Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (3 page)

“What do you think he wants?” asked Kat.

Elise had no answer. The play was terrible. She shook her head, at a loss.

“Stay still!” whispered Kat.

“I don’t know what he wants,” said Elise. “I’m shaking.”

Kat pulled the last of the pins from Elise’s hair and handed them to her, putting her hands on Elise’s shoulders and looking squarely into her eyes. “Stop it.”

“Okay.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“Right. Good.”

“Do you want to put your hair up?”

Elise placed the pins in a neat pile on the table and ran her fingers through the silky waves. “No. It’s fine.”

“Sit.”

Elise sat back down on the stool behind her, straightened her spine and crossed her legs, facing the door.

Kat offered Elise a serene smile, pointing at it. “Smile.”

Elise took a deep breath and smiled up at Kat gratefully.

“Good luck,” she mouthed, as she turned to the door and opened it. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Elise Klassan.”

Elise stood, channeling the most confident and gracious character she could imagine as she extended her hand to the most well-regarded, best-recognized Casting Director on Broadway.

“Hello, Ms. Klassan, I’m Donny Durran.”

“Yes, I know! What an honor to meet you, sir!” said Elise, trying to keep her hand from trembling as she clasped his like a lifeline.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the tall, young, good-looking man standing just behind Donny, and she flicked her blue eyes to his intense, bright green. “And you are…”

“My new talent scout,” said Donny with a light chuckle.

“That’s not true,” said the handsome man quickly, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on hers like lasers. “I’m not a-a scout. I’m a lawyer.”

“He’s a lawyer! Well, lucky for you, Ms. Klassan, because I’m thinking you might need a good lawyer very soon,” said Donny.

Her smile fell. “Oh. Why? Have I done something wrong?”

Where Elise came from, you only needed a good lawyer for a couple of things—mostly foreclosures and legal defense.

Mr. Durran pulled his hand away with a yank. “Aside from almost breaking my hand? No.”

“Oh,” she said, shaking her head with a nervous chuckle. “Oh. That’s good. I mean, sorry. I’m so sorry about your hand! I, uh, then…”

Mr. Durran smiled kindly at her, putting her at ease. “You might need a good lawyer to look over a contract for you in the near future. Perhaps Mr…”

“Winslow,” said Green Eyes, his deep, rich voice vibrating through her trembling body. “Preston Winslow.”

“Perhaps Mr. Winslow could help you out with that.”

Elise flattened her hand over her racing heart, looking back and forth between the two men in confusion before sitting back down on the stool by her dressing table. “A contract? What contract?”

“You know what I do, right, Ms. Klassan?”

She nodded. Everyone on Broadway knew Donny Durran—he was the best of the best. If you were discovered by Donny Durran, you’d made it on the Broadway scene. As long as you worked hard and stayed sharp, you’d have access to the very best parts in New York.

“Well, my partner and I are casting a new show. Part of the Lincoln Center summer series. It’s a revival of
Ethan Frome
. You know the story?”

Know it?
Edith Wharton was Elise’s favorite author all time, bar none.

“I love it,” she croaked, trying not to faint, or hope too hard, or…faint.

“Ah, good. Always nice to find someone familiar with the material,” he said to Mr. Winslow, who hadn’t looked away from Elise since their introduction. As Mr. Durran turned back to her, he explained, “Garrett Hedlund has signed on to play Ethan and Maggie Gyllenhaal is playing Zeena, but the directors specifically wanted a young unknown to play Mattie. You’ll have to audition, of course, but I’m thinking…you.”

“Me?’ she parroted, trying not to hyperventilate. A lead role. In one of her favorite plays. At
Lincoln Center
? With
Hollywood stars
?

A small noise of disbelief escaped her throat—a cross between a whimper and a moan—and her heart was beating so fast she was starting to feel dizzy.

Wait, wait, wait,
her subconscious intervened, strong-arming its way to the front of her brain.
This must be a joke.

“But,
He Loves Me Not
is the worst play of all time,” she heard herself mumble as she exhaled the breath she was holding.

Horrified by her inadvertent disloyalty, she looked up at Mr. Durran, but was distracted by Green Eyes, who smiled at her—smiled the most sexy, beautiful smile she’d ever seen, and though it didn’t make an ounce of sense, she felt like that smile was suddenly holding her up. She nodded at the hot lawyer gratefully then turned to Mr. Durran, taking a deep breath and composing herself.

