stood up, grabbing her gym bag. “Matt, let’s go. There’ll be other shows—”
“Hold it,” Fowler said. “Maggie Stanton?”
There were a few moments of whispering as Fowler leaned over and spoke with his producers and assistants.
“Come here for a sec,” he finally called.
Maggie looked uncertainly at Matt, who nodded to her, telling her to go ahead. He then sat as if unconcerned, on the apron of the stage.
She left her bag on the seat and made her way to the director. She was outraged at the way he was handling this situation. To publicly humiliate someone like this was unprofessional. It was rude, inexcusable...
Dan Fowler was about thirty-five years old, but he had streaks of gray in his full, thick beard that made him seem at least fifteen years older. His eyebrows were large and bushy, making him look as if he had a permanent scowl. He didn’t speak until Maggie stood directly in front of him.
“You with him?” he asked quietly, motioning up to the stage and Matt.
“Yes,” she said tightly. “I don’t know what happened three years ago, but right now he’s clean.”
Fowler tapped his fingers on the table in front of him, looking from Maggie to Matt and back again. “Will he agree to urine testing?”
“For drugs?” Maggie asked in amazement.
Fowler nodded.
“You can ask him,” she said, “but I doubt he’ll go for that.”
“Hey, Stone,” the director called. “I’m willing to audition you if you consent to drug testing.”
“I meant, ask him privately,” Maggie hissed, throwing up her hands in despair. She risked a look at the stage, fearful of Matt’s reaction.
But he pushed himself to his feet and looked out at them serenely.
Only Matt knew how difficult it was to appear that calm. Inside, his blood boiled. He may have played hard and fast at one time with drugs and alcohol, but that had nothing to do with his admission into the hospital. But he wasn’t about to go into those details here. Not in front of a crowd, and especially not in front of Maggie.
He looked out at her. He could tell from the tightness of her shoulders that she was mad as hell. But he knew that she really wanted this part—she deserved this part—and he didn’t want her to lose it on account of him. And if he walked out of there, she’d go with him. He knew that. On top of that was the fact that he desperately wanted to play opposite her again....
“Okay,” he said, keeping his voice light.
“Good,” Fowler said. “Sing your damn song and get your ass off my stage.”
Matt snapped out a count and the accompanist played the introduction. He started to sing, his eyes following Maggie as she moved down the aisle, back to her seat. He could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes, and he knew she’d realized that he’d let Dan Fowler push him around because of her. And she would, no doubt, chalk it all up to friendship. He was just her good old pal Matt, doing something nice for his buddy Maggie.
And yet there was attraction simmering between them. Although if it scared her even a third as much as it terrified him, was it any wonder she kept trying to ignore it, to push it aside?
But, God, imagine if she could let herself love him....
She looked up at him, and he channeled everything he was feeling into the music. Like most actors, he could be supercritical of his own performance, but this time... Well, even he would have cast himself.
He stopped the song halfway through, looking out at the director. “That’s enough, don’t you think, Dan?”
“Thank you,” came the standard reply. Then, “Stick around to read.”
Victory. He was going to get a chance to read lines. Whoopee.
Matt swung himself gracefully off the stage to find Maggie waiting for him. She silently took his hand and pulled him down the aisle to the back of the auditorium, ignoring all the curious eyes that were on them. She led him out the closed double doors into the lobby and started for the door to the street.
“Whoa,” he said. “Where are we going?”
“We’re leaving.”
He planted himself. “No way.”
“Yes way. That man is a creep.” She was seriously angry.
“He’s a good director, though. Wait and see.”
Now she was angry with him. “You’re only doing this for me, aren’t you?”
Yes. And he’d do far more for her, too, if she’d only let him. “Nope,” Matt told her. “I’m doing it for myself.”
Maggie didn’t buy it. “Matthew, you’ve had enough crap dumped on you from your father—with the will and everything. You don’t need to deal with this, too.”
“Hey!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “It’s okay. Really. It’s just my lurid past catching up with me. It happens. I don’t mind drug testing—”
“Liar.”
Matt laughed at the look of intense indignation on her face. God, she was wonderful.
“Well, okay,” he admitted. “It sucks. But life’s not always fair, and it’s no big deal.” She started to react, and he put one finger on her lips. “Really. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few years, it’s to know the difference between big problems and little problems. And Dan Fowler is definitely a little problem.”
The woman with the clipboard and the cat glasses poked her head out of the door. “Stone and Stanton?” she said. “He’s looking for you. Onstage, to read.”
“I want to do this,” Matt said, looking into Maggie’s eyes. “Let’s do this, okay?”
Maggie nodded, letting him drag her back into the auditorium. He took the bag from her shoulder, put it onto a seat and pushed her up the stairs to the stage.
“Take a few minutes to read it over,” Fowler called out from his throne behind the bright lights, a benevolent monarch lazily granting the peasants some crumbs from his table.
Maggie quickly skimmed the scene. And oh, God. She could feel herself start to blush. Of course. It had to be this scene. She glanced up to meet Matt’s eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her, then looked back at his script.
Oh, God.
“Whenever you’re ready, boys and girls,” Fowler’s indolent voice commanded.
“I read the entire play last week,” Maggie quickly told Matt. “This scene is part of a fantasy that my character is having. She’s just imagining that you’re there in her bedroom, okay?”
“Got it,” Matt said. He looked out toward the director. “We’re ready, Dan.”
“Quiet,” Fowler roared, and suddenly the room was still.
Sieg heil. Maggie couldn’t believe they were still here, auditioning for this tyrant. But then Matt read his first line, and she thought of nothing but the script.
“Lucy, are you still awake?” he read.
“Go away,” Maggie read, with weariness and annoyance in her voice.
“Hey,” Matt read, throwing up his free hand. “I don’t really want to be here. I’m just part of your overactive imagination. You want me to leave, you have to imagine me gone.”
“All right. I will.” As the script directed, she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating for a moment. When she opened her eyes, he was still standing there, of course. “Oh, damn,”