back,” announced Sara Grace Griffin, who was nine years old.
“Well, look, I’m not so sure I’ll like doing this either, but this is the way it is.” Dallas turned and began to walk away, hearing the sound of crying children get louder with each step. She stormed off into the stage wings, arms folded, head down, when she slammed right into—
Cal.
3
Cal jumped back, obviously surprised to see Dallas right there in front of him in the theater wings.
“Cal! Sorry, what are you doing here?” Dallas asked, shocked at bumping into him here.
“I’m running the sound system for the Christmas play. What are you doing here?”
“Well...guess who’s the new director?” She smiled awkwardly, feeling completely out of her element.
“What happened to Ms. Fairbanks?”
“Flu.”
“So...you? You’re the director?”
“Yep. It’s my lucky day.”
“Yeah. Well, good luck, I guess. See ya.”
Cal walked away, and Dallas turned to watch him leave. It was obvious that he was unfazed by seeing her. She, however, was having another flare-up.
Dallas stepped over to the staircase in the wings and sat down in the dim amber glow of the footlights. Unbelievable, she thought. How was it possible that not only was she stuck directing this ridiculous play, but now she’d also have to do it alongside the one man who never failed at making her lose her cool?
She inhaled a deep breath, trying to get a grip on everything that was happening, but it didn’t ease the tension that was beginning to consume her. She felt the pressure building, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure how to take control of the situation. She felt trapped. There was nothing she wanted more than that anchor spot. The announcement, they’d been told, would come just after Christmas. Great timing, she thought, for the person who got the job. They’d be able to start the New Year with an exciting new job. If she didn’t get it, she could be one of the two reporters to lose her job to station cutbacks. For now, she knew she just had to stay focused. Worrying about the worst-case scenario wasn’t going to make her performance any better. The only thing she could do was to keep her eye on the prize. She had to direct this play and somehow find a way to work with Cal.
Dallas pulled her purse closer, as if it were her only friend in this place. She wore a long winter-white Calvin Klein cashmere coat that she’d bought in Atlanta at a secondhand shop. She drove the three hours over there to shop all the time. She didn’t come from much, but she had done quite a job of making it look as though she did. Her dad, businessman Sweeney Sugarman, had divorced Kitty, his second wife and Blake’s mother, about ten years ago. Financially, he’d done little more than help pay Dallas’s way through college at the University of Alabama. He’d died several years ago and had never even seen her first report for WTAL.
Dallas’s mother, on the other hand, had sent her to live with her father when Dallas had only been fourteen years old. The day she’d left was the last time she had seen her mother. They had become estranged ever since. No one in town even saw LouAnn Watkins Sugarman anymore. Last anyone heard, she had tried to become a singing star out in Hollywood, and when that didn’t pan out, she’d come back home to some small town in Alabama but had never tried to get in touch. It had been twenty years since Dallas had spoken to her. None of Dallas’s family had even come to her college graduation. She was used to being alone. And in control.
With Cal working the sound for the play, Dallas would be running into him almost daily over the next couple of weeks. She huffed out a breath and shook her head. Okay, she admitted to herself, he’s still hot. Fine. But I am not going to throw myself at a man who clearly shows no interest in me. I can’t let his gorgeous good looks get the best of me at a time like this. Besides, he has nothing I need right now. All I need is to get this play over with, secure my promotion and get on with my life.
This was typical Dallas. Always thinking of the goal. Always forgetting to actually live along the way. All that armor, the tough-woman mask she donned each day with carefully applied makeup and hairspray, helped shield the real Dallas from everyone. Especially from herself.
“Okay, Ms. Dubois, we’ve got the children settled down, and they’re waitin’ for you,” Betty Ann said, approaching Dallas in the stairway.
“Fine, please tell that production assistant person I need some Diet Dr. Pepper. I’m already exhausted after that scene out there. I mean, really, what is with all that attitude?”
“Certainly, Ms. Dubois, but you understand they’re just nervous. They’re only children, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yeah, well, they aren’t the only nervous ones, I’ll tell you. Do I look like a theater director to you? I belong on TV, with a camera in front of me, not behind the curtain trying to get a bunch of wild animals to stand in their spots and remember their lines. Let’s just be honest—I don’t wanna be here any more than they want me here.”
“Oh, please don’t feel that way. It will all work out just fine,” Betty Ann said, though Dallas could see the doubt written all over her face. “Now, I’ll get Corey to get your drink and we should get started.”
“Great. Thanks.” Dallas smiled weakly and exhaled a deep breath. Her stomach was in knots, but she was careful not to let anyone see that. She was totally on edge with her job on the line and that made it tough for her to be sweet to anyone.
* * *
Cal sat up in the sound booth, adjusting the speaker levels and fiddling with live mic feeds, and trying to figure out how’d he’d managed to find himself working side by side with none other than Dallas Dubois.
He’d always found Dallas attractive—how could you not? With that gorgeous hair, bright blue eyes and curves that should be illegal in most states, Dallas was basically a fantasy on legs.
Not that he was all that that bad himself. He’d been told he was gorgeous by plenty of people all his life, but it never really seemed to sink in. He wasn’t a loud braggart like a lot of athletes he’d known in college. He was more reserved. And he was often single.
What no one knew, except maybe Lewis, who had been Cal’s best friend in both high school and college, was that he was an over-the-top perfectionist. It wasn’t that he was judgmental about the people he dated—it was more that he was tough on himself. He had always been afraid of failing at a relationship, so he’d never got too serious with any one girlfriend.
His grades, however, had been spectacular. He’d pushed himself so hard that it had cut down on his participation in the wild social life that his other friends had enjoyed. Cal was an academic. He took everything super seriously and had gotten his doctorate in computer science by the time he was twenty-six. He had been the star quarterback for the Crimson Tide, leading them to a National Championship in his senior year. He was tough on himself.
That’s why he had never married. Not that all the gorgeous beauty queens and coeds couldn’t measure up. No. Cal was terrified of failing. His two older brothers had great marriages. His parents had been married for well over forty years. He looked at their success, and he realized he wasn’t sure he could ever be that great at it. He’d never met anyone who’d made him feel the things his brothers claimed to feel about their own wives. And he’d always been so focused on school and sports that he couldn’t even imagine having enough time left over to properly devote to another person. The last thing he wanted was to let anyone see that he wasn’t good enough. For Cal, failure at anything was not an option. Growing up, the minute he thought a relationship might not work forever, he ran. Now, at thirty-four, he still found himself more invested in work than in women.
From his spot in the sound booth, he could oversee some of the action on the stage below. And thanks to live mics, he could hear everything being said. Just now,