The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1) (11 page)

CHAPTER TEN

“But he’s a jerk, Sonja!”

“That doesn’t give you the right to humiliate me in public!”

“He had his hands all over you.”

“He was wiping ketchup off my face, Nick! And anyway, what gives you the right to stalk me when I’m on a date in the first place?”

“I’m your big brother. It’s in the contract.”

“I never signed any contracts.”

“Maybe not. But Dad’s shotgun did.”

My tires left skid ruts in the gravel parking lot of the dinner theatre the following night.

Three minutes to curtain,
I berated myself.

What should have been an easy hour or two of moving Ella’s stuff mutated into a day-long ordeal.
Ella seemed to have no concept of where things should go, or how best to pack and haul them. My help—including the trailer and hand truck—had to leave just before noon and that slowed the process even further. Ella took an extended lunch, an even longer nap and held up several decisions while taking random phone calls, even in the middle of us discussing how things ought to be. The fact that her new apartment was not only small, but twenty minutes from her townhouse didn’t help matters. I skipped lunch, hoping to speed things up. Once we were done, Ella had insisted on showing me a bridal catalog and talking about venues for our engagement pictures. I figured it was a bit late for those, but I obliged her just the same. By the time I reached the theatre, my mind, stomach and muscles were in knots. Moiré must have seen me coming because she was at my car almost before I could get out.

“Sorry, Moiré. I know I said ten minutes early.”

“Is everything all right, Nick?”

I nodded. “Yeah, fine. I ran into some… complications. But I’m here. I don’t think we’re late.”

She waggled her head. “No. And they have a little pre-show anyway. We’re fine.”

I tried grinning. “Great. Now let’s hope we can find some seat. Oh and for this scenario, you’re just my sister, okay?”

“Sure thing, bro,” she said, drilling a fist into my shoulder with a wry grin. “You better let me drive home, or I’ll tell Mom and Dad about those hickeys you got on Prom night!”

I flushed automatically, wondering how on
Earth
she could know about
those
? There had only been two of them, to begin with and I hadn’t ever told anyone….

She laughed that musical laugh, again and it dawned on me that she was fantastic about getting into her part. I blushed deeper and scratched at the back of my head.

She paused and then looked at me with large, laughing eyes. “You really
did
get hickeys on Prom night, didn’t you?”

I coughed loudly and looked pointedly at my watch. “The show’s about to start.” I strode toward the doors, Moiré trailing me, snickering.

When we got in, we were told to seat ourselves. The room was partially lit by a spotlight on the pre-show act that was already in progress. The walls were lined with low-backed booths with red, vinyl-covered benches straight out of a film from the 1950s. A dozen or so round tables—more than half of them unoccupied—were spread across carpet that belonged in an old woman’s living room. The air was musty, but at least it wasn’t filled with smoke and I thought I could smell some barbecued chicken. The clatter of dishes and silverware mingled with low-level chatter. The bad jokes coming from the stage caused me to seriously question the reviews I’d read about this place.

Moiré gestured at a booth along the side wall, near the rear entrance. I noticed it offered enough cover, while still providing a good view of the people. I nodded appreciatively and she skipped over to the booth, just like a good kid sister would; or something. I completely forgot about my determination for separate seating. Moiré had already jotted a cluster of notes by the time I reached the booth. I pulled out my notepad and casually leaned back against the wall, pretending to listen to the pre-show.

“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m going to hit the ladies’ room real quick, alright?”

I nodded smoothly, sat and smiled inwardly that I could stay in character just as well as she could as I turned my attention to the bad comedian.

“Psst! Hey, Nick! What’s up, dude?”

I must have jumped, because a hand came down on my shoulder in a calming manner.

“Yikes, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

I looked up, surprised to see Courier John hovering over my booth.

“John,” I said, “that’s twice in almost as many weeks I’ve seen you. You’re not stalking me or something, are you?”

“Heck no, dude. I don’t chase things with chest hair.”

I was glad to hear that, in a disturbed sort of way. “How are you,” I said, shaking his hand heartily.

“Pretty good. Hey, you ever been to this place before?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Nope. And if this guy is any indication of how the show’s going to go,” I discreetly gestured at the comedian, “I’m probably never coming back.”

John laughed that laugh of his. “No joke. And I mean that.”

I laughed too, hiding it in the smattering of chuckles from the crowd. “Hey, what’s the deal with dinner?” I asked. “Have they served you yet, John?”

“Nope. Just got here ’bout five seconds ago. I saw you hangin’ here alone and figured we could both heckle the show. Hey, speaking of that, where’s your chick?”

Without thinking, I replied, “She just went to the bathroom. I’m sure she’ll be back before ten.” John laughed.

“Hey, you got room for another guy here, right?” he asked, pointing at the empty bench across from me. Before I could answer, he plopped himself down and started bouncing on the seat. “Wow—cool seats! They’re all bouncy and stuff! It’s like that one ride down at Ultimate Fun Center!”

I groaned inwardly. “Um, John?” I asked, “Do you mind if—”

And then she was back, far sooner than I had expected.

“Hey, Nick, I just wanted to wash my hands before dinner.”

John quit bouncing immediately and wolf-whistled. I cringed as even the comedian paused to look over at us.

“Sorry, dude,” John said loudly, waving it away. “My bad. Go ahead and keep going.” The comic made a lame quip about dorks and women and the audience gave the appropriate “Ha, ha” laugh.

Moiré sat next to me and John leaned in conspiratorially and pointed at Moiré. “Dude, this is your woman? Dang,” he said, “She’s hot.” He turned his eyes directly on her. She feigned embarrassment. John bought the act.

