by Fiona Greene
‘You cancelled the play we’d agreed to, which was to showcase CJ’s Youth Theatre. Now, this new play headlines our festival. There’s no script, no publicity, it’s all a bit of a void. Ron de Vue would be rolling in his grave at the thought that his legacy, his memory, will be presented in a way that makes him a laughing-stock.’
The wave of relief that her secret remained safe was followed by a tsunami of anger. ‘Ron de Vue portrayed himself as a laughing-stock. It’s how he got his start in Hollywood. It’s why the play is called Larrikin.’ She shot Thomas a glance, hoping he’d back her, but he remained silent. ‘I can get the figures if you need them, but most of his films were short time-frame, on-the-fly productions. I don’t have a problem recreating that situation for our cast and crew. It’s adding a realism to the play that you cannot manufacture.’
‘Well, I’ve got a problem with it.’ The mayor blustered. ‘This is too important.’
Lexi smiled inwardly. ‘Ron de Vue played a pivotal role in putting our town on the map, and in the development of this theatre complex. Nobody understands that better than me. I’m going to recreate his life with this play and bring it to today’s audience. Then they’ll see the brilliance of Ron de Vue, and the importance of the legacy he left this town for themselves.’
At the mention of the legacy the mayor stiffened.
‘Of course, you, as head of the Council know all about the legacy,’ Lexi continued. ‘And you know why I’m so vehemently opposed to Council’s proposal to move the theatre out to the old Butter Factory and turn this beautiful old building into apartments.’ She met the mayor’s gaze head-on. ‘Staging a successful production about Ron de Vue is in my interest, don’t you think?’
‘Clearly,’ he gritted. ‘But Council doesn’t have confidence in the success of this project. That’s why we’re appointing a project officer who’ll work with you to deliver the play.’
‘A project officer?’ Lexi squeaked. ‘Isn’t that what the Arts Trust pays me for?’
‘Temporary funding, some extra hands on deck,’ Thomas said soothingly. ‘He’s someone who’ll be across all aspects of the festival, not just your production.’
‘I don’t want—or need—the help.’ There weren’t enough hours in the day, and the thought of some extra manpower—more formal than the few extra male bodies peppering Rivervue all of a sudden—was enough to make her mouth water, but no way would she admit that to the mayor.
‘It’s not negotiable,’ Thomas said softly.
A flood of heat worked its way across her chest and up her neck. ‘Noted.’ Managing a theatre taught you to adapt quickly when things started to unravel. If Thomas said it wasn’t negotiable, she had to accept that. But there had to be a way she could keep the production on track, without letting the cat out of the bag. ‘I’ve got some students who work with the theatre. Could I use the funding to hire experienced staff?’
The mayor pursed his lips and shook his head, and she was reminded of one of those laughing-clown sideshow games. The ones that smiled as they took your money, then left you feeling slightly ripped off. She clenched her fists. ‘Giving me someone inexperienced will only slow things down.’
‘Then you’re going to have to learn quickly how to work with them, aren’t you?’
‘You’ve already chosen them?’ Horror bloomed deep in her belly.
The mayor nodded.
‘And who, exactly, did you have in mind?’
‘Nothing but the best for this festival,’ Mayor Forsdyke declared. He turned and opened the office door. ‘Mark, come in.’
Lexi’s addled brain remembered the third man, left standing outside her office, who now turned and entered.
At first, her view was obscured by the shoulders of men who’d just delivered the good cop/bad cop routine. Clayborne shuffled to one side of the desk, and Forsdyke went to the other, swinging his arm in a swirling motion as they went to present the chosen lackey.
‘Let me introduce you to Mark Conroy, our new CEO.’
She swung her gaze and recognition crashed into her, a solid jolt that stopped her heart.
Mark Conroy.
Mark. Bloody. Conroy.
She grasped the desk and waited for the room to stop spinning.
