“Ah, but this is a dress rehearsal,” he said, leading her to the stage at the front of the room. He’d reached for her arm, but he’d somehow missed making contact again, just like at the festival. He wondered if she’d avoided his touch this time because she could tell he was sweating. He stopped just short of sniffing his armpit.
That she would certainly have noticed.
“Tensions tend to run high when acts come face-to-face for the first time,” he said. “They’re all vying for position in the lineup, while trying to determine which position would be best for them. They’re looking at the venue, determining how to fit their act into the space, assessing stage wing options for props or easy entrances and exits. They’re also finding out who they know, avoiding people they might’ve had words—or relationships—with in the past. Plus, they’re staking their claim to dressing-room space. And they’re doing all this while trying to appear blasé about the whole thing.”
In Hunter’s world, he and his staff dealt mainly with talent that could make it big, but hadn’t done so yet. Galas like Julie’s could be a chance at a big break. If the right person noticed them. Was impressed by them. Was in the audience at all...
Usually, with events of this size, there was at least one well-known agent or producer in the audience. He always saw to that. Kept the talent coming. Made the whole evening a win-win. And the level of his talent brought the producers and agents back.
All of it was in a day’s work for him.
Not that he expected Julie Fairbanks to know or care about any of that.
“So, what position would be best for them?” She actually met his gaze as she turned her head to look at him.
That was a first. Normally their eyes meeting, no matter how hard he tried to make it happen, turned into yet another near miss.
Blue. Her eyes were blue. He’d known that, of course. His were, too.
Blue and blue make blue. Crazy thought. From a crazy man. He needed to get a grip fast.
She’d asked a question. His mind struggled to recall it. Position. Right. She’d asked about position.
He had a flash of her on the couch in his study with her shirt unbuttoned...
No. What the hell was wrong with him? Hunter had never looked at a woman he was with and pictured her with her clothes off. Not unless he knew she wanted him to see her with her clothes off.
Some men did that. Lots of normal men did. Not him.
Just a rule he’d set for himself after a particularly heated fight between his parents, with his mother accusing his father of mentally undressing some woman at a party. His father had eventually become so riled, he’d admitted to having done that. Hunter, a kid at the time, had been completely sure his mother was wrong, but having heard his father’s admission, he’d made the rule for himself.
Julie turned those blue eyes on him a second time.
Position. Oh, yeah.
“I’m not sure there is a best position in a show like this one,” he said now, more serious than usual as he considered her question. Serious because he had to focus to stay on topic. “First is good since it guarantees you’ll be seen by everyone. But it’s so early in the evening that some folks might not have arrived. People are still eating. Chatting. Catching up. Generally just enjoying themselves. And not worried yet that the evening might end too soon.”
“Because the first acts are covered in the initial ticket price, no one needs to pay attention or push their buttons to stay. It won’t affect their wallets.”
“Exactly. It gets more intense, with more people actually watching the show as folks start to really pay attention. They have to decide whether the talent warrants another spend. Some will stay for the duration, just to donate, but a lot won’t. They’ll stay as long as they’re enjoying themselves.”
“So maybe, for the performers, it’s more about not getting the worst position,” Julie said. “Because if the talent that comes ahead of you isn’t good, you might not get to go on. And even if you do, there’ll be fewer people there watching.”
“The evening is wearing down at that point. People are usually quiet and watching the stage. Besides, any talent scouts in attendance are going to stay until the end.” At least Hunter’s did. Which was why his shows drew the level of talent they did, and why people paid so much money to attend one of his functions...
They’d reached the door that led backstage. Holding it for her to precede him, he told himself not to look at the perfectly shaped backside in the black jeans, or notice the way her wedged heels gave height to legs that had been crashing his thoughts for weeks now.
Still, as she turned toward him, waiting for him to follow, there was something...different about her. Like maybe she’d found the lightness in her step that he’d lost from his. Maybe she’d stolen it from him on Sunday. Yeah, maybe that was it.
Starting to feel a smile coming on, Hunter got to work.
JULIE HAD THE table set with fruit and fresh flowers, place mats and her favorite breakfast dishes before Colin and Chantel entered the breakfast room Friday morning. The family of three had a housekeeper who also did a lot of the cooking, but Julie had always reserved the right to prepare breakfast. When it had been just her and Colin, she’d needed the promise of time alone with her older brother to get her out of bed in the morning.
Needed to know that he’d know if she didn’t get up.
And since Chantel had come...it was just as important to start her day with her family together. Maybe more so. Much as she adored Colin, Julie found a greater understanding with the woman he’d married.
Plates of crepes were set down and, when they were empty, snatched back up as efficiently as she could manage without being rude. Ignoring the look between her brother and his wife—one that meant they were sharing silent thoughts about her—she was out the door before they were.
She’d been spending time with Joy for two days and was still the only one who could get any kind of response out of her. Lila and Sara wanted to give her a few hours alone with Joy that morning. She hadn’t told Colin or Chantel about the little girl yet. Not that she could say a whole lot anyway. But she hadn’t even mentioned that she was working directly, one-on-one, with a single child.
Reading to kids, doing puppet plays with them, having them paint and draw—her most common activities at the Stand—was fulfilling. Worthy expenditures of time.
And there was still that step back from personal intimacy. Allowing her to keep her private self safely tucked away inside.
It was how she wanted it.
And yet, here was Joy, who seemed to need her in a way no one else ever had. And she hadn’t been so eager to face a day since the night her beautiful, promising young world had crashed around her feet.
In jeans and a blue, button-down tapered shirt, she grabbed an art satchel out of the back seat of her BMW after she’d parked in the secured lot behind the Stand and headed inside the grounds. No one was sure what Joy might have seen the morning her aunt was beaten and her mother went missing.
No one knew what she’d seen before that, either.
Or experienced herself at the hands of her father. There’d been no outward signs of physical abuse—for which Julie was incredibly thankful.
But that didn’t mean the man hadn’t hit her. Only that he hadn’t done so with enough force to break bones. Or leave scars.
Sara and others were convinced that Joy’s silence was indicative of severe emotional trauma. But until the aunt could be questioned—other than the brief inquiry made by police as she was being loaded into