Italian Affair Read online

  “That doesn’t negate the fact that critics are the ones judging the contest.”

  “Aren’t you the man who always says ‘no two critics see the same show?’ There are five judges, Lucas. As long as Anderson Jones isn’t on the panel, we’ve got a good shot at taking top prize, even with an average script.”

  When Lucas raised his eyebrows at me, desperation took over, and I babbled on. “Regardless of the reviews—or maybe because of them—people among the theater crowd are talking about me. About us.”

  “Ashlyn’s right,” Noah said, interrupting again. “You didn’t bring her here to play it safe.”

  “No.” Lucas reached for the Jack and Coke Noah set in front of him. “I brought her because of the brilliance she displayed in Arlington…which, I might add, you brought to my attention.”

  My gaze shifted from Lucas to Noah. I raised an eyebrow.

  Arlington Community Theater had been on the brink of closure and needed a revitalization of public interest. My play Little Lamb had been edgy and controversial, but not so much that it deterred the humbling amounts of donations and ticket sales once word of it spread. It had been my only play under serious consideration of being published. But how did Noah know about any of that?

  “Quinn told me you were on the brink of something special,” Noah said, explaining the question he must’ve read in my arched look. “He wanted to see for himself, but couldn’t leave Seattle at the time. I was curious and went.”

  My brother had talked about me to Noah? Told him about my play in Arlington? And Noah had gone—to see my play?

  Wait… The dread that lined my gut gave way to bitterness as I realized the truth: the fact that I’d been hired by The Marshall Theater in the same town as the famed Double Shot had opened its most recent location was no coincidence, the way I’d thought.

  How dare Noah help me land this job, especially after I’d been so clear with him years before that I didn’t need his help? Or his interference.

  I reached for my drink and drained half the contents, hoping the alcohol would miraculously calm my fury with Noah and allow me not to blow my one shot at Broadway by saying something stupid in front of Lucas.

  “The theater is facing bankruptcy, Ashlyn,” Lucas said.

  Bankruptcy? That got my attention.

  Lucas nodded. “We make enough money in ticket sales and donations to pay our operational costs, but city inspectors are being forced to close us down due to building safety issues. Because the costs of repairs are so extensive, there is a very serious risk we’ll have to close our doors for good.”

  The Marshall Theater had been in Lucas’s family for well over a hundred years and was the heart and soul of the company. Without The Marshall Theater, there’d be no Marshall Theater Players.

  Lucas went on. “This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the annual Phair Theater Festival.”

  This much I knew.

  “And this year, thanks to a special endowment, whatever theater company wins Best in Show will be awarded five million dollars.”

  My jaw unhinged.

  The company who took top honors always received a substantial prize. Just like the top winning playwright and director always earned a Broadway run—which was why I’d been so eager to take the job of writing this particular script for The Marshall Theater Players. I wanted a shot at seeing one of my plays produced on Broadway. But I had no idea the prize this year was so substantial for the theater company who won.

  “With an award like that, The Marshall Theater could stay open,” Lucas added.

  The negative reviews from my last two plays filled my mind. Tension shoved away the shock. Maybe he was right. There was too much at stake. I was way out of my league.

  Noah leaned in close to me. “Nine months ago, Lucas told me about the danger of theater closing. I knew there was only one person who could pull off the Hail Mary he needed. Your script could win The Marshall Theater Players that five million, and would keep the theater open.”

  I gulped. “Those stakes are high. What makes you so sure I can pull it off?”

  “You already did it once.”

  Maybe. But could lightning strike the same place twice?

  “I also know about the contract,” he added.

  The contract?

  He shot me a look and said quietly, “The one you signed with your father.”

  Heat suffused my face. God. Did Quinn have to tell him everything?

  As executor of my grandmother’s estate, my dad had offered to give me a one-time, one-hundred-thousand dollar distribution. In return, I had until my thirtieth birthday to prove I could make a substantive career as a playwright. If I failed, I would have to get a “real” job or else forfeit the remainder of my inheritance, which was one huge chunk of change. I’d only asked for one caveat: if I did end up failing, the remainder of my inheritance would go to a non-profit of my choice.

  I’d been twenty-five at the time, and a hundred grand was a lot of money. Since I’d had only $300 in my bank account and needed a $1,400 root canal, I’d signed the contract my father had drawn up. And had regretted the decision ever since.

  Still, my dad had underestimated me. He thought I’d take the cash and go buy an expensive car and too many clothes. But I’d been thrifty. I even had some money left over. Some being the operative word.

  “Quinn had no right to tell you any of that,” I snapped out.

  “You and I may not see eye to eye on much,” Noah said, “but if there’s one thing I can admire about you, it’s your tenacity. When you’re focused, you don’t miss. You proved that with Arlington.”

  My gaze slid away from his. I didn’t need to point out how untrue his latter statement was. I’d been focused on Noah once, had naively thought myself in love with him. Who knew falling in love could bring a playwright so much drama? I tried to mentally shove those memories back deep down, but the damage had been done.