“This is
not
my girlfriend,” I hissed, drawing a few more looks. So much for keeping our cover. “This is my
sister
!”

John’s eyes lit up instantly. “That’s…
awesome
!” In a split second, he was on my side of the booth, sandwiching Moiré between us.

“Could the party in booth six please keep it down?” a man’s voice asked over the speakers. I noticed the comedian was gone, replaced by a tall, lean, middle-aged gentleman in old western garb—probably the show’s host. The man on stage got the attention of one of the roving waitresses and, though he covered the microphone, I could still hear him hastily muttering to her to get us some food so that we’d shut up. I’m sure my face was red enough to blend in perfectly with our seats.

I could see a look of confused amusement on Moiré’s face, but she stuck her hand out to John without missing a beat. “Moiré Cairn,” she said. “Nick’s kid sister.”

My heart shuddered with joy at the sound of that. “Moiré Cairn,” she had said. That felt so right.

John smirked. “Everyone else calls me ‘Courier John’, but you can call me… Don John,” he said in a bad accent. “And believe me, Don John… delivers.” He began kissing the back of her hand.

Moiré gave me a “Can you believe this guy?” look and I could see her laughter bubbling just below the surface.

I nearly cried for the shame of it all.

When “Don John” was done eating Moiré’s hand, he scampered back over to his side of the table as a cowgirl waitress appeared and began passing out plates. The girl smiled at Moiré, half-grinned at me and refused to even look at John. I was more than a little embarrassed at how openly John was eyeing her. The waitress disappeared as soon as the last plate was on the table.

“Maybe I
will
come back, sometime,” John said, tossing me a little wink. I just shook my head. He turned back to Moiré. “Hey, I’ve got some room on this side of the table. C’mon over.”

I was certain that Moiré was going to find some easy excuse to stay on my side of the table, but she surprised me by getting up and making a little show of sitting next to him. I could hear his foot banging rapidly against the floor and wondered how long it’d be before we’d get tossed out of the joint on our ears.

“Dude, I think she likes me,” John stage-whispered to me, as if Moiré weren’t sitting right there, perfectly able to hear him. I groaned again and quietly slipped my notebook back into a pocket. I could tell that I wouldn’t be getting any research done tonight.

“Don’t get any ideas, ace,” I growled slightly. As Moiré’s mock “big brother” I was required by law to protect her from stupid guys.

John smirked and slipped his arm around Moiré’s waist. She giggled stupidly—I could tell she was enjoying her act—and my hands knotted into solid fists.

“So, where
is
your girlfriend?” John asked. I had hoped he wouldn’t press that point. I pretended not to hear, but he asked again anyway. Lucky for me, a rope-toting cowpoke appeared on the stage and fired some blanks in the air to start the show. I shoved some food in my mouth and stared decidedly away from John and Moiré, glad that John had no idea about Ella’s identity or whereabouts. I told myself that it was his audacity and rudeness that was bugging me and that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was cuddling my research assistant. With that, I forced my focus back onto the stage.

The actual show was fairly good. It was an Old West melodrama about a local legend. The actors were remarkable, the humor
worlds
better than the opener and the plot pretty solid, all things considered. Moiré and John dangled all over each other, throughout the show and I found myself fuming. They didn’t actually
do
anything, except hold hands and snuggle, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her as I nearly stormed out the exit after the show.

“Hey, wait up!” I heard her call, from behind me, as I reached my car. I stopped and looked back, more than a little surprised to see she’d somehow managed to ditch John.

She cantered over to my car and sat on my hood. “What’s up, Nick? I know something’s wrong.”

I frowned. “You didn’t take any notes.”

She sighed. “Aside from the fact that I took
both
written
and
mental notes, I’m not dumb enough to think you’re okay with what happened back there tonight. It was John, wasn’t it?”

I ducked into my car and started the engine. I smiled at her as politely as possible and said, “I’ll see you on Monday morning.” She hopped off my hood and was leaning over to say something. I was careful enough to not hit her as I pulled smoothly, but quickly away.

I was nearly hit, myself, as I was getting out of my car at my apartment complex. A lime-green Toyota slammed to a stop in the stall next to me, just after I’d shut my door.

“Whoa, man!” I yelped, jumping back. “
Thank you
for not killing me!”

I felt more than a little stupid when Moiré emerged from the little car. “Do you
mind
telling me what the
heck
is wrong with you, Nick?” she asked, scowling. I suddenly felt like a little boy who’d made his mommy mad.

No, I wouldn’t cave in.
I
was the boss here. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?” I evaded. I hate being evasive. But how could I tell Moiré a truth I wasn’t even willing to admit to myself?

“Don’t give me that,” she said flatly as she stalked around her car to face me. I found it strange that even though I was taller than her, I still felt as though I had to look
up
to see her.

“We may only have been working together for a few weeks, but give me credit for not being blind or stupid, okay? Look, that guy, back there, that nearly ran me over? That wasn’t you. That’s not the Nick Cairn I asked to work with because he was so polite, professional and so much more interesting than the rest of the researchers I could have chosen from.”

I felt a strange warmth flow through me at her angry praise.

“You’re a lot of things, Nick, but you’re not a jerk. And to be honest, I think you owe me a bit of an apology.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What do
I
have to apologize for?” I blurted. “
I
was there to do research, but instead
you
blew our cover with ‘Don John.’” I just had to add a mocking accent to that. “Not only did that keep me from being able to be a passive observer, it was highly unprofessional as well.