A Midsummer Night's Fling (Much Ado about Love #1) (3 page)

An expression of almost bovine innocence covered his face. “Oh. Well. That would be me.”

* * *

M
ax watched
her reaction to the news he would be Oberon. Even as the words left his mouth, he second-guessed himself. Did she
need
that bit of info, after all? Well, she’d probably already guessed, and anyway, he’d confirmed it. Now she was pale, tight-lipped as if restraining anger. He braced himself, squaring his feet in preparation for the storm of her antagonism.
Just like the good old days
.

Instead, her face fell and her brown eyes pinched with worry. “Is that a good idea, Max? Really?”

He blinked, mentally stumbling over the fact that she wasn’t yelling at him. “Sure!” He chirped out at last, maybe a bit too loud. “We always had good chemistry onstage.”
And off
.

Her mouth twisted ruefully. “Offstage too.”

She’s not gonna do the play
. His chest constricted, and he stepped toward her, brushing her arm. He couldn’t pinpoint why, didn’t even want to guess at why, but he wanted Nicola to play Titania with him. And it had nothing to do with Rita ordering him to. “Nic, the only thing on the table here—the only thing anyone expects from you—is a great performance as Titania. No strings.” He lifted his arms out to the side and waved them in the air, pantomiming a puppet. “See? No strings.”

He held his breath as she paused for a long, long moment. When his lungs were ready to burst, she sighed. “I’ll do it.”

He blew out his breath. “Good—”

“On one condition.”

Not good. “Yes?”

“You and I. We…” She broke off with a small, violent headshake, as if trying to rattle the words out of her mouth. “This isn’t like the good ol’ days. If I do this, our relationship will remain, at all times, strictly professional.” She didn’t appear quite satisfied as she finished, as if half of what she’d wanted to say remained percolating unformed in her brain.

He stuck his hand out to shake. “Total professionals.”

“Forgive me if I remain dubious about the man who mooned me backstage right before my death scene.”

He drew himself straight and tall, projecting an air of outraged dignity. But inwardly he remembered the adorable expression of shock on her face every time he used to prank her right before her big scene. Or kiss her. He hesitated.
The kissing is probably what she’s worried about here, genius
. “I’ve changed a lot over the years.”

“So have I.”

Yup, worried about the kissing
. Unfortunately, no good or tactful way existed to tell his ex-girlfriend that kissing her was the last thing on his mind, and the very last thing he wanted to do. His gaze darted to her lips as she wet them nervously.
Especially because that would be a lie
.

They shook. Her palm was small and cool as it was swallowed by his larger one. A tingling burn started along his arms when he touched her. Unbidden, Shakespeare lines began running through his head. ‘
Palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss
.’

She grinned as they shook, joy breaking over her face. “Max, you’ve got yourself a Titania.”

‘Dear saint, let lips do what hands do…’

He dropped her hand, shoving a friendly smile onto his face while his pulse hammered with panic.
Max, you’re in trouble
.

A
fter mastering
the suicidal urge to kiss his ex-girlfriend, Max bolted from Nicola’s apartment, barely shy of outright rudeness. On his way down to the street, he called Rita. “We’re in business. You can tell the big boss lady we have a Titania.” He tried to sound chipper and excited instead of sick with panic.

“Oh no, mijo,” Rita said. “I am booked absolutely solid today. You call Isabelle for me. I don’t have time for it myself.”

“Rita, it’s your
job
.”

“Yes, but you see it is impossible.” Something metallic rattled on the other end of the line. Probably Rita playing with the mess of silver bracelets she perpetually wore on her wrist. She was fidgeting, nervous.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Rita sighed, her breath
shushing
over the speaker into his ear. “I did not exactly tell Isabelle what our plan was.”

Max winced, and a vision of himself stabbed and stuffed away in the prop closet danced in his head. His artistic director, the big boss lady Isabelle, was going to kill him, and he didn’t think she’d waste a good dead body when it might be a useful prop for some future show. “You went behind Isabelle’s back? Are you
crazy
?”

“She was going to foist one of the little fairy girls on me. At least she’s given up on playing Titania herself.”

Max grimaced. Isabelle had been playing Titania at the RSF for the last fifteen years. She hadn’t taken the rejection gracefully when Rita had suggested using a younger actress this season. Yet another reason recasting Titania was a huge pain in his ass.

“You charm her, Maxim,” Rita cooed. “Isabelle never gets mad at you.”

“What are you going to do if Isabelle says no? I put my nuts on the chopping block to get Nicola, and you’re telling me there might not be a part for her
at all
?”

