Changing the Script (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  Cursing, he smashed his cane against the back of the sofa, and Izzy was torn. Part of her wanted nothing more than to flee and leave him to have his breakdown in peace. She’d get some sleep while he wore himself out, and tomorrow things would be back to normal. The rest of her was rooted to the spot. In four years, she’d never seen him so out of control and if something happened, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Stop it,” she demanded.

  Robert continued beating the couch like she hadn’t spoken. “I said stop it!”

  Izzy cast one agonized look at the door and gave up. No matter how loudly her bed was calling her, she couldn’t leave him alone like this. Careful to stay out of range, she moved behind him and replaced the snow globe in its normal position before sizing up the situation. Robert had nearly a foot of height on her, and she could clearly see the play of his muscles under his shirt, the thin cotton damp with sweat as he continued his assault on the furniture.

  When Izzy first moved to New York, her worried father had demanded that she take self-defense lessons. Although she’d never had cause to use anything they taught her, she could still remember a few things—like how to use an opponent’s size against him.

  Taking a deep breath, she darted forward and grabbed his left arm, twisting it behind his back as she used her own weight and momentum to shove him forward, bending him over the back of the couch. Beneath her, Robert grunted in surprise, losing his grip on his cane which fell from his hand. Reaching around him, Izzy used her free hand to grab his tie and pull tightly, restricting his ability to draw breath. “I said enough.”

  Robert made no move to fight her off as she held him down. Relaxing a little, Izzy adjusted her grip on him so she was draped more comfortably over his back. If he wanted to get up, she wouldn’t have had a prayer of restraining him, but he didn’t move a muscle. Beneath her, she could feel him shaking.

  “Relax,” she ordered, her breath stirring his hair.

  “I’m losing my mind,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

  “You’re tired and stressed out and going through nicotine withdrawal,” she countered, loosening her hold on his tie. As she did, he struggled, and Izzy instinctively twisted his wrist, pinning him more firmly. Robert subsided with a noisy sigh.

  The noise from the street faded away. Izzy was aware of no sound beyond her own heartbeat and Robert’s breath. Counting to herself, she matched her breathing to his, feeling her own tension drain away as she held him pinned under her for long moments, time seeming to fold and expand into a brief eternity. It was a tableau from one of her fantasies about her boss. She was pressed full-length against Robert’s back, the warmth of him seeping through her clothes. She was aware of the coiled strength in the body that lay beneath her, but he was quiescent, content to be dominated.

  Testing a theory, Izzy increased the pressure on his wrist, and his soft groan sent a jolt of lightning through her. Her nerve endings blazed to life, every inch of her skin hyperaware of having him against her. Robert was at her mercy, hers to do with as she pleased, and there was so much she’d dreamed about doing with him.

  Startled by her own reaction, Izzy released him and took a hasty step back, colliding with the console table so hard that she nearly knocked the poor snow globe to the floor again. Swallowing hard, she tried to moisten her dry throat as she watched Robert slowly straighten up, his posture loose and open.

  “You—” Her voice broke on the word, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “You should get some sleep. I’m going home.”

  Half-turning to face her, he nodded silently, his glazed eyes already drifting closed as he made his way to his bedroom like a sleepwalker. Izzy fled his apartment like she’d been set on fire, her mind endlessly replaying the noises he’d made while she had him pinned and the way his body felt pressed against hers. Neither the subway ride nor the five story climb to her own studio apartment was enough to dampen her ardor, and she collapsed fully dressed on her futon, groaning in relief as her hand dived into her jeans.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured Robert’s flushed face and slack mouth, arching into her own touch as she plunged her fingers into herself, her hips rocking impatiently. Pressing her thumb hard against her clitoris, Izzy curled her fingers to apply pressure to her upper wall, imagining Robert on his knees before her, pleasing her with his hands at her urgent command. Until tonight, her fantasies about her boss had been fairly standard. She’d dreamed that one day he would look up at her over coffee or a script and realize that the woman of his dreams had been at his side the entire time. He’d seize her and kiss her senseless, Izzy yielding everything to his tender assault.