Dark hair, almost black, shorter now and styled rather than tousled. Deep, dark-brown eyes that she knew could smoulder with desire or flash with rage. And his suit … it fitted like a glove.
Lexi’s mouth went dry. If anything, Mark now was sexier than the young up-and-coming business graduate she’d met at that club in Sydney all those years ago.
She closed her eyes. Then flicked them open again.
Council had appointed some new hot-shot from the city as its CEO. She remembered the fuss but hadn’t really paid attention at the time; she’d been knee-deep in CJ’s summer school.
Yep, Mark Conroy from Council was that Mark Conroy.
It was clear from his dark stare that he wasn’t expecting the Alexis Spencer-Davis he’d once known in Sydney to have morphed into the Lexi Spencer he was expected to work with here in Brachen.
It would have been almost comical that they’d shared the same town for a few weeks now, without ever crossing paths, but those eyes told her he wasn’t any happier to see her than she was to see him.
Breathe.
‘Mark will be overseeing the Bicentennial Festival, and the production of Larrikin.’
‘Your CEO?’
All three men nodded.
Lexi was having trouble making words. ‘Your actual CEO doesn’t have enough work on his desk that you’re able to loan him out. For a few months. To babysit. A professional.’
To make you look good. She stopped herself before she blurted out her last thought.
Just.
Adapt. Adapt. Adapt.
Lexi mentally ran over the week ahead. ‘Starting when?’
‘Now.’ Mark spoke for the first time and instantly Lexi was thrown back to that fateful day in Sydney all those years ago.
The last time she’d seen or heard from Mark Conroy.
Back then he’d wanted her out of his life.
Leave. Now.
Mayor Forsdyke looked at his watch. ‘Well, you two will need to get acquainted.’
Get acquainted. If only they knew.
Lexi’s gaze met Mark’s and she was surprised at the faint glimmer of humour there. She’d never expected to see him—or his sardonic humour—again.
‘So, does the Arts Trust have a list of requirements?’ Some sort of expectation?’ Lexi asked the question of the room, but her eyes remained locked on Mark’s.
‘A professional production that celebrates our bicentennial in a way that is respectful and shows Brachen in a good light,’ the mayor blustered. ‘And casts children. I did promise some return on investment from all the money poured into that youth theatre you’re so passionate about.’
‘CJ’s Youth Theatre,’ Lexi corrected, ‘that received ten per cent of the available grant, because “no-one goes to see those productions anyway”. Council’s exact words. Which you’d remember, because you signed the letter.’
A glint of humour flared in Mark’s expression before he managed to control it.
‘And how often will we be seeing you?’
‘Daily.’ Mark spoke at the same time as his boss. The humour in his eyes had vanished. ‘About fifty per cent of my time will be spent on the production.’
Lexi’s lips quirked into a small smile. ‘I’m sure I can find some tasks that are reasonable for Mark.’ She wasn’t a performer, but right now all of her acting chops were working overtime.
Consummate professional. Unflappable. Mature.
‘I can call you Mark?’
She added bland to the list as well.
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘Lexi.’
Jeez.
Heat pooled in her belly.
She’d always liked the way he said her name. Even shortened to Lexi, as it was now, it rolled
off his tongue, smooth and rich.
Clayborne and Forsdyke kept banging on about the importance of the play, the key role it was to play in the bicentennial celebration for Brachen, but Lexi wasn’t concentrating on any of that.
Her gaze met her new project officer’s.
It was her and Mark. Together. Alone.
Except they weren’t alone. Lexi gave herself a virtual shake. So much for professional and mature.
Right now, she was portraying herself as the adoring schoolgirl he’d once accused her of being.
Lexi broke eye contact and took a second to compose herself. ‘So, gentlemen, let me make sure I have this correct. You’re seconding Mark Conroy for about half his hours, to ensure the smooth running of the production of Larrikin, and I can do whatever I want with him.’