“No such thing. You talk to Isabelle, use your pretty face for some good, and there won’t be a problem.”

Rita hung up.

He furiously redialed, but her number went straight to voice mail. Swallowing a vile oath, he bounded the rest of the way to his car. He had to reach Isabelle before some bigmouthed idiot in the company blabbed Rita’s plan. If he talked to Isabelle first, if he was able to soothe her ego and massage her business side, then there wouldn’t be a problem.

But if Isabelle heard of Nicola’s casting through the creeping grapevine of theater gossip, then Max was well and thoroughly fucked.

Not in the good way either
, he thought, Nicola’s image hovering on the edge of his mind.

Snap out of it, Fiesengerke. Your career is on the line
. The career he’d smashed to pieces five years ago. The career he was only now putting back together with any kind of success.
Don’t screw up again
. With that sobering thought, he threw himself into his car, burning rubber toward the theater.

* * *

D
espite having made
the drive countless times before, Max was continually surprised just how schizophrenic an area Pasadena was. Every block he passed seemed to have a different aesthetic. One minute he was cruising through a charmingly upscale shopping district, the next he was in a poor urban area. One minute small family homes and apartment buildings filled the street, then the next block had million-dollar mansions like Max’s brother’s house. One street had the quintessential line of California palm trees, but, when he turned another corner, the yards were more classic American suburb with pines and ivy on every corner.

This confusion of neighborhoods seemed, alarmingly, to mirror Max’s inner turmoil.

Not Nicola. Not again
. The end of their relationship had nearly killed him last time. He hesitated, fingering the hands-free Call button in his car, wondering if he should dial Peter. His brother was an ass, but he was good at talking Max out of doing insane things.

Like falling for Nicola again.

You’re overreacting
. Nothing existed between him and Nicola anymore. So there was nothing to worry about.
Right
.

Normally, Max liked to admire the scenic grounds surrounding the theater complex. Today, he barreled over the dirt roads and passed the theater sign fast enough to leave the metal sheet trembling in his wake. He parked and hurled himself out of the car, trotting the back way around the theater and taking the winding staircase to the artistic director’s office two stairs at a time.

The door was half-open, so he flung himself inside without knocking. Isabelle Elton, a stylish woman in her mid-forties—who always tried very much to appear as a stylish woman in her mid-
thirties
—glanced up from the stack of costume sketches fanned across her desk. Her wild cascade of reddish brown curls sat piled atop her head in a messy bun. “Max. Hello.”

He glanced about the room to make sure it was empty of other supplicants. Isabelle had two bookshelves with plays and reference materials occupying one corner. Several different set design maquettes sprawled on top of the bookshelves, like a train of conquered cities in miniature.

He gulped in a deep breath, then turned his grin on, the one he’d been told could transform any woman’s knees to water. “Isabelle—”

“Ah, Max, I’m so glad you came,” she said, drawling the words.

Her voice was her great claim to fame—a childlike rasp yet still lyrical, perfect vibrato, beautiful technique, and utterly distinctive. Isabelle always made sure to use her voice to best advantage however she could. In this moment, she slapped her hands on the desk and scowled, making him feel like a cornered rat. “You cast Titania without me.” Her rich voice picked out every consonant in the sentence, like small sword stabs of articulation.

He sighed. “Which loudmouth in the company told you about the Titania thing?”

“Rita was being shifty with me, so I tortured the truth out of her five minutes ago.”

Figures
. So much for the smooth strategy he’d laid out to woo Isabelle.

She studied him, steepling her hands against her mouth. Then she smiled, but her dark eyes were cold as she motioned him to a chair.

He sat.

“Why should I let you and Rita foist this girl on the company without an audition?” she said. “I’ve never even heard of Nicola Charles, and her résumé is mostly musicals and TV commercials.”

Dredging up a load of confidence from somewhere deep in his gut, Max sprawled himself out in her guest chair, looking casual, unconcerned. “She has her MFA, and Nicola did
Antigone
with Rita, so she does have experience with classical theater. Isabelle, bottom line: what will it take to get you on board with this?”

Someone knocked on the door behind them. “Isabelle?”

Max turned. The speaker was a refined woman, maybe a few years older than Isabelle, with white-blond hair and a great hourglass figure.

“Oh, hey, Jude,” Isabelle said, a laugh in her voice.

The woman wrinkled her aquiline nose at the greeting. “Darling, are you ever going to get tired of that joke?” The newcomer had a slight British accent. Max’s roommate, an Englishman named Lachlan, would love her. Of course, Lachlan loved all women.