  Those dreams had kept her company for years, and it had never occurred to her to be dissatisfied with them. Now Izzy mentally turned the tables, seeing herself as the aggressor. In her mind, she was the one doing the seizing, grabbing handfuls of Robert’s long hair to pull him down for a kiss, pinning him beneath her as she tore at his hand-tailored suit, leaving him breathless and gasping, begging for her mercy.

  Her smothered scream echoed in the small apartment as she came without any warning, her body overloading at the thought of Robert panting and pleading beneath her, hers to punish or reward as she saw fit. The orgasm swept through her veins like wildfire, burning away everything Izzy thought she knew about herself and leaving something new in its place—a phoenix rising from the ashes. She didn’t want to be taken. She wanted to take. Based on Robert’s reaction to what had happened earlier in his apartment, it seemed that he wasn’t averse to the idea himself.

  It was a ridiculous notion, and Izzy shook her head to try to clear it. Somehow she’d misread what happened between them. Robert was a born leader who picked the music and expected everyone to dance to his tune. He wasn’t the sort of man who would tolerate disobedience, much willingly cede control to someone else. He’d simply been tired and overwrought, and she’d read too much into it.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t get the idea out her head, other memories bringing themselves to her attention. Although Izzy always thought of Robert as someone who brooked no insubordination, that wasn’t entirely true. She could think of a hundred incidents over the years where she’d thumbed her nose at him, starting with a late night phone call over Belgian lace curtains and ending with the pastrami sandwiches he loved that she refused to let him eat out of concern for his health. Despite his grumbles, never once had he fought back when she put her foot down.

  Even when he was in high dudgeon and tearing into the crew over a bit of perceived incompetence, a stern look from Izzy would usually quell his rage and calm him down before she had to do more than soothe a few ruffled feathers. In the theater, Robert was king, but the more she thought about it, the more Izzy realized that she was the one pulling his strings. He signed her paychecks, but she’d been bossing him around for years, and he let her do it.

  It made perfect sense, now that she thought about it. Robert spent every moment of his professional life being Robert Mitchell: Genius Director. He was the person everyone looked to for answers, the person whose word was law. Izzy couldn’t imagine how the pressure to be always confident and correct must weigh on him. Of course he felt the need to put down that burden, and it was only right that he submit himself to her care. She was his right hand, the one he trusted with his artistic vision. He trusted her with everything else. Why not himself?

  Izzy stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a careless pile on the floor as she pulled a blanket over herself, feeling too drained and shaken to even think about making up the futon. A look at her watch told her that it was after one in the morning, and she’d be expected to be on duty again in a matter of hours. As best she could, Izzy pushed her new awareness to the back of her mind in favor of getting a little sleep, knowing that she’d need all of her wits about her to navigate what might well be turbulent waters tomorrow. Something had changed tonight, and it remained to be seen how well she and Robert would be able to weather the storm.
/>   Chapter 3

  Her alarm and her phone sounded simultaneously at six the next morning, and Izzy groaned at the cacophony, rubbing her eyes to banish the last traces of sleep. After a moment of confusion during which she attempted to answer her clock, she silenced the alarm and answered Robert’s call. “What’s up?”

  “I need six skeins of yarn,” he informed her without preamble, all trace of the dazed, submissive man he’d been the previous night banished. “Can you get them before rehearsal?”

  Izzy blinked at the question. Robert was accustomed to handing out orders and expecting them to be accomplished. To the best of her recollection, he’d never asked if something was possible. He just assumed that it was. A slow smile spread across her lips. “Of course I can. Any particular colors?”

  “Just as long as they’re all different,” he dismissed. “I trust your judgment.”

