The Man Most Likely. Cindi Myers
but now the invitation held little attraction. “Sorry, I’ve got other plans.”
She leaned toward him, her tone flirtatious once more. “What are you doing that’s more fun than going out with me and my friends?”
“I promised to stop by the community theater group.” He cleared his throat. “It’s business.”
She looked toward the door Angela had exited. “Uh-huh.” Then she turned back to him, her smile brighter than ever. “Too bad. You’d have a lot more fun with me and my friends. Nobody in that theater group is really your type.”
His type. How could she be so sure what his type was when he didn’t even know himself? He glanced at Rachel again, taking in her trim figure, glossy hair and dazzling smile. She was the sort of woman he usually dated. The type most men preferred. All he had to do was turn on the television or pick up a magazine to know that. Angela must have put him into some chocolate-induced trance to have him thinking otherwise.
“Of course she—I mean the theater group—really isn’t my type.” Carl had encouraged him to foster connections between the hotel and the community, so that’s what he’d be doing.
“It’s just business,” he said, and retreated to his office.
Chapter Two
Angela settled into a front-row seat at the Mallardi Cabaret, home to Crested Butte’s Mountain Theatre group, and pulled out her copy of the script for I Hate Hamlet. Around her, other cast and crew members congregated, sipping coffee, discussing the latest snowfall totals, their plans for the upcoming Al Johnson Memorial Ski Race or bemoaning the number of weeks until softball season began. Angela smiled, reveling in the homey familiarity of the scene. Once upon a time she’d dreamed of being a professional actress, but the daunting reality of competing for professional jobs in Los Angeles or New York had convinced her she was better off sticking close to home. She didn’t make her living on the stage, but outside her candy shop, her life revolved around the dusty velvet seats and greasepaint-scented air of community theater.
She opened the script and turned to her lines for the scene that was first up on the rehearsal schedule. She played the agent, Lillian Troy. Lillian’s claim to fame was that she had once had an affair with the late John Barrymore. Angela’s friend Tanya played Felicia, the glamorous girlfriend of the male lead, Andy, who was played by local heartthrob Austin Davies.
At that moment, the man himself crossed in front of Angela. Dressed casually in jeans and a fleece henley, his hair perfectly styled, his jaw perfectly rugged, Austin was the very picture of the leading man. He was a nice enough guy—vain without being obnoxious, over-confident about his abilities at times, but a decent actor.
He smiled at Angela and she nodded, then ducked her head and pretended renewed interest in her script. She wasn’t interested in being overly friendly with Austin. The truth was he reminded her a little too much of Troy Wakefield, the leading man in the community theater group she’d belonged to in Broomfield, Colorado, where she’d lived before moving to Crested Butte. The man she’d been engaged to for fifteen minutes.
Okay, more like fifteen days. Same difference for all she’d mattered to Troy. Old news that really didn’t concern her anymore.
She looked around to see who else was here. She spotted Tanya on the far side of the stage, running over her lines with Alex Pierce, the older man who was playing Barrymore’s ghost. Though tonight she was dressed like everyone else in jeans and a sweater, Tanya’s costume for the play was a short, tight, sparkly cocktail dress that showed off her perfect figure. With her red hair teased into waves that tumbled about her shoulders, she’d be the picture of the glamorous femme fatale.
Angela, meanwhile, would be stuck in a frumpy tweed skirt, no-nonsense sweater set and makeup designed to make her look thirty years older.
Just once it would have been fun to play the glamour girl, but she’d never been given the opportunity and probably never would.
“All right, places everyone.” Tanya called everyone to order. “Let’s run through the séance scene.”
Angela, Tanya and Austin gathered center stage around a white-draped table while Alex waited in the wings for his cue. Scripts in hand, they began the run-through of the scene in which the three friends try to contact the ghost of John Barrymore.
But instead of the late, great actor showing up on cue, the door to the theater opened, letting in the sounds of traffic on Elk Avenue below and a man in a dark overcoat. “Um, sorry,” he called as he pulled off his gloves. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Bryan! You came to see us after all.” Angela didn’t try to hide her delight. And she couldn’t ignore the way her heart sped up at the sight of him.
Tanya gave her a speculative look, then turned to Bryan. “Why don’t you have a seat down front,” she said. “We’ll take a break when we’re done with this scene. Angela, I think it’s your line.”
Angela forced her attention back to the script, trying to forget about the man seated only a few feet away and to put herself back into the character of the sixty-year-old woman recalling her glory days.
She got through it somehow and trooped off the stage with everyone else when they were done. Bryan stood as she approached his seat, the same front-row spot she’d occupied earlier. “That was great,” he said.
She smiled, determined to play it cool and not let him see how much his presence flustered her. She hadn’t really expected him to take her up on her invitation to visit, not after the mixed signals he’d sent during their meeting. “It’s a pretty funny play,” she said.
“No, I mean you were great,” he said. His eyes locked on to hers. She read definite interest there and struggled to quell the sudden uprising of butterflies in her stomach.
“Thank you. And thanks for coming tonight.”
“Hey, Bryan.” Austin joined them. “What brings you here? Decided to add acting to your list of new interests?”
“Angela and I are working together on the fund-raiser,” Bryan said. “I thought it would be a good idea to meet some of the other people involved.”
“Oh, business.” Austin looked sympathetic. “I’m sure you’d much rather be over at LoBar.”
“No, I’m interested in learning more about the group and what you do.”
Angela thought Bryan sounded annoyed. Austin did have that effect on some people.
“Hello, Bryan.” Tanya squeezed in next to Angela. “It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too.” He nodded to Tanya, and Angela waited for the inevitable. Whenever she and Tanya were together, every man in the room focused his attention on Tanya and forgot Angela existed. They couldn’t seem to help themselves. It had happened so often, it didn’t even bother Angela anymore.
Much.
But, while Bryan was friendly toward Tanya and listened to her explanation of the play and the makeup of the theater group and their plans for the money from the fund-raiser, his eyes didn’t assume the slightly feverish look so many men’s did in her presence. “We have forty or fifty people involved in the group off and on, depending on the size of the production,” Tanya said. “Crested Butte has had a community theater for over thirty-five years now, though I’ve only taken over as director recently.”
“It sounds like a great group,” Bryan said. “I’m glad Angela invited me to stop by.”
Tanya checked her watch. “We need to run through the next scene, but you’re welcome to stay and watch,” she said.
The next scene featured only Tanya and Austin, so Angela settled beside Bryan to watch. As usual, Tanya lit up the stage. For ten years prior to returning to Crested Butte, she’d worked in Los Angeles, acting in commercials. She even had a part in a popular soap opera for a