I've Got This Read online

  I laugh. “That wouldn’t be hard this week. Have a good night.”

  She closes the door behind me, and I head in the direction of the main dressing room, which is really just for show. None of the actual dressing gets done there, but it’s where VIP ticket holders can meet the cast after the show. I’m not sure if there were any VIPs in tonight’s audience, but the cast and crew usually use that room as an informal lounge anyway.

  Sure enough, when I get there, I find quite a few people milling around in varying states of undress—hopefully that means there are no VIPs here—chatting, stretching, and just generally hanging out. Most are out of their costumes already, and some have even already cleaned off their makeup. I scan the room, mostly looking for Trav.

  “Can I help you?” A man comes up beside me. His tone is polite, but he looks slightly wary. He’s a little older than me, I think, but in good shape and good-looking.

  “Probably,” I say, flashing him my megawatt grin, the one I use on guests who are causing trouble. I offer my hand. “I’m Derek Bryer, one of the assistant directors here at Joy Universe. I watched the show tonight, and thought I’d come back and say hello and pass out some free dinners.” I pull a stack of meal cards from my pocket. Each card entitles the bearer to a free meal (conditions apply) at one of the nominated restaurants.

  “Oh, that’s nice of you.” The wariness drops away, and he shakes my hand. “Rick Carter. I’m the producer. So, did you enjoy the show?”

  “I sure did. You’ve got a great production here, and some very talented performers.” This is a great opportunity to do some digging. Cue rueful smile. “You’ve probably heard about the staff trouble I had yesterday. Several of your performers here helped me out.”

  Sure enough, Rick’s eyes light up with his smile. “Oh, sure! Trav and Kev, and I think Melia, right?”

  “Right,” I agree, because fortunately those names are all familiar, not just Trav’s. I had to sign the order for the special pay run this morning.

  “That’s pretty bad luck,” he commiserates. “I mean, how often do all your performers go out together, anyway? To get hit by food poisoning… I can’t even imagine the odds.”

  “I know!” I’m a little more emphatic than I really need to be, because before I fell asleep last night, I was actually wondering how the hell to even calculate those odds. “If it were part of a movie plot, critics would call it unrealistic.”

  Rick laughs and claps me on the back. “Come and meet some of the cast. They’ll be thrilled to get those freebies.” He guides me over to the nearest group, and for the next forty-five minutes I make amiable small talk with cast and crew alike, handing out cards for free food and asking them their thoughts about performing in the village. Several people get up the nerve to ask me about the murder—I don’t think they know it happened in my district, they’re just seizing the opportunity to ask someone who works for JU. I keep my answers vague, although really, I don’t know much more than what the police have already released, and since I’m already struggling with the image of dismembered limbs that pops up every time I close my eyes, there’s no way I’ll risk making it worse by discussing it.

  I steer the conversation away from the murder to the resorts themselves. I’ve never actually bothered before to find out how events works out where to lodge the show people. All I know is that I’m required to keep a certain number of standard rooms at my three-star resorts available, to be charged back to the village’s cost center at a discounted rate. I was told that it doesn’t matter which resort the rooms are at, and that the number required can be split across the resorts, so that’s what I had my team do. It’s not really surprising, then, when I find out that the performers and crew for Day Dot are staying at three different resorts—one of them mine. I take the opportunity to get some feedback—after all, it’s not often I can be totally candid with guests, but because they’re here to work, this is my chance to drill down on details.

  The whole time I’m making mental notes for the resort manager (and planning a surprise reward for all the staff, because the feedback is good), a small part of my brain is tracking Trav. I located him across the lounge about five minutes after I arrived, and since then, as I slowly circle from group to group, some of my attention is always on him. It would really suck if he left before I got to him.

  What almost sucks worse is that I’m so very aware of his presence, and he seems completely oblivious to mine. I mean, come on! He hasn’t even glanced in my direction.

  Finally, finally, Rick leads me to the group Trav is with.

  “Everyone, this is Derek Bryer, one of the executives here at Joy Universe. Derek, meet Syl, Paul, Hamish, Denise, and you know Trav, right?”