  Pain transitioned to anger. “I don’t need you rushing to my aid,” I said, heatedly. “Never have, never will. Besides, in case you’ve forgotten, I have a real brother, and guess what? I don’t need him to take care of me, either.”

  “You think this is all about you?” Noah shook his head. His New York accent grew thick, the way it did when his temper reached its peak. “Are you so self-involved you still don’t get it?”

  I’d had enough. Standing, I slapped my palms on the bar and leaned toward Noah. “Maybe for once you could stop playing mind games and just tell me what the hell I’m not getting.”

  He gestured to the near-empty bar. “Look around. The theater’s not in session, and because of that, this place is practically dead. What do you think will happen to the Double Shot if The Marshall Theater closes?”

  “Why is it my job to care about the Double Shot?”

  Noah had the audacity to look hurt. “Fine, I get it. You don’t care about me, and maybe I deserve that, but what about the town? What about Phair?”

  I looked around the bar. There were few patrons, certainly not enough to fill the place. Noah’s words hit me—finally.

  The Phair Theater Festival brought in boatloads of tourists, but only for one week in the year. The Marshall Theater Players, however, brought in tourists year-round, except for when the theater was dark. But the theater went dark only three times a year, for a four-week interval each time.

  People raised families here, led lives, and made livings that were only possible because of tourism. The Marshall Theater was the lifeblood of Phair. Noah had multiple Double Shot bars scattered all over the country, but this location depended on Phair’s local economy not falling into collapse.

  And apparently, keeping the entire town of Phair alive depended on me writing a brilliant script.

  Fantastic.

  Lucas finished his drink, straightened his bolo, and stood. “It just occurred to me what’s wrong with this draft.”

  I stared questioningly at Lucas.

  “Noah is Andy Rich. You
are Caroline.”

  I sat, perplexed, staring at Lucas. “What could possibly bring you to that conclusion?”

  He nodded at both me and Noah. “Everyone can tell you two have history.”

  Neither Noah nor I had made any secret that my brother was his best friend. But what did that have to do with my script? “And your point would be…”

  Lucas shrugged. “The tension between the two of you is palpable. Like the tension between Andy Rich and Caroline. You two are those characters.”

  No way. I took a step back, putting space between me and the bar. Between me and Noah. Lucas was dead wrong.

  I pointed at Noah. “He is not the inspiration for my lead character.” Not even Noah Blake was as damaged as Andy Rich. And I certainly wasn’t the wannabe bad-girl, Caroline.

  “I’m sure you patterned the characters’ dynamic around your dynamic with Noah subconsciously,” Lucas said. “But if you could manage to bring the same fire I’ve been witnessing between the two of you over the last few months to this play, we’ll win the Phair Theater Festival for Best in Show. Even if Anderson Jones is a judge.”

  I was so not buying Lucas’s observation. Yeah, Noah and I snapped at each other from time to time. Well, I snapped at him and he ignored me—all the time.

  Lucas pulled out his wallet and laid cash for his drink on the bar. “Tell you what. I’ll agree to stay the course and keep you on as playwright, but only if the two of you agree to work together.”

  Noah’s chin lowered. “What exactly are you asking, Lucas?”

  Yeah, really. What was Lucas asking?

  “Spend time together. Help her flesh out what’s missing on paper between these two characters.”

  “What?” Rattled, I raked fingers through my hair.

  “That’s insane,” Noah said.

  For once, Noah and I agreed on something.

  “I’m not talking about hanging out in the Double Shot, pretending to talk,” Lucas said, rubbing his chin the way he did when new ideas came to him. “I’m talking scene enactment, and maybe some real-world situations. Improvisation.”

  But that would mean spending one-on-one time with Noah. Not just the occasional run-in at the Double Shot. I’d done my best to ignore Noah since I’d discovered his bar was my across-the-street neighbor, and could handle encountering him while I sat at the bar with a tumbler of gin in my hand, but this was too much. I felt pinpricks of panic work their way across my skin. “Lucas, no. Absolutely not.”

  “My decision is final, Ashlyn. Work on scene enactments and improvisation with Noah, or I’ll assign another playwright to finish the script.”

  But this play was my one chance at Broadway. And my one chance to prove to my dad I could succeed in this business—and therefore receive my full inheritance. I gulped back panic.

  “There’s no way I have time to play pretend with Ashlyn so she can finish her script,” Noah said, scowling. “I have a business to build. I’m not playing babysitter.”

  Lucas turned to Noah. “According to you, the success of this Double Shot location depends on the success of the theater, which depends on The Marshal Theater Players winning the Phair Theater Festival. And you’re the one who convinced me Ashlyn was a brilliant playwright in the first place. Looks like you don’t have an option, either. You will both do this my way, or…”

  “Or what?” Noah demanded.

  I made a last-ditch plea. “Lucas, forcing us together will only hurt the situation, not help. Noah isn’t even a writer.”

  A gleam entered Lucas’s eyes. “He might not be a writer, but for this play, he’s certainly your muse.”