Page 5 of What I'm Looking For

“Oh, hey.” He slides a half sheet of paper across the bar toward me. “There’s a community volunteer event there this Saturday. You should come.”

Taking the flyer, I make myself break eye contact. “Cool beans.”

Cool beans?What a Joanie. Lifting my drink in salute, I head back to the Rhodes Wahler group, but I’m such a loser I can’t even manage walking. I catch my damn heel on the uneven flooring. With great effort, I keep the drink from spilling, but my lurch gives one of the Marks the excuse to swoop in.

“Whoa there, McFly! How many of those have you had?” Loud Mark hugs me roughly, his thumb brushing the side of my breast. “What a lightweight.”

I clamp my lips into a line. At least he didn’t?—

And then he does. He smacks me on the butt. “But you’ve totally got a bodacious ass!”

Swallowing the retort I’d love to make, I glance back to the bartender. His spine stiff, he looks like he wants to pounce on Loud Mark. I roll my eyes dramatically to let him know it’s no big deal and allow myself to be literally manhandled across the room, even though it’s a little embarrassing that the cute bartender witnessed this particular asset bust.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later,it becomes clear that my attempts to move discussions toward mergers or market caps will forever be marginalized by bets on the game and speculations regarding the Bull and Finch female clientele. I did find out that Skinny Brad has a nervous laugh that would drive me bonkers. Mustache Mark, on the other hand, remembers a tidbit I dropped yesterday about Puma’s new sneaker line, a mark in his favor—no pun intended. However, the final arbiter may be the fact that when I asked if anyone was interested in going with me to the Boys and Girls Club on Saturday, it was actually Hot Steve who volunteered to volunteer.

Sipping my surprisingly yummy drink, I scope out the traffic behind the bar, but my savior seems to have disappeared.

Which means I’ve lost my audience. Knowing he might have been watching, I actually fired back on teasing from the sales force dudes. For the thousandth time since I began working in finance, I wish I’d grown up with brothers. Training with cross-country boys in high school did not prepare me for the kind of razzing these guys can pay out. Somehow, having Will’s eye on me had leveraged my confidence.

He doesn’t exactly feel like a big brother, though. More like an avenger who’d swoop in to rescue me.

Enough already, Kate. You do not need a man to save you.Or for any other reason. Even if this particular man seems to be a refreshingly good guy with extremely kissable lips and eyes you could get lost in.Heprobably wouldn’t reject a girl just because she has ambitions and break her heart into teeny tiny pieces in the process.

Unlike some people.

Ah, there’s the rub. After what happened when my last—and if I’m being completely honest, my only—real relationship imploded, my focus needs to be on my career. Sex and marriage and a family and all that can fall into placeafterI’m a top fund manager. Sometime in the mid-nineties, perhaps.

But the eighties? The eighties are all about getting ahead in the rat race.

And I am determined to be at the front of the pack.

Of rats.

Chapter2

BEEP. Thursday, 11:45 a.m.

Hi Will, it’s Dave. I’m getting close to convincing Eva Marie and Mira that you’re the best candidate to choreograph the fights this season. We should have a decision one way or the other by the time we see you at the callbacks tonight. I’m gunning for you, man.

WILL

Once I’ve parked my motorcycle in front of the Boston University theatre arts building, where auditions for Shakespeare Boston’s fourth season are being held, I blow out a long breath, letting the noise and energy of Kenmore Square fade into the background.

I’ve got a lot on the line tonight. I’m hoping to land more complicated roles this summer and prove I’ve got what it takes to play Hamlet next year. Now it seems chances are good that I’ll get to choreograph the fights forRomeo and Juliet,too.

I jog down the hall, propelled by spiking adrenaline. When I turn the corner, it’s like walking into a family reunion. There are a few unfamiliar faces, but I’m glad to see that for the most part I’ll be reading with actors I’ve worked with for years.

Jessica Abraham waves to me from the floor, where she’s folded into a pretzel-shaped stretch. I exchange back slaps with Mike Rivera and Oliver Curtis, buddies that I haven’t seen for months. After catching up with them, I drop my bag and my butt next to Randall Vaughan, one of my best friends and my biggest competition.

“Hey, man. You ready for this?” He nods at my knee, which is bouncing a mile a minute.

Pressing my palms into both legs, I let out a half laugh, half sigh. “What do you think? I’m nervous as shit.”

He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “You’ll be fine, brother. They love you.”

I shake my head. “They might love me for the sweet hero roles. Anything in these shows would be a big step up for me.”

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