Page 1 of Broken Romeo

CHAPTER ONE

My ass sweats when I'm nervous. For most people, their hands get a little clammy, or their faces take on a glowing dew. But not me.

Nope, not Kate Harris.

The last time I was this nervous was when I first laid eyes on Holden James Dorsey, the man who ultimately broke my heart in the most irreparable way imaginable. And I do not look cute when I’m nervous. When I’m on edge, not only do I sweat, but my entire body trembles like an addict itching for their next fix.

I can almost hear my college theater professor now: “Kate, what in God's name is wrong with you? In theater, we have a saying: Women glisten. Men perspire. Horses sweat.”

Well, then, strap a saddle on my back and call me Seabiscuit.

Yes, actors are allowed to be nervous, but they aren’t allowed to let it show. And I don’t just break that cardinal rule… I smash it into a thousand pieces.

Right now, as I crouch down on the filthy floor at the coffee shop I work at, hiding beneath the espresso machine, I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been in any show or audition. My yellow apron puffs up around my knees like a debutante ball gown as a single bead of sweat rolls down my spine.

Above me, my coworker, fellow barista, roommate, and best friend all rolled into one is taking the proverbial bullet for me with our landlord.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Greene,” Jill says. “She’s not working today.”

I hear the scowl in ol’ Gray-Faced Greene’s voice. “Oh, really? I could have sworn I saw Kate through the window just before I came in.”

“Nope.” Jill’s voice is chipper as ever, and as I tilt my head to peer up at her standing beside me, she’s calm from the waist up. But below the counter, her toe taps, bouncing against the dirty linoleum. I guess I’m not the only gifted actress here. “She was working. But she had to leave early. For her audition.”

I smack Jill’s leg with the back of my hand, and she smothers her oomph by coughing into her fist.

“Audition?” Ms. Greene barks. “She told me she was in rehearsal for a new show. That she was waiting on her first paycheck—which she swore was going to be enough to pay for not only this month’s rent, but also last month’s.”

“Yes,” Jill says and kicks me in response. “Yes. Rehearsal. She is in rehearsal. She also has another audition. She’s in really high demand right now.”

“Hm. Well, I hope you’re right. Her eviction papers are drawn up. They can take a while to process, though. So, if she can get me last month’s rent and this month’s rent by the fifteenth, then I’ll reconsider. But I can’t keep giving her these chances. Between the two of you, I’ve let a lot of late payments pass by and I’m done. She’s got two weeks.”

Two weeks to come up with three thousand dollars?

I have six hundred currently in my bank account, which I was planning to use to make the minimum payment on my student loans. Those could wait, though… well, probably. But six hundred bucks still isn’t enough.

When I get paid on Thursday, I’ll have another four hundred in my pocket… Still a long way off from three thousand.

“Yes, Ms. Greene,” Jill says, and I note that the cheeriness is now stripped from her voice. “Here’s your cappuccino. Extra foam, just how you like it. On us.”

“You mean on you. Because Kate’s not here, of course.”

The distinct click of heels taps into the distance, and the bell chimes over the door.

Jill waves me up. “Okay, it’s safe to come out.”

I stand and dust off my skirt, wishing I had thought to put my apron on the floor to sit on, and make a mental note to start mopping beneath the counters. “Dammit. I’m all dirty. I can’t go to my audition like this.”

“You didn’t pay rent again?” Jill whispers with a glance around the coffee shop.

A handful of people sit scattered around the store sipping coffees. Some are reading, a few are chatting, but most have their noses in their laptops, the tap of fingers to keyboards providing a low hum of ambient noise. “But I saw you put the rent check in the mail! We did it on the same day.”

I sigh. “That was my late payment for two months ago.”

Jill tucks her auburn hair behind her ear and gives me a look that is both disciplinary and pity-filled all at once. It makes my cheeks heat with a flush of embarrassment. I avoid my reflection in the espresso machine, knowing that I’m a hundred shades of pink right now.

Neither of us makes a ton of money, but Jill manages to pay rent every month, supplementing the rest of her income with ghostwriting and other freelance writing gigs. And she has the added bonus of zero student loan debt thanks to her parents’ smart financial planning. They started a college fund for her before she was even a fetus in the womb.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper while blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over the edges of my lashes.

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