Against his will, he was riveted, the breath he’d scoffed at needing moments ago locked in his throat. He watched her struggle to her feet, saw a hiccup shake through her as the last of her emotion rippled free. She swiped at the tears with her wrists and walked to the edge of the stage, chest rising and falling, her gaze expectantly on the audition director—who stared at her for uncomfortably tense seconds without speaking.
A fizzle of irritation w
ove through Gael’s body and his already black mood darkened further at the director’s deliberate silence.
‘Your performance was...commendable, Miss Beckett. I can tell you poured your heart into it.’
A tiny hopeful smile from the performer. ‘Thank you. I did.’ The response was firm, but husky, probably owing to her emotional expenditure.
The director regretfully shook his head. ‘But sadly I need more than that. Heart is great, but what I need is soul.’
The actress frowned. ‘I don’t understand. That was my heart—and my soul.’
‘In your opinion. But not in mine.’
Gael felt her acute disappointment from across the room. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to refute the director’s words. Then she gathered herself with admirable pride. ‘I’m sorry you think so. But thank you for your time.’
She started across the stage towards a shabby-looking rucksack near the door.
‘That’s it?’
The smirking taunt from the director tightened the knot of anger in Gael’s gut.
She paused. ‘Excuse me?’
‘According to your opening speech, you want this part more than you want your next meal. And yet you’re walking away without so much as a fight?’ the director sneered.
Her eyes widened. ‘I thought you said... You mean I have a chance?’
‘Everyone has a chance, Miss Beckett. What stands between you and the opportunities you receive, however, is how much you want it. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes?’
She nodded immediately. ‘Yes, I am.’
The director crooked his finger. She retraced her steps to the middle of the stage. Impatiently he beckoned her further forward. She approached without hesitation.
The beginnings of distaste filled Gael’s mouth as he watched naked hunger fill her face.
Somewhere in the middle of her performance she’d lost her shoes. Her bare toes breached the edge of the hardwood stage as she looked down at the director. He extracted a silver card from his pocket, traced it over the top of one foot down to her toes before laying it between her slightly parted feet.
‘This is what it’ll take, Miss Beckett. Pick it up and the part is yours.’
Gael had been on the receiving end of propositions for long enough to know what was going on. Dios mio, hadn’t he had the row of all rows with his mother only two weeks ago over just such an issue?
He expelled his breath in a quietly seething rush as he watched her slowly sink down and retrieve what looked unmistakably like a hotel room key card.
The disappointment that lanced through him was strong enough to make him question why the scene unfolding in front of him was affecting him so deeply. Perhaps today of all days, when the past seemed to be dogging him with its bitter memories, he’d wanted to be pleasantly surprised by the elusive integrity of the human spirit. To experience a pure character to go along with the pure performance that had stopped him in his tracks, touched him in ways he was still grappling with.
More fool him.
As the director’s hands moved to touch her feet Gael retreated as silently as he’d entered, his rigid gaze firmly averted from the sleazy scene unfolding on the stage.
He was looking for a fairy tale where none existed. Just as he’d once—futilely and childishly—prayed for a family that included a father who didn’t wish him out of existence.
He should know better. No. He had known better—for a very long time.
Even before he exited the building he knew those dredged-up feelings would be crushed beneath the immovable titanium power of his ambition and success. Emotional needs and futile dreams were far behind him. What he’d done with his life since that time in Spain was what mattered.
Everything else came a very pale second.