Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (8 page)

A young male poked his head out from
what seemed to be a pantry. "Hey, good morning, Ingrid. I'm Alan,
the assistant production manager. You want eggs or pancakes or
something else? I usually cook breakfast," he explained. He was a
redheaded kid with freckles and a nice smile.

"I don't want to bother
you..."

"Ask him for anything. He likes to
cook." Diane was watching the exchange, looking friendlier now that
Alan was talking.

"Well, yeah, that's part of it. I
mean, Mack doesn't live here on the property, although he usually
wanders in around ten or so. Somebody has to make sure the troupe
eats breakfast—most important meal of the day and all. You actors
use up a ton of energy and today you'll be working together for the
first time. It’s important to keep hydrated, too,
‘cause…”

"He also likes to talk."

Diane’s snarky interruption raised
Ingrid’s hackles. The kid was being friendly and helpful. In her
experience, most APM’s were pretty nice, trained in the institutes
as techs instead of actors. After their stint as an assistant
they’d move up the ladder to become a Mack, the head honcho in a
troupe.

Alan's cheeks pinked up, turning away
to get back to cooking some eggs. "Sorry. There's cereal on the
first shelf and fruit salad in the refrigerator."

Ingrid didn't like the way Diane had
embarrassed him. She touched his shoulder. "I'd love two scrambled
eggs and some wheat toast. Do you have any jam?"

His grin was massive. "Strawberry and
apricot. Do you want some cheese in your eggs?"

"That would be lovely. Thank
you."

"Coffee's in the corner."

Ingrid nodded and fixed herself a cup
of coffee, taking a chair a little farther down the table from
Diane than she might have before the incident. She pulled out Sass
as Gene slid into the chair across from hers.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, grinning like
a mischievous angel.

"Yes, fine, you?" She smiled back,
happy to be with someone familiar.

"Like a rock. Unpacking is hard
work."

Diane giggled, the sound forced.
"Gene's like a rock in several ways. Well, I suppose you'll find
out soon enough, unless you already have." She winked at Ingrid in
an exaggerated way.

Gene ignored Diane. "What did you
order? I can never decide. Alan's such a good cook, he could run
his own restaurant. I'd be a regular customer."

Alan laughed, placing the dish in
front of her with a certain amount of flare. "Your scrambled eggs
and toast, Mademoiselle."

Ingrid smiled back. "Thank you,
Monsieur. It smells delicious. Meal times with my other troupes
were never much fun."

"Troupes?" Diane picked up on the
comment.

Ingrid sighed, preparing herself for
the usual questions and snide remarks. "This is my
fourth."

"Your fourth?" Sam asked, leading
Staci to a chair. When his partner was seated, he poured two mugs
of coffee, humming to himself. He was taller than Gene, but also
slightly leaner, his fifty-plus years only beginning to show in the
salt and pepper color of his still-thick hair. On the other hand,
Staci looked closer in age to Diane, her mahogany skin shining in
the sunlight steaming in from the open window—not a wrinkle in
sight. "The Director allowed you to quit the other troupes?" he
asked.

"Not exactly."

"They tossed you out?" Diane asked,
eager to hear more.

"That's closer. It was more of a
mutual decision, except for the last troupe." Everyone had heard
the publicized version of the unfortunate incident in Atlanta.
Thankfully, none of them questioned her about it.

"But why the others?" Diane asked,
insistent,—a dog with a bone.

"I don't tolerate assholes well." The
room grew still and Ingrid continued quietly. "According to my
file, I’m difficult."

Staci’s brow creased. "If that was the
case, The Director would have retired you, not put you in the top
troupe." In the world thetas inhabited, retirement didn’t include a
pension and a lovely cottage on the seashore.

"He won't retire her." Alan said, his
eyes wide. "She's perfect."

Diane's eyes narrowed. "Oh my, look
who has a crush on our new Ingrid. Poor boy can't get it up, but he
can still dream, can't he?"

