Changing the Script (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  Changing the Script

  As a stage manager, Izzy Casale takes great pride in being theater director Robert Mitchell’s trusted right hand. Even though she knows she can’t hold a candle to the beautiful actresses they work with, she can’t shake the hope that one day Robert will sweep her off her feet.

  When a late-night encounter reveals Robert’s secret desire to submit, Izzy’s fantasies take a bold new turn. Although Robert is her boss in the theater, Izzy sets out to prove that she’s the one in charge in the bedroom. In the midst of a disastrous series of dress rehearsals, she stakes her claim only to discover that humbling this powerful man will be far more difficult than she thought.

  With the success of the show and their professional relationship hanging in the balance, can Robert accept that his true place is kneeling at Izzy’s feet?

  Note: This books contains a heroine who is a domme.

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Older H/h

  Length: 24,596 words

  CHANGING THE SCRIPT

  Fae Mallory

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  CHANGING THE SCRIPT

  Copyright © 2015 by Fae Mallory

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-790-9

  First E-book Publication: January 2015

  Cover design by Christine Kirchoff

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Changing the Script by Fae Mallory from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Fae Mallory’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Fae Mallory’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  For my family with thanks for their love and support

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHANGING THE SCRIPT

  FAE MALLORY

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter 1

  “This carpet needs to be changed. It was supposed to be blue, not red. It will clash with Kathryn’s finale dress.” Robert Mitchell pointed at the offending carpet with an extravagant flick of his wrist as Isabelle Casale, Izzy to her friends, trotted after him and made another note in her omnipresent notebook, feeling sweat trickling down her spine. The theater’s HVAC system had been fighting a losing battle all day, and an hour before the rehearsal ended, it died with a bone-jarring thunk that had done nothing to improve her boss’s temper. She was surprised that the set’s paint wasn’t melting.

  “I’ll get Jon on it,” she promised, drawing a small hammer next to the note to indicate it was a problem she could pass along to their set designer. While Robert was convinced that, as his stage manager, Izzy had the power to fix any and all crises, she was more than happy to delegate.

  Robert Mitchell was a legend in New York’s alternative theater scene, and Izzy had been over the moon when he hired her straight out of college to be his stage manager. It was only after she accepted the job that she discovered the average turnover for the position was two months. Although Mitchell could turn on the charm for audiences and his actors alike, he was also a harsh taskmaster who thought nothing of calling her at four in the morning to give her a task that absolutely had to be completed by dawn. She’d floated along in a haze of sleep deprivation for eight weeks before snapping.

  “The set does not want a set of authentic eighteenth century Belgian lace curtains. You want that. Stop wanting things! If you still want them once the sun has come up, I will get them for you, but you do not need them now. I’m going back to bed. If you’re going to fire me, do it in the morning.” She’d hung up without giving him a chance to speak and buried her head under her pillow, too tired to fully realize that she’d just told Robert Mitchell off.

  That realization hadn’t hit until she was climbing out of bed the next morning and saw her phone lying in the middle of the floor where she’d thrown it. She went through her morning routine in a daze, convinced that she was going to be fired the moment she set foot in the theater.

  Instead Robert had greeted her with an oversized cup of coffee and a half-smile, the closest thing to an apology he was capable of. She’d found the curtains by lunchtime, and they’d come to a tacit agreement that even if she was available to him at all other times, the hours between midnight and six were off-limits unless he was on fire.

  That had been four years ago, and although they’d been through three set designers, five costume designers, and two sound and light technicians since then, Izzy felt secure in her position. Robert was demanding and unreasonable on his good days, but he was also a genius. The magic of each opening night made all the trauma worthwhile.

  There were other considerations as well, Izzy admitted to herself as she watched him look around the set for something else to complain about. At forty-six, he was still a handsome man, the streaks of silver in his shaggy brown hair giving him a bohemian flair. He had the expressive brown eyes of a poet, able to look either mournful or manic with just a twitch of his eyelid. His tall
, slender frame cut an imposing figure that was only highlighted by the silver-handled cane he carried, a theatrical affectation that he claimed was necessary due to an old ankle injury. Privately, Izzy assumed he just wanted a prop with which to gesture or, on a bad day, threaten people. Overall, he looked more like someone who belonged onstage instead of behind the scenes.