‘Within reason.’ Mark spoke at the same time as his boss.
‘Of course, within reason. You’re paying him?’ Lexi arched a brow and eyeballed the mayor. ‘My budget is extremely tight. The production has no budget for extra staff.’ The production had so little funding she’d already pulled in every volunteer she had. And some new ones.
‘Council will continue to pay him,’ the mayor confirmed, as though Council were doing her a favour.
If only they knew.
‘If that’s everything …’ It was supposed to be a question, but the mayor delivered it as a statement. He was already sidling past Mark to get to the door.
‘I guess so.’ Her mind was buzzing with questions, but she parked them. Rivervue Theatre Company came first. These men could make or break Rivervue, and she needed to keep them onside. ‘Thank you for the help.’
She offered her hand first to the mayor then to Thomas.
‘No need to see us out,’ Thomas reassured her as he, too, headed for the door.
The office, with four in it, had seemed cramped. With just her and Mark, it seemed smaller.
‘Would you like a tour of the theatre?’ She offered the first thought that came into her head.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary. We need to get to work.’
‘Your call, but you will need to know the team, and where to find them.’
His headshake was emphatic.
‘Okay. Let’s sit.’ Just another day at the office, with just another employee.
Who was she kidding? This was Mark Conroy.
She sank down into her chair. At least, with the desk between them, she might be able to focus. ‘First up, hours.’
‘No. First—this.’ He gestured to the office and grimaced.
‘This what? This office, this production, this day?’ She paused. ‘This job? Whoever would have thought you’d end up working for me?’
Mark’s expression soured, as though he’d stepped in something offensive. ‘Let’s get one thing clear. I’m not working for you. I work for Council. My current project is the Bicentennial Festival.’
‘Whatever you say. Got any requirements on your hours while you’re “working for Council?”’ She framed the words in air quotes.
Already, her thoughts were racing. There were so many things she could do with Mark Bloody Conroy to keep him busy, while she got on with the job of running this theatre.
‘Standard business hours. I’m splitting my time between managing the street parade and festival, helping the historical museum with their accessibility works and you and your little play.’
Ouch.
‘Little play?’
Little did he know. This had the potential to put Rivervue—and Brachen—on the international stage.
‘The play. Larrikin,’ he corrected.
‘You know Maeve at the historical society could use your help. That grant is the first one they’ve ever applied for or received.’ Lexi chose her words carefully. ‘I don’t think she’s comfortable with the whole process. I’d be happy to donate some of your time over there.’
Mark’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at her for the longest time.
Lexi schooled her features. Bland. Helpful. Cooperative.
‘I don’t think so.’ The words were soft but, again, the headshake emphatic. ‘If Mayor Forsdyke thinks you need me for half of my time, then I’ll be staying here half of the time.’
‘Fabulous,’ Lexi lied through gritted teeth. ‘Right, let’s get started.’
‘Okay.’
Normally, she talked with her team over in the lounge seating that was positioned to capture the views of the river, but today she needed to keep it professional.
One hundred per cent professional.
‘We generally use strength matching in our recruitment processes, so let’s start there. Theatre experience?’
‘Zilch.’
‘Construction experience?’
‘Nope.’ He leaned back in his chair.
‘Office experience?’
He shook his head.
‘Sales? Promotion? Logistics?’
‘Project management,’ he offered after the longest of silences.
‘I don’t need a project manager,’ Lexi stated. ‘This project already has an experienced theatre manager.’ She paused. ‘Me.’
Mark considered that for a second then he leaned forward. ‘Well, courtesy of the mayor, your project now has two project managers, so that’s poor use of resources. So, I’ll focus on the project managing. You can focus on the script.’
‘On the script?’
‘On finishing the script.’ His face might have been all business, but the tone was not. ‘You know, the unfinished script.’
Realisation dawned.
Her carefully constructed misdirection had just come back to bite her. ‘I don’t need you to free me up for that. I have that under control.’ She met his eyes. ‘Totally under control.’