"Diane!" Staci jumped out of her seat
and moved around the end of the table toward Alan, squeezing his
arm in a gesture of support. "Would you make your delicious
blueberry pancakes? Sam and I love them."

"Sure, Staci," Alan whispered,
humiliated by Diane’s cruel comment.

"Add one more to that order, please,"
Gene faced Diane and spoke firmly. "We would all appreciate it, if
you'd keep your ugly thoughts inside your head and not force the
rest of us to listen to them. Ingrid is not a threat to your status
in the troupe, Diane, so get over your insecurities and wake up
Dave before he misses breakfast.”

"You’re not in charge, and I don't
give a shit if he misses breakfast," Diane snapped back.

"You should." Ingrid was shocked to
hear Mack's voice, his entrance missed because of all the drama.
"You're smarter than that. One weak link affects our entire
performance. Please wake him up." Diane nodded and stood,
surprisingly obedient. As she walked up the stairs Mack added, "You
know better than to stay out when we have a rehearsal the next
afternoon."

She stopped and turned.
"It never affects
my
performance."

"Diane."

She gave him a look that could have
frozen the Atlantic, but the dark fire in Mack's hazel eyes was
even more intense. "I'll knock on his door." She shrugged and
continued up the stairs.

"She's probably hung over." Staci
whispered after Diane had disappeared.

"Don't make excuses for her. She's
jealous of Ingrid,” Gene said.

"She doesn't even know me," Ingrid
protested quietly.

Gene shook his head. "She's read the
e-mags, seen the pictures. You're the top Ingrid in the US." To
make his point he grabbed Sass, moving his fingers through the air
in a blur of motion. "Just look."

Before them spun a holo of Ingrid in
all her glory, dressed to the nines for a premiere in a turquoise
gown that matched her eyes. She was smiling and waving. Underneath
the image was a running feed, the headline in capitals.

NUMBER ONE INGRID TO JOIN
NEW YORK'S TOP THETA TROUPE

Rising from the ashes of
her recent tragedy, the former Ingrid Stone will now be delighting
audiences as the newest Ingrid Hudson. Her first performance is
coming up in a few days and you can bet those lucky wolves are
licking their fangs in anticipation. Word is out the ticket price
has risen to fifty thousand dollars. Looks like business is good
for New York wolves, or maybe they're feeding on a wealthier
clientele? It's hard to say no to a handsome alpha, isn't it ladies
and gents?

The feed continued to loop around as
all eyes in the room turned in Ingrid’s direction. "The press
writes what The Director tells them to write. It means nothing,”
Ingrid said with a frown.

Staci whispered, "Diane's always been
nervous about keeping her position in the troupe, especially since
she handed over her ingénue role to the last Ingrid. We try to
reassure her, but there's only so much we can do or
say."

Ingrid frowned. "I remember her from
when I was a kid in the training institute. She was a top ingénue
then and now she's a top diva. The Director would never delete
her.”

“She’s afraid.” Sam said.

"Delete her? You mean retire her,
right?" Alan asked.

"Means the same thing,
kid."

He scowled. "I'm not a kid. I'm
eighteen."

"Okay, sorry." Ingrid tried to look
contrite.

"You look like you're my age," Alan
scanned her face, curious.

"Nope. Twenty-three." She glanced at
Gene, arching an eyebrow.

"Plus one," he grinned, shoving a huge
forkful of blueberry pancakes into his mouth.

Alan distributed his pancakes to the
three who'd placed their orders. He laughed as he plunked down a
fourth plate in front of Mack, who playfully placed his hand over
his heart in appreciation.

"I might have to get those tomorrow.”
Ingrid said, eyeing the pancakes with interest. “They look
great.”

Alan's smile grew a whole lot wider.
"Thanks."

Mack stretched out his arm, holding a
forkful of the dripping-with-butter-and-syrup confection. "Here,
open up."