  I smile and nod at everyone, then meet Trav’s gaze head-on. “Yeah, we’ve met. Thanks again for your help, Trav. I spoke to Pete earlier, and he said the agency guy they’ve got now doesn’t hold a candle to you.” It’s completely true, but most of the reason I say it is to see if— Yep. There it is, that fire-bright blush.

  Who knew a blush could be such a turn-on? Seriously, I’ve seen people blush a million times, whether it be from embarrassment, pleasure, anger, or anything in between, and it’s never affected me the way Trav’s blushes do. I want to strip off his clothes and see if that vibrant red covers his whole body. I want to lick his flushed skin and see if it’s as hot as it looks.

  I want to stop thinking about this right now so my hard-on subsides before someone notices it.

  “You’re welcome,” Trav mutters. “It was more fun than I expected.”

  I decide to give him a reprieve. “I’m glad. You all”—I widen my focus to the rest of the group, who seem divided between looking curiously at Trav and suspiciously at me—“put on a great show tonight. I just wanted to come and tell you how much I enjoyed it, and to hand out these.” I offer the freebie cards. One of the women—Syl, maybe?—takes one.

  “What is it?” she asks, then looks at it and her eyes widen. “Oh, a free meal? That’s so nice of you. Thank you.”

  The others reach for cards also. “It’s a small token of our appreciation. We’re really glad you’re here,” I tell them. They all murmur thanks, a little bit more welcoming now—it’s amazing how free stuff can make people like you—and I’m quickly drawn into conversation about the nightlife in the various cities the show has played in over the past six months since they left New York.

  Soon people start to drift away, and I check my watch. It’s just after eleven, which is probably not that late for the performers, but I’ve been up since 3:00 a.m. and I’m definitely feeling it.

  Not that I’m going to let that stop me from finally talking to Trav. I wait for a pause in the conversation he’s having with Rick, and then smile right at him. “Trav, can I have a quick word?”

  He looks a little uncomfortable, but nods. “Sure. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he tells Rick and Syl, the only two left in the group, and then follows me toward the door.

  I take a deep breath. This is it. Ostensibly, I’m here to talk to him about the car, but I decided earlier tonight (read: during the show when his performance magnetized me so much I had to fight an erection) that I’m also going to find out once and for all why he dislikes me. Because he does, even though he’s been trying to hide it.

  We make it to the hall, and as we stroll toward the stage door, I start. “I was talking to Dimi today, who was talking to Parker—”

  He snickers, and I stop. Fuck, what did I say?

  “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just… for a second, it all sounded so high school.”

  I have to laugh. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? You’ve got no idea what this place is like—a hotbed of gossip and feuds and politics, just like a soap opera. Or high school.” It’s totally true. We’re an incestuous miniature society, where everyone knows everyone else, what’s going on in their lives, and likely has slept with most of their coworkers.

  That’s one
of my few firm rules: no sex with coworkers—or guests. There’s so much potential for complication, especially with me being in such a position of authority, and I’ve seen it all go horribly wrong for my colleagues who don’t have a similar rule. Since Joyville is mostly populated by people who work for JU, I’ve had some really lean times over the years, sexually speaking. In fact, my last actual relationship was before I left New York. Since then, it’s just been the occasional hookup when I’m on vacation.

  On the plus side, Trav didn’t sound disparaging with that comment, just amused. Time to push forward?

  “Anyway, Dimi and Parker activated the secret squirrel message system—” Trav laughs, and I take a second to enjoy the sound. “—and I found out that you need a car.”

  Trav sighs. “Yeah. I called a couple of rental places this morning, but even with a long-term rate, the price was scary, considering I’ll only use the car a couple times a week. And because the rental places are all at the airport, it doesn’t make sense to hire only when I need the car—I’d have to get out to the airport to pick up the car every time. The only other option is for someone to come and pick me up, and that’s just not practical, or fair to them.” He sighs again. “I guess I could buy a car.” It sounds dubious, and I can’t blame him for that. Buying a car, even an old banger, just for a few months so he can drive into town a couple times a week is a ridiculous expense.