Isabelle crossed around her desk to make the introductions. “Max, this is Judith O’Fallon. She was in the company with me when we were teenagers. She directed a couple of plays with the RSF a few years ago. She even played Titania that year I was too pregnant with Tierney.”

Judith grinned. “I played Titania in New York too.”

“Bragging, Jude?” Isabelle laughed. “Anyway, Judith is going to direct the first main stage production this fall.”

“Oh.” Max turned to Judith, mentally flipping his charm dial to Full. If Judith was directing the fall play, it was never too early to make nice.

Judith was tall for a woman, and as they shook, she met his gaze with an unsettling directness, her gray eyes unblinking. “Pleasure to meet you. Max, was it?”

“Max Fiesengerke.”

“Oh.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Any relation to that movie star? Peter Fiesengerke?”

“My older brother.” He managed to get the information out without actually growling.
I should have changed my last name
. Especially if he was going to get upset every time anyone asked him about Peter.

“I see good genes run in your family.” Judith raked her gaze over him, her mouth quirking with pleasure or maybe amusement.

“You’re just in time, Judith.” Isabelle ever so slightly moved between them. “Max, you’re among the first to know: I’ve asked Judith to be co-artistic director for the company. She’ll be overseeing
Midsummer
for me.”

Max gritted his back teeth, trying to stay standing after that hammering set of blows. A new co-artistic director. A stranger overseeing
Midsummer
. He knew Isabelle had felt overwhelmed by her workload, but bringing a stranger to oversee half the company seemed a bit extreme. “Does Rita know?”

“Not yet.”

Judith sailed into the room and settled herself into the spare guest chair. “Max, I do like the direction Rita intends for this
Midsummer
. The younger cast and everything.”

Isabelle shot her a funny look, opening her mouth in question. Judith, oblivious, continued, “I have some concerns, though, about this Charles girl. Isabelle tells me she’s never heard of her.”

“Nicola
can
do this part, I promise you.” It was himself he was worried about. Shit, just
seeing
Nicola had him so wound up, he was practically having a heart attack.

But here were the artistic directors giving him an out. He could easily—well, maybe not
easily
—go to Rita and say Isabelle had put her foot down. And that would be that.

So why was he still fighting so hard for Nicola?

Because I promised her. And Rita
. He cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Rita wants Nicola. What will it take to get you two on board?”

“An audition,” Judith replied. “I want this girl of yours to read for me. With you and with the actor playing Bottom. If she’s any good, then we’ll see.”

He hissed out his breath. Maybe Judith wouldn’t be so difficult to work with? It might annoy Nicola to audition for a part she thought she’d been offered fair and square, but he was counting on Nicola to be the more reasonable party here. He’d convinced Isabelle and this Judith woman as far as he was likely to. “Sounds fair.”

“Bring your girl in,” Isabelle said. “Tonight. As soon as possible. We need to get
Midsummer
back on its feet.”

At this dismissal, Max hopped to his own feet so quickly, he nearly toppled the chair as he retreated toward the door.

“By the way,” Isabelle said, freezing him in his tracks. “Is your brother coming to opening night?”

“I don’t know.”

“You invited him, didn’t you?”

“I invited all of my family,” Max said, smiling while inside he burned.
Do you have me in your company because of my talent or my connections?
he wanted to ask.

But he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he’d like Isabelle’s answer. She’d hired him years ago when no one else would have. The only reason he had a career at all anymore was because of her. He liked to think that was because she respected his talent. He didn’t want to know if it was because she’d been angling after his brother the movie star all along.

Anyway, Max needed to hustle if he was going to get Nicola in to audition. Tonight. His head ached.
Oy
. “Judith, nice to meet you, I’ll see you tonight. Later, Isabelle.”

Isabelle waved him away with a shooing motion, and Max allowed himself to be thrown out. He had an audition to arrange, after all.

And an angry ex-girlfriend to deal with once he had arranged the audition, no doubt.

* * *

C
assie was half-sprawled
on the bed and staring at the front door through which Max had abruptly made his exit. “Man, I didn’t know they made them like that in real life.”

“Like what?” Nicola asked.

“Like a Greek god had babies with a Ken doll. Only better looking. I mean
wow
.” Cassie gaped at her. “He’s Peter Fiesengerke’s
brother
? You dated Peter Fiesengerke’s
brother
? You
know
Peter-fucking-Fiesengerke? The Sexiest Man Alive?”