“I just mean…it wasn’t my best work.”

Mr. Durran nodded. “The material’s trash. But you weren’t.”

She licked her lips, forcing herself to stay focused on Mr. Durran, though she would have liked to see Green Eyes’ reaction to such praise.

“You were quite good, Ms. Klassan. Quite good. Mr. Winslow and I caught your performance two nights in a row, and not because we found the play the least bit compelling. But, you…well, I’ll be damned if you don’t have something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “I’ve written the audition time and place on the back. Tuesday afternoon at three. The Claire Tow Theater at Lincoln Center. You know it?”

“I know it,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Well, that’s fine. Don’t let me down, Ms. Klassan.”

“No, sir,” she said, grinning up at him. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re welcome.”

She felt like she should say more, so she added, “You’ve just made my dreams come true.”

“I think you did that all yourself,” said Mr. Durran, “doing the best you could with this lemon.”

Elise’s glance flicked to Green Eyes, who still stared at her, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And thank
you
, Mr. Winslow.”

“Mr. Winslow,” said Mr. Durran thoughtfully, darting a quick glance back at his associate. “He had much more to do with this than you know, Ms. Klassan. He was…
captivated
by your performance.”

Elise watched as his cheeks flushed and his smile faded, but he didn’t drop her eyes. He stared into her, through her, like he was captivated by far more than her performance and though some part of her knew she should find such searing attention unnerving, it wasn’t. It was exciting. It was exhilarating. Unchecked it could prove…addictive.

“Well, I’ll leave you two now. Tuesday, Ms. Klassan. At three.”

“I’ll be there,” she murmured, dragging her eyes from Mr. Winslow to smile at Mr. Durran. “And thank you again.”

Mr. Durran winked at her, then turned, exiting her dressing room and leaving her alone with the beautiful, intense Mr. Winslow.

“Hi,” said Preston, still stunned to find himself suddenly standing in Elise Klassan’s dressing room after thinking about her non-stop for the past twenty-four hours.

It had been thrilling to see Mr. Durran offer her the chance of a lifetime—the way her eyes sparkled with excitement had made every atom of his body gravitate to her, want for her, hope for her. He’d fleetingly wondered what he wouldn’t do to make them sparkle like that again.

“Hi,” she answered, giggling softly as she looked down at the business card in her hands and then back up at Preston.

Her cheeks were pink and smattered with light freckles, but her lips were lush and full. Cute and sexy. A lethal combination.

“I guess congratulations are in order,” he said, wishing he sounded more witty and less stiff. He’d heard of men struck by a lightning bolt by love—or more likely, by a lightning bolt of instant and intense attraction. He’d always regarded such accounts as silly…until now.

Elise Klassan beamed at him before lifting her backpack and hefting it over her shoulders. Her bright eyes twinkled when she looked back up, waggling a finger at him in censure. “Not yet.”

“But you got an audition,” he said, grinning back at her.

She gestured to the open door and he walked through it, waiting in the hallway as she turned out the lights and locked her dressing room.

“Yes, but not the part.”

“Not yet,” he amended, mimicking her words. “But you will.”

She looked up at him, youthful giddiness lighting her face. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he answered, staring down at her from the opposite side of the narrow hallway.

She leaned against the hallway wall across from him, her soft, golden waves a lovely contrast to the drab concrete behind her. “How do you know Mr. Durran? Do you work together?”

He thought about lying. He strongly considered telling her that yes, he was an entertainment lawyer who regularly worked with Mr. Durran, because he wanted an “in” with her that badly. But he couldn’t bear lying to her. Something about the openness of her face made it impossible.

“The truth is, I don’t know him at all. We met last night…I mean, we chatted after the show, and then ran into each other again tonight.”

“Again?” She laughed softly. “Why in the world would you come and see
He Loves Me Not
again?”

“For you,” he answered simply, his voice low and gravelly in his ears. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling much younger than his twenty-nine years.

“For
me
?”

He nodded as his chest tightened with some unspecified emotion. Anxious for a breath of fresh air, he gestured to the hallway. “Shall we?”

