His gaze swings in my direction, and I realize I’ve been staring at him. I turn away, wondering if everyone in the room saw the stark admiration on my face.
“Ms. McKay. Is your father involved in this play in any way?”
I exchanged a short glance with Natalia. “My father is retired,” I answer. “This production is entirely due to the hard work of Natalia Barrow.”
“There are rumors that you pulled out of your last movie project because your ex-fiancé Devlin Coates signed on to co-star.”
I feel the burn of Aidan’s gaze on my skin, and I let out a small laugh to buy time. “You have a fascinating imagination,” I tell the reporter, earning a few laughs. “Devlin and I are very good friends. In fact, we’ve been friends longer than we were engaged. I would have been glad to work with him, but doing this project is more important to me at this time.”
Despite my better judgement, I steal a glance at Aidan. His eyes hold mine for a fraction of a second, his withering contempt for me all too clear in their depths.
“Well, forgive my imagination,” the same reporter continues. “I’m curious. This is the second time you’re doing a play on Broadway. The first was the critically acclaimed Edge of Madness seven years ago, which Aidan Court also directed. Did the fact that you’re intimately familiar with the director factor into your deciding to work with him again?”
I don’t miss his emphasis, but I smile brightly. “Aidan is a very talented director. This play is lucky to have him and I’m glad to be in such good hands.”
Another reporter chimes in. “You pulled out of the Edge of Madness in the first month of the initial one-year run, leaving your stand-in to take over. Can you assure your audience that you won’t leave this play as abruptly as you left the last one?”
“As I said, this production is very important to me and I’ve learned the lessons about not fulfilling contracts.” There are a few laughs. “So…no, I won’t be leaving this play abruptly.”
The next question is directed at Aidan. “Where do you see this play fitting into your impressive body of work?”
He answers the question, not bothering to mask the boredom in his voice.
“Do you have any concerns about working with Liz McKay?”
There’s a pause. “Is that a complete question?” Aidan’s voice is stinging and I can hear his irritation. “What exactly are you asking?”
“I mean it’s common knowledge that you have a romantic history. Is that a concern for either of you seeing as you will work closely together, and can we assume there is substance to the rumors of a reconciliation?”
Aidan’s jaw hardens. I fully expect him to announce his distaste for me in front of the world. Desperation churns my belly.
Leaning toward my mic, I start to talk almost without thinking. “You know, I was very young when I left New York and Broadway. I loved Aidan then, and I loved his work. I still admire him…I admire his work and I still love him. Seven years ago, I didn’t deal with the situation I found myself as well as I should have, but now I’m determined to give us another chance and to do better.”
The questions explode.
“What does that mean?”
“Does that mean the rumors are true?”
“Are you two together?”
Aidan is glaring at me. If eyes could kill, I’d be a shriveled husk six feet underground. I jerk back from the mic, as if it was somehow to blame for my impulsive word vomit. Regret drowns out the certainty I felt only moments before.
Why had I thought he’d see my words as a public apology, a public declaration that I wasn’t unaware of how badly I’d acted seven years ago, of how inconsiderate I’d been of what we had, of how desperate I am now to make him understand?
At that moment, it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in anything I have to say. He looks royally pissed. When he speaks, his voice is tight with suppressed anger.
“Gentlemen, and ladies… We have a play to produce and I promise that like professionals…” He gives me a withering glance, as if to say that I don’t belong in that group. “…We won’t let personal feelings and histories get in the way of doing the best job we can.”
He rises, as if, as far as he’s concerned, the briefing is over. Then he turns his back on the rest of us and walks out of the room.
Chapter Nineteen
Aidan
I take the subway, as if hurtling through underground tunnels surrounded by an eclectic mix of people would somehow clear the thought of Liz from my head.
It doesn’t.