by Adele Buck
“Would you believe me if I said my automatic suspicions have more to do with living in this bloody town than anything else?”
Alicia shrugged. “I guess I have to believe you. I already said I wasn’t going to suspect your honesty. And I’m enjoying D.C. So far, at least. I haven’t found a lot of reason to distrust it.”
“It has its compensations.” A hint of a warm smile lurked in his eyes.
Alicia felt a small rush of heat zing through her. “Mr. St. Cyr, are you flirting with me?”
He laughed outright at that. “Forgive me for ever believing you were less than one hundred percent straightforward.”
“We already went over the apologizing once thing,” she said, but she was smiling too. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Forget acting—you would have made an impressive lawyer,” he said. “And yes. I’ve already told you I find you beautiful. It surprises you that I would try to flirt?”
Alicia shrugged again. “Just establishing what’s really going on here.”
“You have very clear boundaries, don’t you?”
You have no idea. “Something like that.” Time to take this in a different direction. Something less personal. “I take it you must be a donor if you’re here today. What led you to give your money away? Love of theater? Love of Shakespeare? A tax deduction?”
“My mother,” he said, his dark eyes solemn.
Alicia blinked. “I don’t follow.”
“She loved Shakespeare. She died a few years ago. My gifts have been in her memory.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” She felt the inadequacy of the words, even as she spoke them. So much for taking the conversation in a less personal direction.
A brief, tight smile passed over his face. “Thank you.”
Sipping her drink, Alicia’s eyes roamed over the dark wood paneling of the long room, at a loss for something to say.
“I don’t usually end conversations so effectively,” he said.
Alicia’s ears grew hot. “No, I’m sorry. I…just didn’t know what to say.”
He leaned forward. “Are you apologizing for a second time?”
Thinking she could detect a glint of humor lurking in his eyes, Alicia relaxed a little, the awkwardness of the moment fading. “No, I expressed condolences with one sorry and was apologizing for being awkward with the second. Two totally different things. Completely.”
Colin nodded. “For someone who claims to be awkward, you’re terrifyingly quick.”
Alicia smiled, and Colin felt his own shoulders ease. He appeared to be doing a damn good job of trying to scare her away, even though that was the last thing he wanted right now. Her looks drew his eye, but her prickly intelligence held an even stronger appeal. As an added bonus, she was so different from Tressa. His mind strayed to the empty seat next to him in the theater. This was the only event that had mattered to him in what had seemed like a never-ending calendar of activities–all part of Tressa’s quest to make them Washington’s next hot power couple. Tressa would have been disappointed this evening. Only one photographer circulated among the attendees, and he probably worked for the theater. A snap of her in a Folger fundraising e-mail would never have enough social cachet for Tressa Lloyd-Hudson.
Thank God that was over.
“So, Mr. St. Cyr. What or who do you lobby for, anyway?”
“Education. STEM. Science, Technology, Engineering—”
“—And Math. Nice.” Her smile was the most open and genuine he had yet seen from her, and her approval washed over him in a pleasurable wave.
“All right,” he said, “let’s shift to different ground. How did you become an actress?”
“Here’s where I’m supposed to say because I was driven to create great art or something,” she said, brown eyes twinkling with humor.
“But?”
She shrugged. “Truth is, I just always wanted to. I just can’t think of anything else I’d rather do,” she said. “Except maybe sing and dance.”
“And you…” Colin hesitated, wondering if he would be offending her. Again. “…Can’t sing and dance?”
She shot him a sly, sidelong smile. “Oh, no. I can. There’s just not as much call for that in most Shakespeare productions. At least not in the tragedies. The Folger apparently does a lot of classic plays with original music these days, but mostly comedies.”
“I’ve enjoyed those quite a bit. But I gather I’ve never seen you in one.”
“No. I’m based in New York.”
“Multitalented,” he said, unable to keep from smiling at her. “And do you keep your hand—or your voice—in while you’re here?”