  “Not necessary,” I say cheerfully. “The reason Dimi mentioned it to me is because I can help you out. I haven’t got around to selling my old car yet, and it’s just sitting in the garage, desperate for some love. Wanna borrow it?”

  He stops walking, and his whole face lights up. Seriously. You’d think I just offered him a hundred-million-dollar winning lottery ticket. I turn toward him, and something in my belly flips. Indigestion?

  No.

  Lust. I really like having him look at me that way.

  Damn it.

  “Really?” he asks, almost breathlessly. “I mean, are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” I assure him. “I keep meaning to list it for sale, but I haven’t had time. It’ll be good for it to be driven, even if it’s not every day.” He’s grinning now, his mouth stretched so wide it’s probably uncomfortable.

  “Thank you.” He grabs my hand, half shaking it and squeezing. “I didn’t realize how excited I was about consulting for the theater until I ran into this transport problem and thought I’d have to pass. Thank you so much. I can pay rent.”

  I want to squeeze his hand back, but I’m scared if I do, he’ll let go. His hand is warm and callused, and it feels really good in mine. I shake my head instead. “Nope, that’s not necessary. Like I said, it’s just taking up space in the garage. Keep it gassed up and take care with it, and we’re good. Oh, you’ve got a valid driver’s license, right?” I’m assuming he does, since he wouldn’t have thought to rent a car without one, but best to ask.

  “Yeah, of course.” He seems to realize we’re just standing there holding hands, and he flushes and lets go. Man, that blush! “Uh, this is really great of you, Derek. I-I want to say again how sorry I am for being weird yesterday.”

  And if that’s not the perfect opening for phase two of my plan, I don’t know what is.

  “It’s fine.” I have to handle this perfectly. I’m not likely to get another shot. “We got off on the wrong foot. Actually, I wanted to ask… did I do anything? It just seemed like you”—how to put this?—“took an instant dislike to me, and I wondered if it was—”

  “No.” He interrupts me, which is good because I’m not sure exactly how I was going to end that sentence. “No, you didn’t do anything. Um, I was actually predisposed to like you. Everyone here has good things to say, and I thought it was really great that you were willing to go above and beyond to keep the shows running.”

  I don’t say anything, because what the hell can I say? If he was predisposed to like me, what was our little… confrontation about? Wait, does he mean like like? Is this some sort of playground-crush thing, where a kid is mean to the one he likes to get their attention?

  Has JU actually become high school?

  I must be wearing my confusion all over my face because he hurries on. “It’s just…. God, this is going to sound so stupid, and shallow. I’m not shallow, I swear. But you look like the boy-next-door jock frat hero, and that pushes a lot of not-great buttons for me. So when I saw you, it kind of brought up some bad feelings.”

  What the ever-loving fuck? He judged me based on my appearance?

  Don’t get me wrong. That’s happened to me before. A lot. But usually I’m not found lacking.

  I’m trapped between being offended and confused, and the fact that his face is getting redder and redder as he tries to explain is adding a healthy dose of lust to the situation.

  “Okay,” I interrupt. “Let me get this straight.” He subsides into silence, looking utterly miserable, and I want nothing more than to make him smile. I’ve got it bad. “For reasons I can only guess at, you don’t like the way I look, and you reacted badly to that despite the fact that I’m not—” Fuck, how to finish this sentence. “—that bad a guy?” Lame.

  He cracks a smile, the blush subsiding a little. “If someone were to give me a piece of paper with everything I’ve learned about you since I got here written on it, but I never actually met you, I’d say you’re a really great guy.”

  I take a minute to think about that. On one hand, it seems like a nice compliment, but…. “So you don’t like the way I look?” Should I be offended? Or just write it off to personal taste? Or both?

  “You know you’re hot,” he says bluntly, and his cheeks are red again. “But… it’s not your looks, exactly. More your manner.”