  “Speaking of Kathryn’s dress, get Ginny to add more beads to the neckline. The light needs to bounce and highlight those eyes of hers,” he instructed, tossing his cane lightly from hand to hand.

  “Got it,” Izzy assured him, scribbling another note and schooling her face to remain placid. This was Kathryn Eckman’s first show for Robert, and like everyone else, the willowy blonde had fallen under his spell. Although Robert believed in business before pleasure, once the show opened and he was no longer involved with it on a daily basis, he’d be free to pursue her, and that knowledge slipped like a knife between Izzy’s ribs. She’d admitted to herself years ago that she had a monumental crush on her boss, realizing at the same time that she’d never stand a chance with him. Daily, Robert was surrounded by the most beautiful women in New York. He’d never look twice at his stage manager.

  Izzy had her charms, and she certainly had her fair share of admirers, but she couldn’t compete with women who made their living off their looks. Once, she’d hoped to act, but at barely five foot two, she lacked the presence to own a stage. To this day she envied the gorgeous costumes Robert selected for his leading ladies, knowing that the jewel tones he favored would look garish against her pale skin. Instead she dressed her boyish figure for practicality in jeans and black turtlenecks that wouldn’t show dirt, her unmanageable chestnut curls always firmly secured in a ponytail. Next to Robert, who favored hand-tailored suits, she looked like a college intern, but her efficiency meant that she was treated with respect.

  As she waited for her next order, Izzy watched Robert tug at his collar, glaring up at the ceiling. “And get someone to fix the damned air conditioning!” he snapped.

  “Already called it in,” she promised. The theater’s owner took a lackadaisical approach to maintenance, but Izzy had put the fear of Robert Mitchell into the man. She’d been promised that an HVAC team would be there first thing in the morning.

  “Right,” Robert grumbled, looking for something else to complain about, and Izzy seized her moment.

  “It’s eleven o’clock at night, and you haven’t eaten dinner yet,” she reminded him.

  When Robert grunted at her, Izzy continued, “Which means that I haven’t eaten either, and it’s almost pumpkin hour. Come on. It’s time to go.”

  “You’re still mine for another hour,” he pointed out, the words sending a thrill down Izzy’s spine.

  “Then we’ll finish going over the notes at your place where there’s food and air conditioning.” Closing her notebook with a snap, Izzy folded her arms across her chest. If he insisted on staying at the theater, she was going to melt. Even hell couldn’t compete with full strength stage lights, and the heat from them still lingered even two hours after they’d been turned off.

  “We’ll pick up Indian on the way,” he conceded, Izzy allowing herself a smile when he headed toward the rickety temporary steps that connected the stage with the richly carpeted house floor.

  “Chinese,” she corrected him, pulling out her phone. At his look, she shrugged, “I’m in the mood for chicken and broccoli.”

  “Chinese,” he agreed with a wave of his hand, and Izzy placed their usual order as they grabbed their belongings and left, heading for the subway.

  At this hour, it was easy to find seats together, and Izzy let his warmth seep into her, the subway car feeling chilly after the sultry theater. “How did your father’s golf tournament go?” Robert asked as the tunnel lights flashed by outside the windows.

  “He’s in a snit because they raised his handicap,” Izzy admitted with a chuckle, remembering her father’s outraged rant on the subject.

  “Sounds like someone needs more practice,” he reflected.

  “Don’t tell him that.” Izzy groaned. “My mother already complains that she never sees him.”

  “I can’t imagine a more boring hobby to pursue. Chasing a little ball around a field for hours is not my idea of fun.” Izzy hid a smile at his complaint. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never known Robert to pursue any kind of hobby. His idea of fun was working eighteen hours a day and reading scripts in his downtime.

  “Good,” Izzy said emphatically. When he shot her a puzzled look, she explained, “I’d never make it as a caddy.”

  Laughing, he draped his arm around her shoulders. “On second thought, maybe that’s what I’ll do when I retire. You’d look charming in those coveralls.”

  For someone Izzy’s height, a white jumpsuit would make her look like a walking marshmallow. “Only if I get to see you in plaid knickers.”