  “I’ll see you in an hour with yarn,” Izzy promised and ended the call, flopping back on the futon to grin up at the ceiling. In the harsh light of day, it would have been easy to dismiss last night’s events as a dream, but Robert’s behavior was just out of character enough to assure her that it had all happened. Even better, he hadn’t been unaffected either. It was going to be an interesting day.

  Compared to some of his other requests, buying yarn was a straightforward task, so Izzy took the time to take a few extra pains with her appearance. Not knowing how long it would take to bring the theater’s HVAC system back online, she opted for a scoop-necked black top instead of her usual turtleneck, adding a delicate silver chain that would call attention to the line of her collarbone. For a moment she wished she owned something more low cut but dismissed the thought. She’d never quite forgiven genetics for not blessing her with a larger bust. Instead she did her best to highlight the assets she did have, applying an extra coat of mascara to make her blue eyes appear even bigger.

  Stepping back, she assessed her appearance in the mirror and nodded. All the changes she’d made were small, but that only made them more noticeable. The Izzy who was reporting for work today was not the same woman she’d been for the past four years. She wondered if the Robert she’d find would be the same man.

  One quick stop yielded the yarn he’d desired, and Izzy stepped into the theater at exactly seven to find Robert waiting for her with two cups of coffee in hand. “Good, you found it,” he said at the sight of the bag, but Izzy was hyperaware of the extra pause he took before his casual comment and the way his eyes widened just slightly at the sight of her.

  Smirking to herself, she traded him the yarn for the coffee, taking an appreciative sip. “Mmm, perfect.” She sighed as the scalding liquid poured over her tongue, tasting exactly the right amount of sugar and milk.

  Robert’s chin lifted in response to her praise, and Izzy hid a smile, forcing herself to keep her mind on the upcoming rehearsal. Despite the delicious possibilities of this shift in their relationship, they still had a show to open in less than two weeks. “Do you still want to recast Kathryn?”

  With an abashed smile, he shook his head. “You were right. I was overtired and not thinking clearly. Kathryn is perfect in the role.”

  Yesterday, his admiration of the actress would have set her teeth on edge, but today Izzy could be magnanimous in victory. It wasn’t Kathryn who’d discovered this facet of his personality, and it wouldn’t be Kathryn who laid claim to him later. Taking another sip of her coffee, Izzy took a moment to thrill with anticipation at the thought before pushing those thoughts aside so she could concentrate on the day’s tasks. During working hours whatever was happening between them had to come second to the show itself.

  “What are you going to do with the yarn?” she asked. Over the years, she’d watched him put his actors through any number of bizarre exercises, but none of them had ever involved yarn.

  “I’ve decided to take up knitting,” he informed her, his tone so serious that Izzy did a double-take. “Give myself something to do with my hands so I don’t go for a cigarette.”

  The mischievous sparkle in his eyes—and the fact that he hadn’t asked her to buy knitting needles—convinced her that it was a joke. Rolling her eyes, she laughed it off. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m going to meet with Jon about the carpet, and then go over the cue list with Leslie.”

  When she glanced up for his approval, Robert was watching her with a puzzled line between his eyebrows. For just a moment, Izzy thought she saw a flash of hurt in his dark eyes, then it was gone like it had never been there at all. With a wave of his hand he sent her on her way to track down the set designer, feeling his gaze on her back as she walked away.

  Once rehearsal began, they fell into their usual roles, Izzy taking copious notes on everything from the actors’ performances to changes Robert wanted made to the set’s dressing. Privately, she couldn’t see what difference it would make to the show if the set had a painting of a farm landscape instead of the painting of woods that currently hung on the wall, but it wasn’t her place to question her director. At the rare moments when she had a chance to simply breathe, she studied Robert, but try as she might she could detect no sign of the vulnerability she’d seen in him last night. Instead, he was once again the powerful Robert Mitchell, schmoozing actors, demanding changes, and terrorizing the designers.

