Page 99 of A Certain Appeal
“That’s too bad,” he says, the mask of hurt replaced with a condescending smirk. “Because we’re looking for a kitten.”
I stare back, more offended than stung. At my silence, he lets out a little laugh. He thinks he’s won, and why shouldn’t he? I gave him the blueprint for my undoing, and he knows what’s supposed to happen after: my retreat.
I wait for the old ugly voices to chime in. For the sneers of my cohorts to resurface, some echo of those events to pull me down. I wait for the falling sensation that accompanied those memories. But it doesn’t happen. That nightmare’s run its course. If Wickham thinks he’s going to take its place, I’ve found a stage door his face can meet.
“I have my sights set on something bigger.”
“You find another show?” he asks, curious.
“You never did have much of an imagination, Wickham.” Darcy emerges from behind the curtain. The sight of him is enough to get my insides coiling, but Wickham’s reaction provides a very different kind of pleasure.
His nostrils flare, his posture going stiff, his eyes widening as the dots connect. He swallows hard. “Pem-Pemberley?” He seems to choke on the name.
I just grin.
“You really think you can get in on this?” he spits. His eyes dart frantically from Darcy to me. “You think there’s room fortwo?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” I say as Darcy comes to stand beside me. “In any case, we’re set to open in two months. And from what I hear, you haven’t even gotten started on remodeling at Meryton, no?”
Wickham’s jaw goes slack.
“How’s the talent search going, Wickham?” I screw up my face in a mockery of sympathy. “Having a hard time finding folks to join you? Like, maybe word’s gotten out that you’re a conniving asshole and they might want to think twice before signing with you?”
Wickham frowns, brows drawn as though something he’s been trying to piece together has fallen into place—and he doesn’t like where it’s landed.
“How about staffing?” I step closer. Wickham steps back. “You weren’t able to put up money to retain the Meryton crew during renos. And, again, there’s the small detail of your lack of integrity, so any good-faith offer on your part might not be enough to make them stick around.”
“We have the talent. We have the staff. We have twice the occupancy...” Darcy looks at me expectantly.
I smile, reveling in anticipation of the coup de grâce. “And we havemyconcept. You snagged the wrong sketch, man. What we’ve done to Pemberley? With the lake? And those ceilings!” I press my hand to my heart. “Ginn can tell you. Aerial performances there areepic.”
Wickham’s face purples.
“So did I find another show?” My voice goes dark. “No.Imadeone.”
A pop of static comes from beyond the curtain, followed by the intro to “All That Jazz.” The playful tune adds to the surreality of the moment.Mymoment. The rush is better than performing, surpassing invincibility. I am vibrating with triumph.
Wickham still hasn’t moved. I don’t even think he’s breathing.
“That’s the spirit, Wick,” says Darcy. “Bennet, do you need anything else or do you want to press on?”
I’d love to keep staring down Wickham, to watch him have to slink away or wait to see if any of that groveling I’ve imagined ends uptaking place. But this closing beat is too good to pass up. I take Darcy’s hand and he beams at me, eyes alight with heat and something like pride.
“Looks like you’re getting a ‘fall’ after all, Wickham,” I say, enjoying the way he flinches as I lead Darcy past him. “Might want to brace yourself. I have a feeling the landing is gonna be rough.”
I yank at the doorknob, pulling open the camouflaged door. Wickham’s almost-silent “Shit” of defeat barely registers over the rustle of paper, but it is the sweetest sound I could have ever hoped for.
Darcy and I are deposited into an alley and a group of smokers. We weave through them and I pick up the pace, the mix of victory and giddiness propelling me like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. We get around the corner before I slow, then pull Darcy up the steps of a darkened barbershop. I move to the stair above him, bringing us to eye level. One look at his grin, and I’m undone. I press my lips to his.
It’s fast and firm and hungry, and he kisses back with the same intensity, taking the last step and backing me against the storefront. His hands slide to my waist, then under the skirt of my dress to grip my thighs. A second later I have my legs wrapped around him. He’s already hard, the front of his trousers and the wisp of material covering me a negligible barrier against the insistent press of his length. He surges against me, and I moan—
A flash of red and blue lights makes me flinch, and we separate with a shared gasp. Darcy hunches over me protectively, but beyond his shoulder I see the cop car moving up the street and away from us. The siren starts to blare and the cruiser speeds off.
I let out a wobbly laugh. “That may have counted as public indecency.” I loosen my grip on Darcy’s shoulders enough to look at hisface. Even in the near dark, he looks shell-shocked. A giggle escapes me. The sound borders on manic. “Wickham.I hate that guy.”
Darcy presses his forehead to mine, still breathing heavily. “If this is how you handle hate, I’d be more than happy to review your enemies list with you.”
“I keep that list at home.”