‘You are eight weeks out from the most important production Rivervue has ever staged or will ever stage. The script is not finished. That is not under control.’
‘Maybe in the corporate world it doesn’t seem under control, but it is.’
Mark’s crossed arms reinforced how unconvinced he was.
‘I have Bruce Clifton leading the set build, which only has minor changes between acts, and is on schedule. Costumes are in production and we have a contingency in place for Sofia Mora, who is currently unwell. Actors and understudies are not yet cast but the troupe is on board. We will be cast within the next few weeks. The only thing outstanding, at this stage, is our promotion plan and that is under control. I do not need you here.’
‘I beg to differ. Mayor Forsdyke begs to differ.’
‘Forgive me for sounding rude, but the mayor doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ Lexi laid her hands flat on the desk in front of her and took a deep breath. ‘The production is on track, and I don’t need your help.’
Mark leaned forward and put his hands on the desk as well. ‘Too bad.’
Eight weeks, minimum. Eight more weeks of this.
Constant scrutiny. Constant challenges to her decisions.
Milk’n’Honey wasn’t going to have enough of its smooth, rich coffee to get her through this nightmare.
Adapt.
She called forth the technique that had seen her through every single life change thus far. She laid her hands flat on the desk and swallowed down on the nausea that was building. ‘Right, then. Welcome to Rivervue.’
Chapter Two
Mark squeezed his eyes shut. There, standing in front of him, looking every bit a 1940s film star in a sleek navy-blue dress paired with red, patent, pointytoed shoes, was Alexis Spencer-Davis.
Underage Alexis.
The same Alexis Spencer-Davis he’d been forbidden to contact ever again, after her parents had discovered they were an item. Back when she was fifteen-going-on-sixteen.
She was still staring at him, looking him up and down as though she couldn’t believe he was standing there.
He sucked in his gut.
Her less than impressed expression could be explained away by the fact that the
mayor had dumped him into her office. It potentially matched the expression he’d been wearing earlier, when the mayor had dropped his bombshell. It might have been taking her a bit longer to come to terms with what had happened, but she’d get there. Just as he had.
He looked her over.
If he’d passed her on the street, he might never have known it was her.
Hell, he probably had passed her on one of Brachen’s sixteen streets. He just hadn’t recognised her.
She looked great. She’d matured into a real beauty. He vaguely remembered her always wanting to visit second-hand stores and she’d had a great fashion sense as a teen, but now her vintage look was flawless.
The unruly dark hair he remembered running his fingers through had been styled into a thick wavy bob that framed her face. Teardrop pearls hung in her ears. But it was her eyes. He couldn’t look away from those eyes.
Even if they were currently filled with horror.
Alexis’s thick fringe had always overpowered her face.
Now, her face was slimmer and her eyes … A shiver worked its way down his back. He’d remembered them as a deep rich brown, but now they seemed defined, gorgeous molten pools of chocolate, with skilfully applied liner accenting their almond shape.
The rest of her makeup was understated, complementing her vintage look perfectly.
Mark swallowed hard.
Lexi Spencer, Rivervue’s creative director, was Alexis Spencer-Davis from his misspent youth in Sydney.
He knew Lexi Spencer by reputation. He thought back to all the notes, and messages coming home from the theatre. The endless ‘Lexi said this’ and ‘Lexi did that’ from his daughter Emma who he’d enrolled as a member of CJ’s Youth Theatre.
Jeez, he thought, he’d put his daughter in a youth theatre run by a woman he’d had a hot and torrid affair with, when she was not that much older than Emma.
And now Alexis Spencer-Davis was effectively his boss.
He kept staring at her.
She kept staring back.
‘Should we address it? Before we get into working together.’
‘No.’ Her response was swift and curt.
‘Okay, then.’ He paused. ‘Not the right decision, but I’ll take it. What do you want me to do?’