She searched his face for an extra beat before turning to the left, and Preston followed her past several closed doors, waved goodnight to a crew member who told Elise he’d see her tomorrow, and stepped down three concrete stairs to a bright green door. Elise pushed it open, and Preston was surprised to find them on a dark, wet New York sidewalk.

Elise crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him, her face uncertain and her eyes cautious. “Are you making fun of me?”

Preston leaned away from her, taken aback. “Making fun? What are you talking about?”

“You came to a bad play two nights in a row
to see me
?” she asked, her eyes challenging. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does to me,” he said. “I came last night with my… I mean, I came to see the show, and I admit I didn’t get into it until the end, but all day I thought about you dying, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind, and so I…I don’t know, I came back to see the show again.”

Her face softened. “You’re serious.”

“Hundred percent,” he confirmed, nodding at her.

“And you don’t know Mr. Durran personally?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“So…who
are
you?”

“A fan of your work?” he asked, offering her his most charming smile.

“My
work
?” She chortled. “My excellent portrayal of Matilda?”

He sniffed. “You were better than the play. Like Mr. Durran, I’d like to see you in something good.”

She swept her suspicious eyes down his blue and white striped dress shirt, glancing briefly at his watch, skating down his designer jeans and resting on his expensive leather loafers before sliding back up to his face. His body tightened at her perusal, turned-on by her frank inspection.

“Are you a patron?” she asked. “Of the theater?”

He shook his head. “No. But the friend who brought me last night? She is.”

“She.” Elise took a deep breath and two spots of color appeared on the apples of her cheeks. “Girlfriend?”

“No,” he answered simply.
Not anymore.

“I see,” she said, releasing the breath she’d been holding, the hint of a smile warming her lips. “So, are you really a lawyer?”

“I graduated from Columbia law school last June. I’m taking the bar, well,
bars
, in July.”

“Bars? I’m assuming New York and…”

“Pennsylvania.”

She tilted her head again, scanning his face like she was trying to make a decision about him.

Before she could overthink it, he asked quickly, “Let me take you for a glass of Champagne. To celebrate.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Coffee? Who says no to a cup of coffee?”

“Me, I guess.” She grinned at him, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t drink coffee.”

He took a deep breath, pursing his lips. Was she politely blowing him off? Probably. She didn’t know him from Adam, she’d had a long day, and probably had people she wanted to call, friends with whom to celebrate her good fortune. He had no right to monopolize her, or follow her around like some stray dog looking for a home. As much as he hated to admit it, it was time for him to leave her alone.

“Well, then I guess this is goodbye,” he said softly, surprised by how sad the words made him feel.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyebrows furrowing as she stared back at him, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

He put out his hand and offered her a final smile. “I really did enjoy your performance, Elise Klassan. I think…well, I think you’re a terrific actress. You certainly made me believe. Good luck on Tuesday.”

She looked down at his hand, but didn’t offer her own, and her eyes finally glided back up his chest to his face. “By any chance are you walking north?”

His grin spread so wide that it eventually turned into a small, relieved chuckle. “Absolutely. I’m absolutely walking north.”

She shrugged, smiling back at him. “Want to walk with me a while?”

He nodded, turning his body north before she could reconsider her invitation. “I’d love it.”

***

At first, his strides were longer than hers, but almost immediately she noticed that he adjusted them, slowing down so that he didn’t out-walk her or make her speed up to match him. She glanced at him as they made their way to the first crosswalk in silence. His thick, almost-black hair was just a little too long and curled slightly over his collar. He’d run his fingers through the tangle of waves once or twice, taming it back, and her fingers itched to do the same. Sliding her gaze down, she noted his jaw was sharp and strong, covered with a scruffy black stubble that was masculine and appealing. She wondered if it scratched when he kissed, or if it was unexpectedly soft, and she drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at his full, sexy lips. With cheeks cut from marble, and sinfully long black lashes framing his emerald-green eyes, his beauty was startling, over-the-top, like it should be impossible.

He was—by anyone’s standards—a ridiculously handsome man, and her body had been affected by him from the first moment she lifted her eyes to his, but Elise worked in the theater where beautiful men were not uncommon. She wasn’t immune to Preston Winslow’s beauty, per se, but she’d met enough shallow, self-serving stunners to know that it was foolish to judge a book by its cover or a person by a pretty face. As handsome as he was, his looks had little to do with why Elise had invited him to walk with her.