“Well, I would normally be singing at Club Zanzibar on a Sunday night, but…duty called.” She angled the champagne glass, indicating the long, paneled hall and the well-dressed crowd. Her eyes roamed over the barrel ceiling with its plaster ornamentation and returned to him. “Which, all things being equal, not a bad trade.”
Colin wondered if she was talking about the event, the room, or him. Perhaps all three. He was surprised to realize he hoped she was talking about him, as little as he believed she would be, given their strange discussion.
“Well, I for one am glad that you are here,” Colin said. “What kind of music do you sing at Club Zanzibar?”
“Jazz standards, mostly. Some show tunes. Some pop. It varies. Whatever Pat and I feel like doing on any given evening.”
“And Pat—he’s your…collaborator? Agent? I don’t know how this works.”
“She. She’s my accompanist. Piano.”
“Ah.” Colin felt off balance. Every time he thought he was assembling a settled picture of this woman, another detail would land that shifted the image. Unease pooled in his belly. A speculative smile was playing at the corners of her mouth. She seemed to enjoy him always being on the back foot, never able to find his balance. She was like mercury: impossible to pin down.
He wondered if she was as toxic as well.
Alicia registered a tiny shift in Colin’s expression. She wasn’t sure she could put a name to it, but she didn’t like it. A slight shuttering of the eyes, a minuscule angling away where formerly he had leaned toward her. His smile turned polite and cool and she thought she could put her finger on the reaction.
He didn’t trust her. And for no reason that she could discern from the content of their conversation, which, as far as she could tell, was completely commonplace. A bit teasing, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Well fuck that noise.
Her own smile going tight and artificial, Alicia drained her champagne glass, looking past Colin in the direction of the gift shop. Focusing on Kathleen, the woman who played Lady Capulet, she willed the other woman to look at her. Kathleen, seeming to feel the weight of Alicia’s gaze, glanced up. Alicia fingered an earring and Kathleen smiled, gesturing for her to come over. Alicia returned her attention to Colin. His disapproval now seemed to radiate from every pore.
To hell with it.
“Mr. St. Cyr, I do hope you enjoyed the show. I’m being called over by my castmate, so if you will please excuse me…”
Colin inclined his head in a gesture that was almost a bow. For a moment, Alicia wondered if she had misread his other reaction. But when he raised his head, his dark eyes were still chilly and distant.
Fine. Take your snobbish attitudes about actors and your fancy-pants accent and shove them up your ass. Alicia turned away, trading her empty champagne glass for a full one as she made her way across the floor to Kathleen.
“What’s the problem?” Kathleen asked, frowning at Alicia. Kathleen was tall and slim, with a wide, laughing mouth and a mass of wavy auburn hair. “Gotta say a distress signal from you is surprising enough, but when you were talking to someone that good looking...” She fanned herself with an open palm and then squinted at Alicia. “Was he a perv? Please tell me he wasn’t a perv.”
“No,” Alicia said, the single syllable coming out even more angrily than s
he had intended. She took a deep breath and strove for a lighter tone. “He was one of those ‘actors lie for a living, therefore I can’t trust them’ people.”
Kathleen wrinkled her nose as she looked around the glittering crowd. “Ugh. That’s a drag. Well, now that I’ve rescued you, fair damsel, we’d better find some other dragons to talk to. Can’t risk getting in trouble for chatting like we’re at a cast party. These people paid for the privilege of hobnobbing with the players…”
“I know. Thanks again,” Alicia said.
“Any time, sweetie. You’d do it for me, I’m sure.” Kathleen’s eyes crinkled with humor, and Alicia realized she was still fingering her earring. “Careful, girl. You keep yanking on that thing and someone is going to think you need rescuing from me.”
“Right. The show must go on.” Alicia saluted Kathleen with her champagne glass before turning toward an elderly couple a few feet away. “Hello, I’m Alicia Johnson. I hope you enjoyed the show…”
Her mask of comedy was firmly back in place.
