrophobic. I lean back against the wall, and hope he can’t tell.
“Was there anything else before you go, Mr. Quinn?”
“Yes. Stop calling me Mr. Quinn. Everyone else can call me whatever the hell they like, but not you. Please, Elissa.”
“Okay, Mr. Qu—” I take a breath. “Sorry. Liam.”
The second I say his name, something shifts in the air. My skin prickles and his entire posture changes. In that moment, he’s not a movie star, and I’m not his stage manager. We’re the same two desperately connected people who fell down a rabbit hole years earlier and climbed out forever changed.
He takes a step forward, and for a moment I think he’s going to touch me. But after looming over me for several long seconds, he turns on his heel, opens the door, and strides down the corridor.
When he’s out of sight, I collapse into my chair and drop my head onto the desk.
So, yeah.
That went well.