One Night With Gael. Maya Blake

Arts Institute late—courtesy of an accident on the Queensborough Bridge—and alighted from the back of the limo in a fouler mood than he’d been in two hours before.

      Not because of the call with his director, or even the chaotic traffic. No, his teeth-grinding could be laid firmly at his brother’s feet.

      Alejandro had been nauseatingly understanding of Gael’s excuses, even going as far as to put Elise, his fiancée, on the line, to reassure Gael that all was well and they would welcome him to Chicago any time he pleased.

      Wondering whether his brother’s brooding tone had been meant to reassure him, or to deliver a subtle message that Alejandro still maintained an arm’s-length approach to their relationship, despite Gael himself wishing it so, was what had thrown him into a worse mood.

      He pushed open the glass doors to the sharp-angled building and entered the world-renowned institution, clearly aware he was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t bother taking a steadying breath because it would be of no use. Only two methods restored his control when he felt like this—losing himself in computer code or losing himself between the thighs of a woman. One had made him richer than his wildest dreams. The other never failed to restore equilibrium to his very male aggression.

      The urge to pull out his phone and arrange his next assignation with his flavour of the month was only curbed by the reminder that this inconvenient detour was still business. And business always—without exception—came before pleasure.

      He sought directions to the room he needed and entered to find two casting directors ready and waiting.

      An hour later Gael’s mood had taken a sharp dip further south. The auditions had gone worse than abysmally—and he’d arrived from the viewpoint of an outsider. Tense handshakes with the directors and a swift exit preceded his urge to go back on his word and fire his director immediately. If this was what he had in store then he was better off parting company with Ethan Ryland before the process advanced beyond salvaging.

      Sí, someone most definitely needed to atone for his mood. He pulled the phone from his pocket.

      And stopped.

      The door to his left was only partially ajar, but he heard her clearly. Her voice, filled with pure, unadulterated emotion, carried even without being raised high.

      Removing his hovering thumb from the call button, he pushed the door with his forefinger. When it started to creak he stopped and stepped back. Glancing up and down the quiet hallway, Gael saw another door farther away at the end of the auditorium. Quick strides granted him silent entry into the shadowed rear of the cavernous room in time to catch her impassioned speech.

      ‘You won’t leave me. I won’t let you. You think you love her, but you don’t. And, yes, I know you enough to tell you what is in your heart. I love you that much, Simon. Enough to forgive. Enough to take another chance on us. But for us to happen you need to stay. Please...take the chance.’

      Gael realised he was holding his breath as he watched tears stream down her face. She raged for another minute, then collapsed onto the stage. Genuine sobs convulsed her petite body.

      Against his will, he was riveted, the breath he’d scoffed at needing moments ago locked in his throat. He watched her struggle to her feet, saw a hiccup shake through her as the last of her emotion rippled free. She swiped at the tears with her wrists and walked to the edge of the stage, chest rising and falling, her gaze expectantly on the audition director—who stared at her for uncomfortably tense seconds without speaking.

      A fizzle of irritation wove through Gael’s body and his already black mood darkened further at the director’s deliberate silence.

      ‘Your performance was...commendable, Miss Beckett. I can tell you poured your heart into it.’

      A tiny hopeful smile from the performer. ‘Thank you. I did.’ The response was firm, but husky, probably owing to her emotional expenditure.

      The director regretfully shook his head. ‘But sadly I need more than that. Heart is great, but what I need is soul.’

      The actress frowned. ‘I don’t understand. That was my heart—and my soul.’

      ‘In your opinion. But not in mine.’

      Gael felt her acute disappointment from across the room. She gave a slight shake of her head, as if to refute the director’s words. Then she gathered herself with admirable pride. ‘I’m sorry you think so. But thank you for your time.’

      She started across the stage towards a shabby-looking rucksack near the door.

      ‘That’s it?’

      The smirking taunt from the director tightened the knot of anger in Gael’s gut.

      She paused. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘According to your opening speech, you want this part more than you want your next meal. And yet you’re walking away without so much as a fight?’ the director sneered.

      Her eyes widened. ‘I thought you said... You mean I have a chance?’

      ‘Everyone has a chance, Miss Beckett. What stands between you and the opportunities you receive, however, is how much you want it. Are you prepared to do whatever it takes?’

      She nodded immediately. ‘Yes, I am.’

      The director crooked his finger. She retraced her steps to the middle of the stage. Impatiently he beckoned her further forward. She approached without hesitation.

      The beginnings of distaste filled Gael’s mouth as he watched naked hunger fill her face.

      Somewhere in the middle of her performance she’d lost her shoes. Her bare toes breached the edge of the hardwood stage as she looked down at the director. He extracted a silver card from his pocket, traced it over the top of one foot down to her toes before laying it between her slightly parted feet.

      ‘This is what it’ll take, Miss Beckett. Pick it up and the part is yours.’

      Gael had been on the receiving end of propositions for long enough to know what was going on. Dios mio, hadn’t he had the row of all rows with his mother only two weeks ago over just such an issue?

      He expelled his breath in a quietly seething rush as he watched her slowly sink down and retrieve what looked unmistakably like a hotel room key card.

      The disappointment that lanced through him was strong enough to make him question why the scene unfolding in front of him was affecting him so deeply. Perhaps today of all days, when the past seemed to be dogging him with its bitter memories, he’d wanted to be pleasantly surprised by the elusive integrity of the human spirit. To experience a pure character to go along with the pure performance that had stopped him in his tracks, touched him in ways he was still grappling with.

      More fool him.

      As the director’s hands moved to touch her feet Gael retreated as silently as he’d entered, his rigid gaze firmly averted from the sleazy scene unfolding on the stage.

      He was looking for a fairy tale where none existed. Just as he’d once—futilely and childishly—prayed for a family that included a father who didn’t wish him out of existence.

      He should know better. No. He had known better—for a very long time.

      Even before he exited the building he knew those dredged-up feelings would be crushed beneath the immovable titanium power of his ambition and success. Emotional needs and futile dreams were far behind him. What he’d done with his life since that time in Spain was what mattered.

      Everything else came a very pale second.

CHAPTER TWO

      SO WHY WAS he back here mere hours later, pulling up in front of Othello? And at a time of night when there was guaranteed to be no one around?

      Gael had resisted admitting it all day. But, despite the stomach-turning