Chapter 2
“Colin, your…your former…Tressa is on the line.” Jeanette gave Colin a terse smile as he returned from lunch the next day.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he heaved a deep sigh. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell her to bugger off forever for me?”
Jeanette shot him a sarcastic look. “Colin, I may be your personal assistant, but that doesn’t mean I assist you in personal matters. And considering she’s Will Lloyd-Hudson’s daughter, it’s not fair to even ask me to get involved.”
Colin raised a hand, “It’s not fair of her to call at the office at all. But the woman is impossible.”
“That doesn’t make her my problem. You almost got engaged to her; you can tell her it’s over.”
“I have done,” Colin said as he went through to his office. “Repeatedly. She doesn’t listen.” The quiet Federal-style décor was intended to communicate a soothing and reassuring stability to clients and visitors, but Colin felt anything but soothed and reassured as he slid behind his massive mahogany desk.
Taking a deep breath before picking up the receiver, Colin went on the offensive immediately. “Tressa, I’ve told you, I have absolutely nothing to say to you anymore. And you have nothing to say to me that I would ever want to hear.”
“Colin, I thought we could get past this. I made a mistake. I admitted it.” Tressa at least did not waste any energy with denials or evasions this time. A lawyer’s daughter, she knew where to cut her adversarial losses.
“That’s right. You admitted to the one ‘mistake’ that I find unforgivable. Honesty is crucial to me, and sexual fidelity is paramount. Apparently, you don’t see things the same way. That’s what your father would call a ‘deal breaker.’”
“Colin, it’s been two months…”
“And in two years or two decades, I will still feel the same way.”
“But I am so incredibly sorry—”
“As I’ve heard before. I appreciate your apology, but it doesn’t change anything. And as someone recently said to me, when you apologize once, people remember the apology. When you apologize repeatedly, they remember what you had to apologize for. Not that I could forget in either case.” He swiveled in his chair, looked out the window. An uninspiring view of the generic office building on the other side of K Street.
“But—”
“No.” Colin squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You seem to think I’m going to change my mind. I am not. Once my trust is lost, it’s lost forever. I won’t be taking your calls again. Goodbye.”
He rang off, cradling the receiver softly. Where did that come from? Why had he remembered that woman’s—Alicia’s—words at that moment? Remembering her impish smile, her quickness, made him take a deep breath. Never mind. She was probably trouble. And he had hopefully just said his last goodbye to trouble.
Jeanette walked through the door he had left open, glancing at his credenza with the photos of his father, brother, and sister. She reached out a hand to move a photo to the still-empty spot where a picture of him and Tressa on holiday in the Bahamas had once sat. Colin looked at the photo of his family, the four of them in front of the Washington Monument, a souvenir from a visit the year before. Their smiles were warm and genuine. He did miss them.
“Your dad also called earlier,” Jeanette said.
“And what did Dr. St. Cyr have to say?” Colin sighed and rubbed his eyes.
“The usual. He wanted to know when you’re coming home. Tried to dig any inside information I might have out of me, in fact.”
“Dad’s not subtle,” Colin said. “And it appears he may never understand that I am home.” He’d made a new home here, one that was his own, free of the shadow of unmet expectation. “I’ll call Gemma tonight.” Maybe his sister could give him some insight on whatever new lever his father had decided to pressure him with.
Alicia shucked off her sweaty spandex capris and pulled on a pair of shorts in the dressing room of the barre studio. Sitting to tie her sneakers, she went through the rest of her plans for the day. The theater was dark on Monday, her one day off of the week. She didn’t mind the busy schedule. To be honest, she welcomed it.
In fact, having the entire day to fill wasn’t something she relished.
Yanking on her shoelaces, she stood up and riffled her fingers through her hair. Glancing in the mirror, she saw that it was sticking up in strange, sweaty tufts. “Ugh.” She moved to the sink to splash water on her face, running her wet hands through and over her hair to smooth it down.