  Now I’m truly offended. I work damn hard to be friendly and approachable, even when I don’t want to be. I’m about to end this conversation, and our acquaintanceship, but Trav’s still talking.

  “You were popular at school, right? Played football or something?”

  “No,” I say shortly. He raises an eyebrow. “Lacrosse,” I admit. I don’t comment on the “popular” comment, because it seems like bragging. Plus, given the subject we’re discussing, I don’t think it would weigh in my favor.

  “Did you play in college too?”

  I nod reluctantly. “A lot of people play sports,” I defend, and he gives me a patient look.

  “And I’ll bet you were in a fraternity.”

  Am I supposed to feel bad about this? I played sports and I was in a fraternity, and people liked me. So were a lot of other people.

  “Look, Trav, I don’t—”

  “I was bullied. A lot. By the popular jocks at my high school and college. Most of them were in fraternities too.”

  I close my mouth. I never bullied anyone, but I’m ashamed to say I knew some of my friends did. Not when I was around, because I made it pretty clear how I felt about it—my parents had strong opinions that they passed on to me—but I probably could have done more to make sure it wasn’t happening.

  “I’m not saying you’re a bully,” he tells me earnestly. I can see embarrassment and something else—shame, maybe?—on his face. He can’t meet my gaze. “But you have a lot in common with the people who did. I sometimes find it hard to deal with people who have a certain charm and charisma. That’s my problem, not yours, and I’m really sorry I took it out on you yesterday. But I hope this helps you understand why I did.”

  I just stand there like a lump. The truth is, my looks and charisma have opened a lot of doors for me over the years. I’ve worked damn hard to keep those doors open and to develop the opportunities they gave me, but I’m not stupid—I know people with less charm and who aren’t as good-looking sometimes don’t get the same welcome I do. The world can be a shallow place, for all we protest that it isn’t.

  The silence draws out as we stand awkwardly in the hallway.

  Trav swallows. “So… uh, I’m glad I got to explain. I, uh, I’ll see you a
round.” He turns away and continues toward the stage door.

  What am I doing? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy for the last thirty-six hours. Am I really going to let him walk away just because my feelings are bruised—over something he’s apologized for and I don’t really even have a right to be upset about?

  “Trav!” I jog after him. Luckily he hasn’t gotten far, and he stops to wait for me. “Have you eaten?”

  He looks surprised. “Uh… no. I usually have a light snack before the show and then supper after.”

  “Great. Come and have supper with me.” I can still feel the exhaustion of the day dragging at my body, but my mind is energized, and I’m willing to sacrifice sleep for a little longer.

  “Are you sure?” He seems wary, and I get it. He probably wasn’t expecting me to react to his confession with a request for a date.

  “Yes.” I make my voice firm, and then flash my megawatt smile. He takes a step back, and I tone it down. “Sorry. Force of habit. Yes, I’m sure. I really want to go out for a meal with you.”

  He’s still a little suspicious. “You’re not offended by what I said?”

  “I’d be lying if I said my ego isn’t a little dented,” I admit. “But you’re entitled to your feelings. Things happened to you to make you feel that way, and I can’t expect all that to disappear like that.” I snap my fingers for emphasis. “I can only hope to show you that I’m not like the people who bullied you.”

  He studies me for a second more, then nods slowly. “You’re right. Derek, I’d love to have supper with you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Trav

  I’VE LIVED in New York all my life, and I’m no stranger to great restaurants. There have been times I’ve saved for months to afford a single meal at an outstanding eatery, and other times I’ve gotten amazing food from an inexpensive deli—or street vendor.

  The restaurant Derek takes me to fits the category of outstanding. Not because it’s fancy—it’s not. Derek’s wearing what seems to be his work uniform of dress pants and shirt (the shirt’s blue, by the way, and it almost perfectly matches his eyes. He probably chose it for that reason), though he’s taken off his tie and opened his collar, and I’m in jeans and a polo. I’m actually lucky I spilled coffee on my sweats while I was at the resort before the show tonight, otherwise I’d be wearing those, and that would probably be a bit too casual.