Wicked Heart (3 page)

Fitness is just one more thing she and Liam have in common. I know they’re in the business of looking good, but really, no one needs to exercise as much as they do. It’s wrong and
unnatural. My idea of working out involves yoga pants without the actual yoga. In fact, my yoga pants should be called “sitting around eating cheese pants.” A longer title, sure, but
more accurate.

“My final point is this,” says Marco. “Even though
Taming of the Shrew
is a play which can easily be seen as chauvinistic, we’re aiming to dispel that
perception. Angel will portray a Katherine whose bitterness stems from her unwillingness to conform to society’s definition of a woman’s role, as well as a reaction to her
father’s blatant favoritism toward her sister. Petruchio will not be her tamer as much as her partner in crime. My goal is to show our audience a couple who brings out the best in each other,
who feeds upon each other’s unusual sexual desires, and who manages to poke fun at those who are trying to make them something they’re not.”

He clasps his hands together and smiles. “So, with all that in mind, let’s see what we can create together. Let’s work through the first scene. Places!”

Over the next few hours, we block out the first three scenes in the first act.

At first, Angel is way too nice as Kate. After Marco asks her to be stronger, she goes too far in the other direction and plays Kate’s scenes with her sister and father like a screaming
banshee who’s likely to hack them to pieces, Lizzie Borden style.

I’m no director, but I think Marco’s going to insist on a little more subtlety.

Liam, on the other hand, is excellent right off the bat. His Petruchio is passionate and charismatic, and he has great chemistry with the actors playing his servant and friends.

Being in the rehearsal room with him again reminds me how mesmerizing he is up close. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve watched the
Rageheart
series too many times to count. But
as powerful and intense as Liam is on-screen, he’s even more so in the flesh. It’s refreshing to see him play a character so different from that brooding and violent demon. His version
of Petruchio is a lovable rogue, and I’d almost forgotten how stunning he is when he smiles. He didn’t do it much while he was massacring all those sadistic angel overlords.

As I look around, I notice that every single person has their eyes glued to him, and this is why he’s a star. Liam is one of those actors who just has
it
. It’s part talent,
and part confidence, and just enough raw vulnerability to make you want to fuck him and hug him at the same time. At least, that’s how he affects most women.

Despite being a six-foot-three wall of rippling muscle who could no doubt beat anyone who messed with him into a bloody pulp, he makes you want to take care of him.

“Did you know he was this talented?” Marco asks when I release the cast for a coffee break.

“He was excellent as Romeo,” I say. “I wasn’t sure how he’d handle this role, but it fits him like a glove.”

Marco nods. “I only wish Angel were as good. I’d hoped she’d bring some level of complexity to Katherine. But she’s playing her as a two-dimensional screamer.”

“Art imitating life,” our production intern, Denise, mumbles beside me.

“Watch how you talk about my woman,” Josh says. “Hating her just because she’s beautiful and rich is not the least bit cool.”

“Oh, please,” Denise says. “Even if she ate someone alive, you’d defend her because she gives you a boner, right, Josh?”

Josh opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it. “I decline to answer.”

Denise snorts. “Josh, I love you, but look at you and then look at Liam Quinn. Who do you think she’s going to pick to have babies with?”

When Josh sneezes “Fuck you” and flips her the bird, I have to laugh. It’s not that he’s not attractive, because he totally is, in a hot-geek sort of way. Six foot tall,
brown, wavy hair, brown eyes, handsome face. He’s broad-shouldered enough to look great in clothes without needing to work out, and girls seem to find his hipster horn-rim glasses sexy. But
the harsh reality is, if he and Liam were cast in a movie together, Liam would be the superhero, and Josh would be the sidekick.

“Doubt all you like,” Josh says with a shrug. “But that woman is going to be all over me in a few weeks. Mark my words.”

“Sure she is.” I pat his shoulder and then head out into the hallway to round up the cast from their break. When I find Liam at the water cooler, I try not to look directly into his
eyes. “We’re starting again, Mr. Quinn.”