“At least water works for you, not against you,” a voice said as Alicia patted her face with a towel. Opening her eyes, she looked in the mirror and saw a good-humored, freckled face grinning at her. The other woman’s curly, strawberry-blond hair was nominally pulled back in a ponytail, but frizzy wisps curled over her head like a halo.
“I think your hair is pretty,” Alicia said. “Like a Botticelli angel or something.” There was something about the curls that made her think of Gracie. Her throat threatened to close up at the memory, and Alicia swallowed hard.
Gracie again.
The other woman pouted at her own reflection. “I guess we always want the opposite of what we have. I thought I would outgrow that. Everyone always said, ‘Oh, mark my words: you’ll love your curly hair one day!’” She fingered a fuzzy strand. “They were wrong. Especially in the humidity.”
“Which there is more than enough of here,” Alicia said.
“You said it.” The other woman’s open, friendly expression seemed to be paving the way for more conversation, so Alicia grabbed her bag and waved as she left the dressing room.
“Nice talking to you,” Alicia said as she walked toward the door to the street. The day was sunny and hot and yes, humid, but she was already sweaty from her workout. She didn’t care how she looked. She could be as anonymous as she liked.
And Alicia liked anonymity.
Taking a long pull on her water bottle, she strode down Ninth Street. She was still unexpectedly charmed by the low buildings of D.C., in stark contrast to the steel and concrete canyons that she had grown used to in New York. She liked the greater view of the sky, the utter whimsicality of a solid, neoclassical building squatting across the street from an airy, modernist confection seemingly spun out of glass.
Alicia swung her arms to stretch and loosen her muscles and settled her gym bag more securely on her shoulder. She thought about the possibility of actually living here full-time. What would it mean? Would she be able to get enough work? She relished the sunshine pouring over her body, reveling in the heat. Would she ever be truly cold again if she lived here?
“And…fifteen. Nice.” Russell helped Colin rack the barbell, and Colin wiped the sweat off his face with a towel.
“Ready to see if you can top that?” Colin grinned up at Russell and stood to spot his friend as the other man lay down on the bench, liftin
g the weight from the rack. Watching the fall and rise of the bar, a shock of pale blond hair in the corner of his eye made him jerk his head to the right. Embarrassed to see it was not a lithe woman, but rather a young guy with an unfortunate man bun, Colin’s eyes flicked back to Russell.
Too late. The other man had noticed his wandering attention.
“Cruising for something…or someone, my friend?” Russell’s upside-down face grinned and he winked. “Good thing I was keeping count. That’s fifty for me.”
“Bullshit,” Colin replied. “Unless you’ve turned into a comic book character with super speed-lifting powers, that’s the biggest load of bollocks ever. Even from you.”
“Aaagghhh,” Russell grunted, and Colin hovered his hands under the bar as his friend racked the weight. “No,” he said, sitting up and shaking out his trembling arms then scrubbed a towel over the dark brown skin of his shaved head. “Not even close. Just eight to your fifteen.”
“You’re all in from the looks of it. Ready to shower and grab a beer?”
“Finer words were never spoken.” Russell grabbed his towel, and the two headed for the locker rooms.
Stepping out onto the street a short time later, they headed for a bar a couple of blocks away by longstanding mutual habit. Colin held the door as Russell stepped inside.
“Two Sam Adams,” Russell said to the bartender as they slid onto stools. “Now. What was with the distracted act back there?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Colin said, lifting the pint the bartender handed him to his lips and looking straight back at the rows of bottles behind the bar.
Russell leaned forward onto the bar, craning his neck to look his friend in the face. “Don’t even try that with me. I know distraction when I see it. Professors are experts in watching people zone out. And if I were to guess…I’d say there was a woman involved.”
“Oh, would you?” Colin turned to look at Russell.