  Robert gave a theatrical shudder. “I yield. No golfing for us.”

  Chapter 2

  Once they were sequestered in his apartment, Robert’s good humor evaporated, leaving him unable to sit still. He picked at his shrimp and vegetable dish before abandoning her at the table to prowl through the apartment’s public areas. Izzy swiveled in her seat to watch as he drifted around the ultramodern pieces of furniture that she knew from experience were more comfortable than they looked. Teal walls set off the black leather furnishings, and Robert had once joked that he’d hired her solely because her eyes matched his apartment. Although her eyes did tend to shift color between green and blue, Izzy knew they lacked the apartment’s intensity, but she’d taken his words as a compliment anyway.

  Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her notebook and opened it, ready to work whenever he was. To her surprise, Robert remained silent, picking up the living room’s sole piece of decoration, a plastic snow globe she’d bought him as a joke on the one and only vacation she’d taken in the last four years.

  “Something’s off,” he remarked, staring at the snow globe like it was a piece of modern art worthy of study.

  “Something’s wrong with the show,” he continued after a moment. “It doesn’t work.”

  “We still have two weeks of rehearsal left,” she soothed.

  Robert put the snow globe down harder than necessary, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I cast the wrong people,” he said irritably. “Kathryn was a mistake.”

  “Kathryn is perfect for the role. You said that the day we auditioned her.” Izzy shook her head at herself when she realized she was defending her rival.

  “I was an idiot, and you should have stopped me,” he groused, resuming his pacing.

  Unsettled, Izzy pushed her dinner aside, watching as he stalked around the room. Even though Robert went through periods of dissatisfaction during every show’s rehearsal period, Izzy still took them personally, wracking her brain for any way she could have possibly failed him or anything she could do to improve matters.

  “I’m going to recast,” he announced. “Set up a cattle call for tomorrow.”

  Izzy picked up her pen but put it back down without writing down the directive. “You can’t recast a show with two weeks to go.”

  “Watch me,” he snapped.

  “Enough,” she sighed, stowing her notebook back in her bag and standing up to stash the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’ll get your cigarettes.” Although she didn’t approve of Robert’s smoking habit, chain smoking was the only thing that ever seemed to ease his mind when he was in this mood. He’d go out on the balcony and smoke a pack, and by tomorrow he’d be back on an even keel and ready to work.

  Rustling through the jacket he’d draped over his chair let her empty handed, and she was just getting ready to run out to the nearest corner store when Robert spoke. “I quit.”

  “Smoking?” Izzy blinked in surprise.

  Robert’s mouth twisted. “Dr. Harris mentioned the word emphysema at my last appointment, and I decided quitting was the lesser evil.
Carrying an oxygen tank would ruin the line of my suits.”

  “You’d just make me carry it,” Izzy reminded him. Now that he mentioned it, she hadn’t noticed him slipping away from rehearsal to grab a cigarette, and it explained why he’d been so prickly lately. “I’m proud of you, Robert.”

  He gave her a tired smile, then turned to glare at the snow globe. “If we get rid of Kathryn, that will fix everything.”

  “No, it won’t,” Izzy argued. “Because then you’ll have a whole new set of problems and an actress who doesn’t know the show. Get some sleep. If you still feel this way in the morning, I’ll make some calls.”

  Robert rounded on her. “It’s not midnight yet,” he reminded her.

  It was ten minutes to midnight, and as far as Izzy was concerned, that was close enough. “It takes me ten minutes to get home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “A little support would be appreciated,” he called as she headed for the door.

  “I do support you. I’m just not going to enable you when you’re being crazy,” she informed him. “You’re tired. Go to bed, and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  “I’m not a child,” he informed her, his mouth turning under at the edges, making him look like nothing more than a sulky toddler. Izzy swallowed a laugh.

  “Want me to tuck you in?” she teased.

  Robert glared at her like she’d mortally offended him. Izzy watched with wide eyes as he tossed his cane into the air, catching it by the middle of the shaft. With one smooth movement, he struck the snow globe with the head of the cane, sending it flying halfway across the room. Somehow, the cheap plastic survived the blow, and it kept rolling until it came to rest at Izzy’s feet. She stooped to pick it up. “That was uncalled for.”