He mutters a quiet “Thanks, Liss,” and I walk away before he can say anything else.

Once everyone’s back, we continue where we left off, and apart from Angel’s screeching her lines like a medieval fish merchant, we’re all pleased with how things are shaping up
by the time lunch rolls around.

As usual, I eat at my desk.

I have a small office down the corridor from the rehearsal room. It’s not the Ritz, but it suits me fine. When I’m not rehearsing, I’m usually in here, catching up on paperwork
while everyone else is relaxing.

Ah, the glamorous life of a stage manager.

I’m working on adjustments to the rehearsal schedule when Josh rushes in. His cheeks and ears are bright pink. That only happens when he’s really angry or really turned on.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I need money. Angel needs something else to eat.”

We’ve turned our conference room into a private dining area so Angel and Liam don’t have to push through the fans and paps to eat lunch. Some of New York’s finest restaurants
deliver their meals, but it’s Josh and Denise who have the pleasure of being their waiters.

I smile. “Why are you blushing? What did Angel do?”

“Nothing. She’s fine.” I raise my brow at him and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She used this sort of flirty, sexy tone to explain she’s gluten-free this
week, and then, at the end, she stroked my arm and smiled.”

“That
bitch
.”

“Don’t give me shit. Seriously, I’m not in the mood. This woman could flirt me into committing murder, I have no doubt. Now, give me cash. I’ll get her a different
lunch.” He holds out his hand.

I pull out the petty-cash tin and hand him a fifty. Surely that’s enough to cover whatever Angel wants. Josh grabs a second fifty and shoves the money in his pocket. “Back
soon.”

Dammit, our budget is so screwed.

I put the cash tin away, and I’m about to go back to my rehearsal schedule when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door swings open to reveal Liam. Within seconds, my palms are wet.

I stand to face him. “Mr. Quinn. Do you need something? Is your lunch acceptable? If not, I’d be happy to get you something else.”

He lingers in the doorway before moving into the cramped office and closing the door behind him. He looks too big for the small room. His shoulders seem broader than I remember, and traces of
ink peek out from the right sleeve of his T-shirt. That’s something he didn’t have last time I saw him up close and shirtless.

He glances around the room before coming back to my face.

He just stares for a few seconds, and dammit, I can’t believe the years haven’t diminished his effect on me. Time’s supposed to heal everything, right? Well, it hasn’t
educated my heart to stop wanting a man who doesn’t want it back.

I clear my throat. “Mr. Quinn?”

He takes a step forward, and I have a moment of panic because in this enclosed space, my usual tactic to avoid and ignore is impossible.

“Elissa—”

“Mr. Quinn, if there’s something you need—”

“Stop calling me that.”

“It’s your name, sir.”

“God, Liss.” He sighs and looks me up and down. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“It’s my office. Not that hard to believe.”

“I meant on the show.”

“Marco asked me to run it.”

“I would have thought that as soon as you heard my name, you would have run a million miles.”

I don’t mention I’ve considered it. “When I accepted the job, I didn’t know you would be the star.”

The muscles in his jaw tense. “Of course you didn’t. That makes sense.” He lets out a bitter laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “If you’d known, you
wouldn’t have taken it, would you?”

I try to find a nice way of saying it, but there really isn’t one. “No.”

He nods. I’d say he looks hurt, but why would he? He’s been living the Hollywood high life without any contact from me. I doubt he’s even spared me two thoughts over the past
six years.

“Well, however you got here, I’m grateful.” He looks down at his hands. “I’ve missed you. More than you know.”

I almost laugh.
Of course you have. In between making megabuck movies, earning millions of dollars, and banging one of the most desired women on the planet, you’ve had plenty of time
to pine for the short, cheese-obsessed stage manager you once had a thing for. That makes perfect sense.

He reads something on my face and frowns. “What’s that look?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t believe me?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t dare question you, Mr. Quinn. That would be very unprofessional.”

There’s that look again. Hurt or disappointment—I can’t decide which. “I guess I haven’t given you much reason to have faith in what I say, have I? Just one more
thing I regret about us.” There’s laughter out in the hallway, and he looks over his shoulder before coming back to me. “Speaking of us, does anyone here know about our . . .
history?”