She’d asked him because she sensed that he was honest and kind, which was incredibly refreshing. Always having been pegged as intense and introverted, Elise had felt like an outsider for a good deal of her life; both at home where she was an actress in Mennonite clothing, and in New York City, where she was a farm girl trying to make it in a vast metropolis. But something about Preston Winslow made her feel like she belonged. There was no room for him in her life, but she couldn’t help feeling drawn to him, and she just wanted to spend a little more time with him before they had to say goodbye.

“I read your bio tonight,” he said as they crossed the street, “in the program.”

“Oh?”

“Did you really grow up on a farm?”

She laughed softly, nodding. “I did. In Lowville, New York, which you have never heard of, right?”

“Right,” he said, “though I’m not from New York, so maybe that’s the reason.”

“Nope. No one’s heard of it. It’s as dull as it sounds.” She was rambling, as she always did when she was nervous. She shifted the focus back to him. “Let me guess…you’re from Pennsylvania.”

“Good guess!”

“Well, you’re taking the bar there, so…”

He nodded, grinning down at her as they eased into a comfortable strolling pace. “What kind of farm? What did you grow?”

“Cows,” she said, chasing the answer with a soft giggle. “We grew cows on forty acres, housed them in three barns and milked them in two milk houses.”

“You
grew
cows….” he said, amusement thick in his voice.

“Yep. Dairy farm. Have you ever smelled a dairy farm?” She looked at his expensive clothes again. “I’m guessing no.”

“So tell me about it.”

“When they’re out in the field? Grazing? You don’t smell anything. Well, manure. You
always
smell manure, but you don’t notice it if you grow up with it. And when they’re corralled in the yard, waiting to be milked? Imagine a boy’s locker room after a game.”

Inside, she was cringing at herself like crazy. This nice, gorgeous lawyer was walking her home and she was talking about cows and manure. She resisted the temptation to thump her forehead with the heel of her hand and stared down at the sidewalk, settling for a wince instead. Diarrhea of the mouth was not uncommon for her when she was anxious or out-of-her-element, or, apparently, walking the streets of New York with scorching hot strangers, but this was a new low.

“Uh…yum,” he said lightly.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed.

“What? You mean you don’t usually lead with manure and locker rooms?”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “You’re obviously very wealthy—”

“Why do you think so?”

She looked pointedly at his clothing. “You reek of it.”

“Are you saying
I
smell?”

“Yep. Of old money,” she said. “And you’re ludicrously handsome and you suddenly showed up in my dressing room out of nowhere standing next to Donny Durran and saying nice things and walking me home, and I just…”

She stood there helplessly, staring up into his gentle green eyes, trying to figure out what she was trying to say, and wishing to God she had been granted just a smidge more social grace, or had had the time to channel a smooth, sophisticated socialite before meeting Preston Winslow.

“You think I’m handsome, huh?”

“It’s an empirical truth.”

He considered her. “You’re an actress. I wouldn’t expect you to be nervous.”

“Why not?”

“Because it takes a lot of courage to get up on a stage and be someone else, and you do it very well.”

“Actually, I disagree with you. It doesn’t take any courage to be someone else. It’s much scarier to be yourself.” She scanned his face, wondering if she’d said too much. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, reaching toward her face like he was going to push a lock of her hair behind her ear and then stopping himself at the last minute. As if to control them better, he stuck his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side and grinning at her. “Listen, I liked your performance. I think you’re intriguing. I don’t have to walk you home, but I’d like to. You don’t need to be nervous, because I don’t expect anything from you. We can talk or walk in silence, but it’s just steps. One after the other until we get to where you need to go. Nothing less. Nothing more.”

She swallowed, taking a deep breath, a little swept away and a lot reassured by his short, gentle speech. Her bunched-up shoulders relaxed and she nodded at him gratefully.

“I bet you’re a good lawyer,” she said, resuming their walk, inexplicably happy when his footsteps matched hers.

“I don’t know yet. I was supposed to be studying for the bar tonight, but I…got distracted.”