She hesitated, but everyone was
watching her reaction, looking as surprised by Mack's offer as she
did. She decided to be a good sport and not worry about the
possibility of everything spilling into her lap. Of course,
touching him was out of the question. Another connection episode
would be disastrous.

She opened her mouth slowly, hoping
for the best. He took his time reaching across the final few inches
with the food, but she managed to take in the full forkful without
incident. As she chewed, Mack's gaze never left her mouth and when
she swallowed, he seemed to watch the food travel down her
throat.

It was almost as if he was touching
her neck with feathery fingers, the two of them alone in the room,
the world around them silent except for their beating
hearts.

Ingrid looked down at her plate,
embarrassed. "That was delicious. Thank you."

Gene was glancing from Mack to Ingrid
and back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I never would
have believed it.”

“What?” Mack’s eyes had
narrowed.

“Oh, nothin’.” He went back to eating,
the grin now hidden but still present.

"You’ve been an ingénue in four
troupes, but you’re only twenty three? You must have been assigned
too young." Staci seemed to be the opposite of Diane, her
expression full of concern, her voice soothing.

Ingrid shook her head and glanced out
the window. The azalea bushes were in full bloom, the white and
salmon buds brightening up the yard. "To the public I'm a fragile
innocent. It makes the fantasy more fun for the rapists in the
audience."

Again, the room was silent. Alan slid
into the chair at the end of the table as Gene closed the holo
program, sliding Sass across the table to Ingrid. "You sure know
how to quiet a room."

Which confused the heck out of her.
"Sorry. Could there actually be someone here who’s fond of the
snake that’s wrapped his body around our race, squeezing the life
out of each of us?"

"We do what we have to do. None of us
likes it."

"But none of us does anything to
change it either." She stood and brought her plate to the sink.
Maybe this wasn't the troupe she'd hoped for, but she wasn't giving
up yet. At the rehearsal, she'd show them more. Ingrid put her hand
on Alan’s shoulder. “Thank you, for breakfast. It was perfect.”
Even though Alan replied with a “You’re welcome,” the rest of the
room remained quiet.

She showered and changed into her
rehearsal clothes, throwing a coat over the outfit. There was a
knock on her door.

"Ready, sugar?"

"Why do you only pull out the southern
accent around me? Do you have a dual personality?” she
teased.

"'Cause you like it." Gene
winked as he swept his hand in an
after
you
gesture. Still playing the gentleman
when they got to the car, he held the front passenger door open for
her, despite Diane's dark-eyed scowl. "I'm driving. My choice," he
smirked in Diane's direction.

Sam and Alan had left early to pick up
some food and set up the rehearsal space. Mack had his own small
shuttle, and would leave from his own house. That left five of them
to follow in the one remaining vehicle.

"I don't mind sitting in the back
seat," Ingrid offered.

"We have orders to get to know each
other." Giving up, Ingrid obeyed, settling into the passenger seat
while Gene closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.
Diane nudged Staci into the back, while Dave got in on the driver's
side, leaving the two divas on opposite ends with Staci wedged
between them.

Dave spoke angrily to his partner,
Diane, apparently picking up an argument where they'd left off
earlier. “You can’t tell me you weren’t checking out that blonde
waiter at the restaurant the other night.” Dave, the male diva, was
a great looking guy, with light blue eyes and wavy dark brown
hair—probably one of those men who improved with age. He had an
enormous fan base who had remained loyal even after he and Diane
had moved to diva and turned the ingénue positions over to Gene and
the former Ingrid.

“Did you see his ass?” Diane teased
with a snarky grin, her darker blue eyes glittering with humor. She
brushed a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear and sighed,
pretending to fantasize about the so-called hunk.

Dave scowled at her. “No, I didn’t
notice. I was busy eating the delicious meal I‘d spent a damn
fortune on, while you sat there drooling like an idiot over the
fucking waiter.”