Page 12 of Something Cheeky

His fingers twitched as a tremor ran through her body. The hairs on her arms stood up as goose bumps spread across it. As much as she was protesting, excitement pulsed through her body.

“You don’t have to decide right this minute,” he continued. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Okay” was all she managed to say.

“Everything shall be revealed tomorrow night.” He hugged her again. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

He left the café as abruptly as he’d reentered her life. But not before reawakening the dream she’d given up so long ago.

Zoe ignored TJ’s attempt to get her attention as a multitude of feelings unspooled inside her. What if this was her second chance to become a real costume designer?

Chapter 6

“Greg, sorry I’m late,” Derek said, slightly out of breath. After driving around the same three blocks multiple times, he’d dropped his car at the valet.

His mentor and Prestige Rep’s artistic director grinned and gave him a firm handshake. To say the man had opened doors for Derek was not enough. Gregory A. Powers had changed the trajectory of Derek’s career. They’d met when Greg guest directed an off-Broadway production. He’d cast Derek in a small role, which eventually turned into an assistant directing position.

“Derek, you made it! Have a seat.” The fiftysomething white man spoke quickly and forcefully, like someone who knew without hesitation that people always listened to what he had to say.

For the five years that Derek had known Greg, the man was inundated with offers to direct shows. The man was practically an icon in the industry. Everyone knew the story of how he’d sold his car in order to finance his first production in some small midwestern town. After he’d moved on to bigger stages, his first board of directors named his first theater after him: the Gregory A. Powers Performing Arts Center.

“Let’s get you a drink. What’ll it be?” Greg flagged down a nearby waitress.

“Uh—” Derek scanned the menu that Greg slid across the whitetablecloth. He could buy an entire bottle of decent bourbon for the price of a cocktail here. “Just iced tea, unsweetened.”

“Are you sure? Dinner’s on me. Actually, it’s on Prestige.” He winked and turned to the waitress. “I’ll take another G and T.”

“Maybe another time.” Derek nodded a thank-you to the waitress, who left to get their drinks.

“Do you like the apartment we put you in? I told production to put you in the best one.”

“I only dropped off my bags before driving to Falls Church to see an old friend. And got a little lost,” Derek admitted. He stifled a yawn, regretting not taking a nap on the train down.

“Try to pace yourself while you’re in DC.” Greg tapped at the menu. “I took the liberty of ordering some appetizers for us.”

“Greg, I’m so grateful that you’re taking on myT?m Cámmusical.”

Derek had pitched it to several theaters, but most would agree only to a staged reading. He’d worked too hard and too long on it for that. He needed to gather a design team and the actors and the dancers so they could breathe life into the show together.

This musical was his love letter to his Vietnamese community, and it deserved the full treatment.

“How could I say no to one of my favorite up-and-coming directors?” Greg finished off his gin and tonic.

“Honestly? I wasn’t sure a big theater like yours would want to produce an all-Asian musical production.” The other theaters that he’d approached had turned him down, citing how risky it was to take on such a new production the way Derek envisioned it.

Greg had been at the helm of DC’s oldest theater for fifteen years and counting. As the largest one in the metro area, Prestige Rep contained multiple performance spaces and a gorgeous building in Southwest. It was a dream come true to launch his project there.

“I’ll be honest with you then. It took some time to convince the board to invest in a brand-new musical from an unknown.” Greg swirled the ice in his highball before setting it down.

“But—”

“Yes, I know you’re making waves in New York, but these board members—they wouldn’t know art if it smacked them in the face.”

“Oh.”

“They’re old and out of touch. Fuddy-duddies.” Greg winked. “Not young and innovative like us.”

“Yeah.” He wondered if the board members were as old as Greg implied.

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