  At one point when he had poor Ginny in tears over the fit of the lead actor’s trousers, Izzy put her hand on his shoulder at the base of his throat and squeezed hard in a clear warning. “Enough,” she murmured.

  Robert shook off her hand without a pause, lambasting Ginny until the other woman fled sobbing to make the alteration. When he caught Izzy looking at him, he shrugged. “They look far too modern. It ruins the illusion.”

  “You overstepped,” Izzy informed him.

  “I was clear and decisive,” he shot back, leaving her to scurry after him as he strode away.

  The rest of the day continued in the same vein, Robert maintaining the veneer of confident self-mastery so well that Izzy was left doubting her own memories. Did last night actually happen or did she dream it all?

  Even when they were left alone at the theater at the end of the day nothing changed. She and Robert finalized the list of changes that needed to be made before the still, stifling air drove them out onto the street.

  “When is that going to be fixed?” he demanded, the heat of his glare threatening to set the building ablaze.

  Izzy consulted her phone to double-check the last message from the theater’s owner. “Tomorrow,” she promised. “The repairman will be here at seven tomorrow with the part he needs. He had to go to Jersey to pick it up which is why it wasn’t fixed today.”

  Robert had a few choice words to say about Jersey in general and the theater owner in particular, but Izzy could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “You’re hungry,” she reminded him. “Food and air conditioning will do wonders for you.”

  “You’re right,” he grumbled, fidgeting with his cane like he was looking for something to hit before turning on his heel and heading for the subway, Izzy falling into step beside him.

  “We’ve done all we can today,” he announced as they reached the platform. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Without another word, he strode away, leaving Izzy staring after him, the metallic taste of disappointment making her throat close up. Whatever had happened between them last night had clearly been an anomaly. Robert was building walls between them liberally festooned with “Danger: Keep Out” signs, and Izzy wasn’t a fool. He was her boss and her friend, but if she pushed this, he would no longer be either. On leaden legs, she made her way home to her own small apartment and curled up on the futon, refusing to let herself cry. Nothing had changed between them, and that meant she hadn’t lost anything. There was no reason for tears.

  Chapter 4

  As rehearsals progressed, Izzy tried to make herself believe that the encounter in Robert’s apartment had only been a dream. They were still friends, but compared to the rela
tionship she’d thought was within her grasp, that fact was cold comfort. It was better to believe they’d never even gotten close than it was to think that she’d almost had what she wanted only to have it wrenched away at the last moment. It had to have been a dream.

  So certain was she that she’d dreamed the entire thing that she was slow to pick up on Robert’s agitation as they floundered their way through a technical rehearsal the following Saturday. Breathing deeply, Izzy tried to remain calm as she spoke into her headset, trying to cajole the sound and light operators through the show as actors blew lines, stage lights flickered on and off at random, and musical cues that Izzy wasn’t even sure were in the show played at the most inopportune moments. Next to her, Robert drummed his fingers against their table in the middle of the theater in a staccato rhythm, his breathing harsh and shallow.

  “The first tech is always a nightmare,” she reminded him, covering the headset’s mouthpiece so she wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. “We’ll get it.”

  Robert cursed under his breath. “I’m going to set this place on fire and salt the ground.”

  Knowing that laughter would be counterproductive, Izzy bit her lip to hide her smile. Once she was sure her facial features were under control, she turned to look at him. Beneath his tan, Robert’s skin was pale, the dark hair at his temples matted with sweat. “Hey,” she murmured, putting her hand on his knee and feeling his bunched muscles trembling. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

  “Breathing is not going to help,” he snarled, slamming his hands down on the table and lurching to his feet.

  “Take an hour for lunch!” Izzy shouted, cutting off whatever Robert’s mouth was opening to say. Artistic types were granted a great deal of leeway when it came to screams and insults, but in Izzy’s experience it was easier to head his tantrums off at the pass than to soothe hurt feelings afterward.