“No.”

“Not even Josh?”

“He knows we’ve been . . . intimate. That’s it.”

“Intimate.” He says it like it’s funny. “Doesn’t really do justice to what we had, does it?”

This conversation is veering off into uncomfortable areas. “Mr. Quinn—”

“Mr. Quinn is my father.”

“Your agent requested we address both yourself and Miss Bell in a formal way.”

“My agent likes to make people think we’re more important than we are. That’s his job. Don’t listen to him about anything. Especially not about me and Angel.”

God, just hearing him say that phrase ties my stomach in knots. “Me and Angel.”

“Liss, about Angel—”

“If you’re concerned that our past will cause you any discomfort, in either a professional or personal capacity, I’d like to assure you that I’m going to do everything in
my power to make this experience as stress-free as possible. For both you and your . . . fiancée.”

I nearly choke on the word. Finding out he was engaged didn’t snuff out the tiny flame of hope that we’d somehow be together one day. It just stifled it, in the most painful way.
“I realize this situation isn’t ideal,” I continue. “And if you tell me your concerns, I’ll be sure to address them.”

“Jesus Christ.” He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Could you
please
stop talking to me like you’re my bank manager? Like we don’t even know each
other?”

“I don’t know you anymore.”

“You’re the
only one
who’s
ever
known me. Fuck, Liss—”

“I’d rather you call me Elissa.” He’s the only person in the world who calls me Liss, and it feels way too intimate for our current situation.

He walks forward, and I have no room left to retreat. He stands so close, I can smell him. The entire space fills with an intense energy that makes my heart pound erratically against my rib
cage.

“Elissa, I’m sorry. That day . . . the last time I saw you. I hurt you, and I hate that.”

I can’t cope with him being so close, but I clench my jaw and force myself to sound calmer than I feel. “There were faults on both sides. We weren’t even in a
relationship.”

“We both know that’s not true. What we shared—”

“Was a long time ago. We were young and stupid. Everything seems epic at that age, and we got carried away. I knew it at the time, and I know it now. I’m over it.”

His eyes bore into me. “It?”

I straighten my spine. “You.” He blinks a few times, and I ignore his conflicted expression. “Now you’re engaged to one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I .
. .”
Come on, Elissa, say it. Even if you don’t mean it.
“I couldn’t be happier for you.”

If I were Pinocchio, my nose would be poking his eye out right about now. Well, okay, I’m too short for the eye, but his chest would be getting a bruising. “No matter how it
happened, I’m glad you two found each other. It’s obvious you love her.” I risk looking at his face. “Right?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Do I seriously expect him to say “no” and take me in his arms? As usual, my unrealistic romantic expectations are way off.

“Yes, I love her,” he says quietly. “I’m lucky to be marrying my best friend. Not everyone gets that chance.”

A knot of tension coils in my stomach. I really wasn’t prepared for how much those words would hurt.

“And what about you?” he asks, his voice quiet. “Are you . . . with anyone?”

It sounds like he’s asking if I have a terminal illness. I guess if stubborn singleness were a disease, I could be said to have a chronic case.

What do I tell him? That since our time together, I never go out with a man for more than a couple of weeks? In general, men disappoint me. Yet another thing for which I blame Liam Quinn.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” I say.
Several someones, really. None worth mentioning.

His stare is intense. Like he’s trying to see straight into my soul. “Does he treat you well?”

I almost cave and tell him the truth, but my pride takes over my mouth. “Like a queen.”

The tension in him gives way to something else. Relief, perhaps. “Good. You deserve happiness. You deserve . . . everything.” When he looks back at me, there’s such raw longing
there that all the air in the room disappears, and for the first time in my life, I feel claustrophobic. I lean back against the wall, and hope he can’t tell.

“Was there anything else before you go, Mr. Quinn?”

“Yes. Stop calling me Mr. Quinn. Everyone else can call me whatever the hell they like, but not you. Please, Elissa.”